Requiem for a Broken Dream.
Requiem for a Broken Dream.
Bro going anywhere. Western Kentucky imho
Requiem for a Broken Dream.
“You’re so fucking handsome,” Lana scoffed as she looked up at him, “You know it too, don’t you?”
“I do,” Kam nodded with a smile, trying to mask his blush, “You’re not too hard on the eyes either.”
The setting wasn’t a secluded beach with the sunset behind them but instead a packed subway train that had come to yet another brief stop. Kam hung onto the straphangers while Lana sat in front of him, ever mindful of how many stops they had left.
Kam’s busy football schedule had made this trek fewer and further in between, making it something that Lana always cherished and looked forward to. This time, however, was a bit different as they wouldn’t aimlessly walk around New York City but instead be meeting up with her future roommates.
Her acceptance into her dream university was contingent on her enrolling in the summer, giving her an opportunity to adjust to the college lifestyle without a full course load, smaller class size and an overall, less hectic college experience. At least that's what her counselor told her.
“I hope they’re not weird,” Kam remarked as Lana stood up with their stop being the next one.
“I’m weird,” Lana replied, already a bit defensive of the people she’d be spending the next twelve weeks with.
“You know what I mean,” Kam deadpanned, “That college girl Jamal was seeing was fucking lame as shit.”
“Any girl in college that’s dating a high school junior is bound to be lame,” Lana agreed, “And she was white.”
“That’s hate,” Kam cut his laughter short as he quickly reminded himself that the only time Lana ever got upset about their less-than-monogamous ways was when he caught a handy from a classmate of fair complexion, “They’re keeping all the negros together.”
“I think one of them is Brazilian,” Lana corrected Kam as they made their way out of the subway, taking a moment to get their bearings together and find the correct exit, “She’s not going to be here today though, she doesn’t get in until like the day before school starts. She doesn’t even join our Zoom calls or nothing, either.”
“I mean, you guys have been like talking to each other 24/7 since you got roomed together. Like damn, y’all already know everything about each other by now.”
“I’m going to be sleeping with these people,” Lana’s choice of words drew a childish giggle from Kam, “Not like that. You know what I mean, I don’t know, maybe it’s just a girl thing.”
“I’m just a girl,” Kam mocked her as the sunshine hit them and the bustling city welcomed them.
…
“How long have you guys been dating?”
“We’re…. friends,” Lana couldn’t help but laugh as she had already explained their situationship to her future roommates who apparently hadn’t conveyed the message to their respective partners.
“Oh,” Matthew caught himself, “Did I just step in it?”
“Yep,” Sharon jokingly placed a hand on her boyfriend's mouth, “This is why I do most of the talking.”
“Don’t worry,” Kam interjected as he finished up his drink, “She’s not going to be bringing home a bunch of niggas.”
“Jesus Christ,” it was now Lana’s turn to be embarrassed as she buried her face in her hands.
“What? Do I have to get you a ring like my man over here to lock it up?” Kam motioned towards the other couple – Cassie and Brent – who were already engaged at nineteen.
“It would help,” Sharon teased, elbowing her long-time boyfriend.
“Are you one of those ‘saving yourself’ girls? Is that why you got engaged so quickly?” Kam asked Cassie, who was more on the quieter side.
“It doesn’t work like that,” Lana said in amazement, “Besides, that’s rude and not something you should ask someone you just met.”
“What would you know about that?” Kam joked, which managed to get a laughter out of Matthew which earned him a side-eye from all the women at the table.
“I’ll get another round for the table,” Matthew was quick to change the subject, “Same thing for everyone?”
A Manhattan native, he had led them to a bar near Astoria that played it real loose with the National Minimum Drinking Age Act of 1984. While the others played it conservatively with wine and beers, Kam had been knocking down rum-and-Coke’s throughout their entire stay.
He was a social drinker – at best – but after spending all day riding the subway, touring the NYU campus, and then trekking through New York City with Lana’s newfound buddies, his whistle needed more wetting than usual.
“I’m going to take a piss,” Kam whispered to Lana, or at least that was his aim, before getting up from the table.
His first few steps were a bit wobbly, but he managed to get a hold of himself and finish the rest of the walk with his balance underneath him.
“Fuck,” he muttered to himself as he finished up and went to wash his hands, splashing water onto his face as he was a lot more drunk than he had previously realized.
