Requiem for a Broken Dream.
Posted: 16 May 2024, 13:54
“Ball up top nigga, stop bitching!”
“You’re the one acting all sensitive,” Kam remarked, shaking his head as he wiped the sweat from his brow with the shoulder of his shirt, “It’s a fucking contact sport.”
He tried his best to hide the wry smile that was creeping up on his face as getting under Jamal’s skin was perhaps his favorite past time. As soon as he checked the ball, Kam attached himself to Jamal’s hip, constantly pulling at his shirt.
“That’s right, fuck nigga!” Kam exclaimed as Jamal passed the ball, which was required by rule for play to officially begin but didn’t stop Kam’s words from penetrating through.
“Right here,” Jamal clapped his hands, demanding the ball back.
They had graduated into being the elder statesmen of the court so with no hesitation, Jamal’s teammate fired the pass back towards him which Kam anticipated and intercepted. In one swooping motion, Kam turned around and lobbed it towards the paint where his oversized, fifteen-year-old teammate took one hard-dribble before grazing the rim with a two-handed dunk.
“Game out! You can’t fuck with me!” Kam got right in Jamal’s face, eliciting laughter from both as Jamal jokingly pushed him away.
…
“You want another one?” the waitress shouted over the loud noise as she approached her usual customer.
“Keep them coming,” the heavy-set gentleman let out a subdued burp before finishing the rest of his pint, “Excuse me.”
“Shot and a beer?” she didn’t mind, he was a heavy tipper.
“You know it,” he smiled, “Make it a double, it’s getting to be quitting time for my ole lady.”
…
“Niggas get a couple fluke wins and lose themselves,” Jamal said to no one as he walked off the court, taking his drenched shirt off and throwing it towards the empty bleachers.
“You’ve been getting cooked all day, fuck is you talking about?” Kam shook his head in amazement.
“Nigga, you barbecue chicken when I step on this court. Finger licking good.”
“Ayooooooo!” screamed the peanut gallery that surrounded them.
“It’s y’all that be on that gay shit,” Jamal tried to clean it up, but the entire court had already decided that he was in violation.
“You’re wrong for that,” said one of his own teammates, holding their hands up.
“Players fuck up too,” he finally copped to it, taking a seat on the bleachers as the sun had given way to the moon, “What y’all up to after this?”
…
“I think that’s enough for right now,” Macie told her daughter as she pulled the dessert plate away from her, drawing a furrow brow that only lasted a few moments before Anna’s eyes were redirected towards the tablet in front of her.
“Kam likes those little sliders, right?” Cory reached out and touched his wife’s arm to get her attention, slightly startling her.
“We’re not getting him anything,” she shook her head in disagreement, “He can’t keep flaking on us on family night and still get to eat out.”
“Come on,” Cory pleaded, “I know you remember being that age, always wanting to hang out with your friends. You probably were a lot of trouble, weren’t you?”
“I don’t know about all that,” she smiled, “I certainly wasn’t Mr. All-American, mathlete, debate team captain.”
“I wasn’t any of that,” Cory laughed, “You need to stop creating this narrative and stop running away from the fact that you were a lil’ hot ass in your heyday. Still are.”
“Glad you corrected yourself,” she leaned in for a kiss, not particularly caring that they were at Cheesecake Factory.
…
The porch light flickered on as Kam reached his destination, unlocking the door to step into an oddly quiet home. He did not expect to have beaten them home but was glad to as he hurried to his room.
His phone, forgotten in the excitement of the games, was dead. He plugged it in and hopped in the shower, eager to wash away the stench of basketball and Backwoods. Surprised that they were still not home as he got out of the shower, he grabbed his now charged phone as the screen lit up with a barrage of missed calls, text messages and voicemails flooded in.
"Emergency... car crash... your family..." The words blurred together as Kam's world came crashing down.
“You’re the one acting all sensitive,” Kam remarked, shaking his head as he wiped the sweat from his brow with the shoulder of his shirt, “It’s a fucking contact sport.”
He tried his best to hide the wry smile that was creeping up on his face as getting under Jamal’s skin was perhaps his favorite past time. As soon as he checked the ball, Kam attached himself to Jamal’s hip, constantly pulling at his shirt.
“That’s right, fuck nigga!” Kam exclaimed as Jamal passed the ball, which was required by rule for play to officially begin but didn’t stop Kam’s words from penetrating through.
“Right here,” Jamal clapped his hands, demanding the ball back.
They had graduated into being the elder statesmen of the court so with no hesitation, Jamal’s teammate fired the pass back towards him which Kam anticipated and intercepted. In one swooping motion, Kam turned around and lobbed it towards the paint where his oversized, fifteen-year-old teammate took one hard-dribble before grazing the rim with a two-handed dunk.
“Game out! You can’t fuck with me!” Kam got right in Jamal’s face, eliciting laughter from both as Jamal jokingly pushed him away.
…
“You want another one?” the waitress shouted over the loud noise as she approached her usual customer.
“Keep them coming,” the heavy-set gentleman let out a subdued burp before finishing the rest of his pint, “Excuse me.”
“Shot and a beer?” she didn’t mind, he was a heavy tipper.
“You know it,” he smiled, “Make it a double, it’s getting to be quitting time for my ole lady.”
…
“Niggas get a couple fluke wins and lose themselves,” Jamal said to no one as he walked off the court, taking his drenched shirt off and throwing it towards the empty bleachers.
“You’ve been getting cooked all day, fuck is you talking about?” Kam shook his head in amazement.
“Nigga, you barbecue chicken when I step on this court. Finger licking good.”
“Ayooooooo!” screamed the peanut gallery that surrounded them.
“It’s y’all that be on that gay shit,” Jamal tried to clean it up, but the entire court had already decided that he was in violation.
“You’re wrong for that,” said one of his own teammates, holding their hands up.
“Players fuck up too,” he finally copped to it, taking a seat on the bleachers as the sun had given way to the moon, “What y’all up to after this?”
…
“I think that’s enough for right now,” Macie told her daughter as she pulled the dessert plate away from her, drawing a furrow brow that only lasted a few moments before Anna’s eyes were redirected towards the tablet in front of her.
“Kam likes those little sliders, right?” Cory reached out and touched his wife’s arm to get her attention, slightly startling her.
“We’re not getting him anything,” she shook her head in disagreement, “He can’t keep flaking on us on family night and still get to eat out.”
“Come on,” Cory pleaded, “I know you remember being that age, always wanting to hang out with your friends. You probably were a lot of trouble, weren’t you?”
“I don’t know about all that,” she smiled, “I certainly wasn’t Mr. All-American, mathlete, debate team captain.”
“I wasn’t any of that,” Cory laughed, “You need to stop creating this narrative and stop running away from the fact that you were a lil’ hot ass in your heyday. Still are.”
“Glad you corrected yourself,” she leaned in for a kiss, not particularly caring that they were at Cheesecake Factory.
…
The porch light flickered on as Kam reached his destination, unlocking the door to step into an oddly quiet home. He did not expect to have beaten them home but was glad to as he hurried to his room.
His phone, forgotten in the excitement of the games, was dead. He plugged it in and hopped in the shower, eager to wash away the stench of