Before he could take two steps out of the bathroom, he was surprised to see Lana waiting for him.
“I don’t think this is a unisex bathroom,” Kam turned around in earnest to re-examine the sign.
“Stop being a fucking idiot,” Lana flicked the back of her fingertips against his chest, getting Kam’s undivided attention.
“Oww!” he exclaimed in pain, “What the fuck was that for?”
“You’re acting like a fucking dickhead,” she was never one to mince words.
“I’m sorry I don’t want to talk about the Patygiron theorem or whatever the fuck y’all bitches was talking about before.”
Instead of a flick, it was the palm of Lana’s hands that now met Kam’s face and sent him stumbling a few steps back and was aided by the bathroom door in keeping him upright.
“Get your shit together,” she said calmly and plainly before walking back towards their table.
“Fucking bitch,” he shook his head as he opted for the Irish goodbye and walked past the table and out the door.
…
“I’m not critiquing your parenting skills!”
“Yes, you are. What else would you call this?”
“Being a friend…. an accountability partner…. what I would want from you if the roles were reversed.”
“Sorry son…your mom is dead…also, hello!”
“Don’t do that.”
“Do what? It wasn’t exactly the right fucking setting for us to have this fucking Kumbaya that you want us to have.”
Taylour was getting frustrated in a way that only Kwame could induce, “Do you not also want that Kumbaya moment, as you call it?”
“If it happens,” Kwame shrugged, “You know I have a shit ton of regrets about how everything went down and how I should have been there for him and fought for him so what, do you want me to also nail myself to the cross in front of him to get some sympathy points from him? He’s a fucking kid, I don’t expect him to understand, and he shouldn’t!”
“All I’m saying is you guys should have spoken more,” she wasn’t sure how the planning of their summer vacations had ended up in an argument, “Even if neither are y’all were ready to have that real conversation, just talk to him about something, anything.”
“I mean, you’re right but you’re also wrong,” Kwame’s concession helped bring the tenor of the discussion down a few octaves, “I want to be there for him but also inserting myself at that moment would have felt…fake and forced and shit and if he’s anything like me, he would have seen it coming from a mile away.”
“And if it is genuine – and I know it is – he’ll also see that too.”
…
“Listen man, if you don’t have your ID on you, I can’t serve you. I don’t know how many times I have to tell you this.”
“You’re really going to make me walk all the way home to get my wallet?”
“If you don’t got your wallet, how are you going to pay for your drinks anyway?”
“I can Apple Pay you bro,” Kam quickly expanded the lie, “Cash App, whatever works for you.”
“Get out of here,” the bartender shook his head with a smile, halfway appreciative of the lengths Kam had gone to elicit a drink from him.
Kam’s initial buzz had worn off and despite the several missed calls from Lana, he had remained steadfast on his quest to get a few more drinks in.
“Yo, my man,” he tried to stop a Black male in his 30s but he kept it pushing, not even bothering to slow down his gait.
He spotted a couple that were headed towards the bar and quickly stepped in front of them, opening the door for them.
“No problem,” he responded to their subdued ‘thank you’, “I left my wallet at home, anyway y’all can get me a beer or something?”
“Sorry man,” the guy quickly answered before seating himself at the bar with his girlfriend.
Kam attempted to push his luck but then made eye contact with the bartender and quickly exited the premise, having already been forcibly removed from another bar just a few minutes prior.
…
“What you mean you don’t got it?”
“I can Cash App you some of it,” Kam managed to get out as he tried to stay upright, the liquor in his system whooping his ass.
“This ain’t no payment plan shit!”
Kam’s plan of finding somewhere that would serve him succeeded but his plan hadn’t accounted for the fact that he would need to pay the bill. His drunken state had removed the option of running out on the bill as it was the bartender that had woken him up after he passed out on the counter.
“I don’t have it man,” Kam kept reiterating as he tried to lay back on the counter, only for the bartender to aggressively shake his shoulder, “Bro, I don’t got the fucking money, man.”
“Ayo, DJ!”
Kam’s attempt to fall back asleep was interrupted as he was abruptly lifted from his seat and escorted to the back of the establishment.
“I ain’t washing no dishes right now,” Kam was gravely mistaken as the next thing that met his face was a closed fist followed by a rain of boots.
“I do,” Kam nodded with a smile, trying to mask his blush, “You’re not too hard on the eyes either.”
The setting wasn’t a secluded beach with the sunset behind them but instead a packed subway train that had come to yet another brief stop. Kam hung onto the straphangers while Lana sat in front of him, ever mindful of how many stops they had left.
Kam’s busy football schedule had made this trek fewer and further in between, making it something that Lana always cherished and looked forward to. This time, however, was a bit different as they wouldn’t aimlessly walk around New York City but instead be meeting up with her future roommates.
Her acceptance into her dream university was contingent on her enrolling in the summer, giving her an opportunity to adjust to the college lifestyle without a full course load, smaller class size and an overall, less hectic college experience. At least that's what her counselor told her.
“I hope they’re not weird,” Kam remarked as Lana stood up with their stop being the next one.
“I’m weird,” Lana replied, already a bit defensive of the people she’d be spending the next twelve weeks with.
“You know what I mean,” Kam deadpanned, “That college girl Jamal was seeing was fucking lame as shit.”
“Any girl in college that’s dating a high school junior is bound to be lame,” Lana agreed, “And she was white.”
“That’s hate,” Kam cut his laughter short as he quickly reminded himself that the only time Lana ever got upset about their less-than-monogamous ways was when he caught a handy from a classmate of fair complexion, “They’re keeping all the negros together.”
“I think one of them is Brazilian,” Lana corrected Kam as they made their way out of the subway, taking a moment to get their bearings together and find the correct exit, “She’s not going to be here today though, she doesn’t get in until like the day before school starts. She doesn’t even join our Zoom calls or nothing, either.”
“I mean, you guys have been like talking to each other 24/7 since you got roomed together. Like damn, y’all already know everything about each other by now.”
“I’m going to be sleeping with these people,” Lana’s choice of words drew a childish giggle from Kam, “Not like that. You know what I mean, I don’t know, maybe it’s just a girl thing.”
“I’m just a girl,” Kam mocked her as the sunshine hit them and the bustling city welcomed them.
…
“How long have you guys been dating?”
“We’re…. friends,” Lana couldn’t help but laugh as she had already explained their situationship to her future roommates who apparently hadn’t conveyed the message to their respective partners.
“Oh,” Matthew caught himself, “Did I just step in it?”
“Yep,” Sharon jokingly placed a hand on her boyfriend's mouth, “This is why I do most of the talking.”
“Don’t worry,” Kam interjected as he finished up his drink, “She’s not going to be bringing home a bunch of niggas.”
“Jesus Christ,” it was now Lana’s turn to be embarrassed as she buried her face in her hands.
“What? Do I have to get you a ring like my man over here to lock it up?” Kam motioned towards the other couple – Cassie and Brent – who were already engaged at nineteen.
“It would help,” Sharon teased, elbowing her long-time boyfriend.
“Are you one of those ‘saving yourself’ girls? Is that why you got engaged so quickly?” Kam asked Cassie, who was more on the quieter side.
“It doesn’t work like that,” Lana said in amazement, “Besides, that’s rude and not something you should ask someone you just met.”
“What would you know about that?” Kam joked, which managed to get a laughter out of Matthew which earned him a side-eye from all the women at the table.
“I’ll get another round for the table,” Matthew was quick to change the subject, “Same thing for everyone?”
A Manhattan native, he had led them to a bar near Astoria that played it real loose with the National Minimum Drinking Age Act of 1984. While the others played it conservatively with wine and beers, Kam had been knocking down rum-and-Coke’s throughout their entire stay.
He was a social drinker – at best – but after spending all day riding the subway, touring the NYU campus, and then trekking through New York City with Lana’s newfound buddies, his whistle needed more wetting than usual.
“I’m going to take a piss,” Kam whispered to Lana, or at least that was his aim, before getting up from the table.
His first few steps were a bit wobbly, but he managed to get a hold of himself and finish the rest of the walk with his balance underneath him.
“Fuck,” he muttered to himself as he finished up and went to wash his hands, splashing water onto his face as he was a lot more drunk than he had previously realized.
Before he could take two steps out of the bathroom, he was surprised to see Lana waiting for him.
“I don’t think this is a unisex bathroom,” Kam turned around in earnest to re-examine the sign.
“Stop being a fucking idiot,” Lana flicked the back of her fingertips against his chest, getting Kam’s undivided attention.
“Oww!” he exclaimed in pain, “What the fuck was that for?”
“You’re acting like a fucking dickhead,” she was never one to mince words.
“I’m sorry I don’t want to talk about the Patygiron theorem or whatever the fuck y’all bitches was talking about before.”
Instead of a flick, it was the palm of Lana’s hands that now met Kam’s face and sent him stumbling a few steps back and was aided by the bathroom door in keeping him upright.
“Get your shit together,” she said calmly and plainly before walking back towards their table.
“Fucking bitch,” he shook his head as he opted for the Irish goodbye and walked past the table and out the door.
…
“I’m not critiquing your parenting skills!”
“Yes, you are. What else would you call this?”
“Being a friend…. an accountability partner…. what I would want from you if the roles were reversed.”
“Sorry son…your mom is dead…also, hello!”
“Don’t do that.”
“Do what? It wasn’t exactly the right fucking setting for us to have this fucking Kumbaya that you want us to have.”
Taylour was getting frustrated in a way that only Kwame could induce, “Do you not also want that Kumbaya moment, as you call it?”
“If it happens,” Kwame shrugged, “You know I have a shit ton of regrets about how everything went down and how I should have been there for him and fought for him so what, do you want me to also nail myself to the cross in front of him to get some sympathy points from him? He’s a fucking kid, I don’t expect him to understand, and he shouldn’t!”
“All I’m saying is you guys should have spoken more,” she wasn’t sure how the planning of their summer vacations had ended up in an argument, “Even if neither are y’all were ready to have that real conversation, just talk to him about something, anything.”
“I mean, you’re right but you’re also wrong,” Kwame’s concession helped bring the tenor of the discussion down a few octaves, “I want to be there for him but also inserting myself at that moment would have felt…fake and forced and shit and if he’s anything like me, he would have seen it coming from a mile away.”
“And if it is genuine – and I know it is – he’ll also see that too.”
…
“Listen man, if you don’t have your ID on you, I can’t serve you. I don’t know how many times I have to tell you this.”
“You’re really going to make me walk all the way home to get my wallet?”
“If you don’t got your wallet, how are you going to pay for your drinks anyway?”
“I can Apple Pay you bro,” Kam quickly expanded the lie, “Cash App, whatever works for you.”
“Get out of here,” the bartender shook his head with a smile, halfway appreciative of the lengths Kam had gone to elicit a drink from him.
Kam’s initial buzz had worn off and despite the several missed calls from Lana, he had remained steadfast on his quest to get a few more drinks in.
“Yo, my man,” he tried to stop a Black male in his 30s but he kept it pushing, not even bothering to slow down his gait.
He spotted a couple that were headed towards the bar and quickly stepped in front of them, opening the door for them.
“No problem,” he responded to their subdued ‘thank you’, “I left my wallet at home, anyway y’all can get me a beer or something?”
“Sorry man,” the guy quickly answered before seating himself at the bar with his girlfriend.
Kam attempted to push his luck but then made eye contact with the bartender and quickly exited the premise, having already been forcibly removed from another bar just a few minutes prior.
…
“What you mean you don’t got it?”
“I can Cash App you some of it,” Kam managed to get out as he tried to stay upright, the liquor in his system whooping his ass.
“This ain’t no payment plan shit!”
Kam’s plan of finding somewhere that would serve him succeeded but his plan hadn’t accounted for the fact that he would need to pay the bill. His drunken state had removed the option of running out on the bill as it was the bartender that had woken him up after he passed out on the counter.
“I don’t have it man,” Kam kept reiterating as he tried to lay back on the counter, only for the bartender to aggressively shake his shoulder, “Bro, I don’t got the fucking money, man.”
“Ayo, DJ!”
Kam’s attempt to fall back asleep was interrupted as he was abruptly lifted from his seat and escorted to the back of the establishment.
“I ain’t washing no dishes right now,” Kam was gravely mistaken as the next thing that met his face was a closed fist followed by a rain of boots.
-
Captain Canada
- Posts: 2267
- Joined: 01 Dec 2018, 00:15
Requiem for a Broken Dream.
Getting stomped out while drunk is foul as fuck 
Requiem for a Broken Dream.
a hangover with a case of the BEATS is crazy
Requiem for a Broken Dream.
Kam took a final swig from his Gatorade, tossing the empty bottle to the trash and grabbed another one. The stitches on his busted lip made drinking a painful experience but the electrolytes in the Gatorade were working wonders on his hangover.
“Your dad is here,” his grandfather popped his head into the room, “Get your ass up.”
…
“He’s a good kid,” Jolie shook her head, “I see this a lot though, even with the younger kids. Whenever they start acting out, you can bet there’s something going on at home.”
“What was the point of him seeing that lady doctor then?” Kwame sucked his teeth, “He could have gotten himself killed.”
“She’s not a miracle worker and the only thing that’s going to help that boy is the good Lord above and love and care from his family. I don’t care how many degrees she got up on her wall.”
“Was she helping though? I mean, should he still be seeing her like on Zoom or something or maybe call in…. or maybe I can find someone else down there for him?”
“What that boy needs is his father,” Dustin said flatly as he reached the bottom step, “God bless Macie and Cory, but they coddled that boy too much. You raise a boy in a garden, he ain’t ready for war time.”
“Just,” Jolie sighed, “Find that balance, son. He needs some discipline, but he also needs some loving.”
…
“Hurry up and get dressed,” Kwame instructed, not bothering to stop what he was doing as he packed his gym bag, “You’ll probably want to bring at least a couple of shirts, it gets muggy in there.”
“Dressed for what?” Kam asked, looking up from his phone.
“I wasn’t playing with you last night,” Kwame scoffed, “I’m not about to have you run up my electric bill, not doing shit but playing video games all summer.”
“Isn’t that what summer’s for?”
“Ain’t you supposed to be a football player or something? What happened to the Rutgers camp I said I was going to pay for? Or getting some work in with my boy Ju down at the park? If you think them little morning runs is all you need to stay in shape, you got another thing coming for you when the fall comes.”
“I don’t even know if I'm going to be playing,” Kam shrugged, halfway serious as football had been the last thing on his mind these last couple of weeks. The other half just wanted to get his dad off his back.
“Even more reason why you’re coming with me today,” Kwame started clapping his hands, “Come on, now. If your ass makes me late for my first session, you’re going to be on the bike for the whole day.”
“Fuck me,” Kam muttered to himself as he peeled himself off the couch, having learned in just a few days that living with his biological father meant no wiggle room, no bartering.
…
“Keep it tight,” Kwame swung his right mitt aggressively towards her head, catching her face on her exit.
“In and out,” he re-emphasized, “Double up on the jab, step back, one, two, step back, fire again with the right. Let’s go!”
Kam continued to watch from a distance, both catching his breath and picking up some pointers from her technique. She had gotten the best of him during their light sparring earlier in the day, peppering him with light shots that didn’t do much damage but did frustrate him and drained him of his energy.
She was of diminutive size with quick hands but more importantly, shapely with a pretty face. While she had at least a decade on Kam, her beauty still served a purpose as it kept his dad occupied even when class had concluded, and it was just the three of them in between sessions.
“You’re staying for another class?” Kwame asked as he put the mitts away.
“I don’t see why not,” she shrugged, “I got the day off and I’m still feeling pretty good.”
“He’s still shorting your hours?”
“I’m done complaining,” she laughed, “I’m just going to pop in one day, tell him it’s my last day and he can figure that shit out.”
“Barb still works there?”
Kam seized on the opportunity to sneak out of the gym which was a glorified storage unit with a small ring, two heavy bags, a stationary bike and a grappling mat covering the rest of the floor.
“Be back before six!” Kwame yelled out, having caught his son but not turning down the opportunity for some one-on-one time with his trainee.
…
“Stop fucking switching and stay on your man!”
Kam seized on the moment of frustration and drove in on his defender, knocking him back with a shoulder bump before elevating and finishing at the rim.
“He don’t got no fucking left!” Andre cried out to his teammate, “Make him go left!”
“Shut the fuck up,” one of Kam’s teammates, Marcus, shouted back, “He was busting your ass too, nigga! Take his ass to the rack, Jersey!”
A smile crept up on Kam’s face as the ball was checked and immediately passed to him. While he was far from an elite basketball player, his combination of his size and speed had proven to be too much for these weekday warriors and the skill gap between Florida and New Jersey was evident on the basketball court.
Kam calmly dribbled the ball from left to right and then back to his left hand before exploding to his left, hesitating, stepping back and rising for a mid-range jumper that rattled in.
“Game out, fuck nigga!” Marcus shouted towards Andre.
“Talk your shit,” another teammate, Aaron, approached Kam and dapped him up, “These niggas can’t fuck with us.”
Kam had stumbled onto a highly competitive basketball game just a few steps from their apartment where he had originally planned to take a nap. Instead, he had found his second wind during their impressive string of games, clearing the park out of competitors.
“You’re going to make me a lot of money,” Marcus, the most talkative of the bunch, said as they took a reprieve on the bench after collecting on their bet.
“The glazing is crazy,” Andre interjected, shaking his head as he watched the rest of his teammates continue to bicker among themselves.
“Don’t be mad you got dropped, nigga. You should have just got next instead of running with those sorry ass niggas,” Marcus fired back.
“You don’t ever pass me the rock, nigga. I could go crazy on these niggas if you let a nigga win, you feel me?”
“Flaco, how many times this nigga done sold on us for game point? He thinks he Kobe but he really J.R. Smith!”
Johnny, who they sometimes called Flaco, simply laughed with a nod of approval.
“J.R. was nice now,” Kam defended one of his favorite Knick players of all time.
“What you trying to say, I ain’t nice?” Andre sucked his teeth, “Don’t let this nigga trick you into thinking I won’t kill all you little niggas in one’s.”
“You could be nice, bro, I just ain’t seen it yet,” Kam egged on the shit talking.
“We could play one’s right now, for bread too!”
“Line it up,” Kam quickly got up, “Fuck is you talking about?”
“Let’s get it!” Johnny amped it up.
“As much as I want to see this nigga whoop your ass, we got shit to do nigga.”
“Damn,” Andre tapped his pockets, looking for his phone, “What time is it?”
“We was supposed to be there like ten minutes ago,” Marcus shook his head, grabbing his stuff, “You trying to slide, Jersey?”
“Yeah,” he quickly replied, not giving it much thought, not realizing the course of his life would change forever with that one syllable.
“Your dad is here,” his grandfather popped his head into the room, “Get your ass up.”
…
“He’s a good kid,” Jolie shook her head, “I see this a lot though, even with the younger kids. Whenever they start acting out, you can bet there’s something going on at home.”
“What was the point of him seeing that lady doctor then?” Kwame sucked his teeth, “He could have gotten himself killed.”
“She’s not a miracle worker and the only thing that’s going to help that boy is the good Lord above and love and care from his family. I don’t care how many degrees she got up on her wall.”
“Was she helping though? I mean, should he still be seeing her like on Zoom or something or maybe call in…. or maybe I can find someone else down there for him?”
“What that boy needs is his father,” Dustin said flatly as he reached the bottom step, “God bless Macie and Cory, but they coddled that boy too much. You raise a boy in a garden, he ain’t ready for war time.”
“Just,” Jolie sighed, “Find that balance, son. He needs some discipline, but he also needs some loving.”
…
“Hurry up and get dressed,” Kwame instructed, not bothering to stop what he was doing as he packed his gym bag, “You’ll probably want to bring at least a couple of shirts, it gets muggy in there.”
“Dressed for what?” Kam asked, looking up from his phone.
“I wasn’t playing with you last night,” Kwame scoffed, “I’m not about to have you run up my electric bill, not doing shit but playing video games all summer.”
“Isn’t that what summer’s for?”
“Ain’t you supposed to be a football player or something? What happened to the Rutgers camp I said I was going to pay for? Or getting some work in with my boy Ju down at the park? If you think them little morning runs is all you need to stay in shape, you got another thing coming for you when the fall comes.”
“I don’t even know if I'm going to be playing,” Kam shrugged, halfway serious as football had been the last thing on his mind these last couple of weeks. The other half just wanted to get his dad off his back.
“Even more reason why you’re coming with me today,” Kwame started clapping his hands, “Come on, now. If your ass makes me late for my first session, you’re going to be on the bike for the whole day.”
“Fuck me,” Kam muttered to himself as he peeled himself off the couch, having learned in just a few days that living with his biological father meant no wiggle room, no bartering.
…
“Keep it tight,” Kwame swung his right mitt aggressively towards her head, catching her face on her exit.
“In and out,” he re-emphasized, “Double up on the jab, step back, one, two, step back, fire again with the right. Let’s go!”
Kam continued to watch from a distance, both catching his breath and picking up some pointers from her technique. She had gotten the best of him during their light sparring earlier in the day, peppering him with light shots that didn’t do much damage but did frustrate him and drained him of his energy.
She was of diminutive size with quick hands but more importantly, shapely with a pretty face. While she had at least a decade on Kam, her beauty still served a purpose as it kept his dad occupied even when class had concluded, and it was just the three of them in between sessions.
“You’re staying for another class?” Kwame asked as he put the mitts away.
“I don’t see why not,” she shrugged, “I got the day off and I’m still feeling pretty good.”
“He’s still shorting your hours?”
“I’m done complaining,” she laughed, “I’m just going to pop in one day, tell him it’s my last day and he can figure that shit out.”
“Barb still works there?”
Kam seized on the opportunity to sneak out of the gym which was a glorified storage unit with a small ring, two heavy bags, a stationary bike and a grappling mat covering the rest of the floor.
“Be back before six!” Kwame yelled out, having caught his son but not turning down the opportunity for some one-on-one time with his trainee.
…
“Stop fucking switching and stay on your man!”
Kam seized on the moment of frustration and drove in on his defender, knocking him back with a shoulder bump before elevating and finishing at the rim.
“He don’t got no fucking left!” Andre cried out to his teammate, “Make him go left!”
“Shut the fuck up,” one of Kam’s teammates, Marcus, shouted back, “He was busting your ass too, nigga! Take his ass to the rack, Jersey!”
A smile crept up on Kam’s face as the ball was checked and immediately passed to him. While he was far from an elite basketball player, his combination of his size and speed had proven to be too much for these weekday warriors and the skill gap between Florida and New Jersey was evident on the basketball court.
Kam calmly dribbled the ball from left to right and then back to his left hand before exploding to his left, hesitating, stepping back and rising for a mid-range jumper that rattled in.
“Game out, fuck nigga!” Marcus shouted towards Andre.
“Talk your shit,” another teammate, Aaron, approached Kam and dapped him up, “These niggas can’t fuck with us.”
Kam had stumbled onto a highly competitive basketball game just a few steps from their apartment where he had originally planned to take a nap. Instead, he had found his second wind during their impressive string of games, clearing the park out of competitors.
“You’re going to make me a lot of money,” Marcus, the most talkative of the bunch, said as they took a reprieve on the bench after collecting on their bet.
“The glazing is crazy,” Andre interjected, shaking his head as he watched the rest of his teammates continue to bicker among themselves.
“Don’t be mad you got dropped, nigga. You should have just got next instead of running with those sorry ass niggas,” Marcus fired back.
“You don’t ever pass me the rock, nigga. I could go crazy on these niggas if you let a nigga win, you feel me?”
“Flaco, how many times this nigga done sold on us for game point? He thinks he Kobe but he really J.R. Smith!”
Johnny, who they sometimes called Flaco, simply laughed with a nod of approval.
“J.R. was nice now,” Kam defended one of his favorite Knick players of all time.
“What you trying to say, I ain’t nice?” Andre sucked his teeth, “Don’t let this nigga trick you into thinking I won’t kill all you little niggas in one’s.”
“You could be nice, bro, I just ain’t seen it yet,” Kam egged on the shit talking.
“We could play one’s right now, for bread too!”
“Line it up,” Kam quickly got up, “Fuck is you talking about?”
“Let’s get it!” Johnny amped it up.
“As much as I want to see this nigga whoop your ass, we got shit to do nigga.”
“Damn,” Andre tapped his pockets, looking for his phone, “What time is it?”
“We was supposed to be there like ten minutes ago,” Marcus shook his head, grabbing his stuff, “You trying to slide, Jersey?”
“Yeah,” he quickly replied, not giving it much thought, not realizing the course of his life would change forever with that one syllable.
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Captain Canada
- Posts: 2267
- Joined: 01 Dec 2018, 00:15
Requiem for a Broken Dream.
Oh we back, just like that? 
Requiem for a Broken Dream.
was in the drafts for a week, finally bit the bullet and finished it off
i might drop another one this week, july 19th around the corner
Requiem for a Broken Dream.
That boy a D1 crash out (as the kids say)
Also, the word yeah is two syllables. Ye-ah.
Also, the word yeah is two syllables. Ye-ah.
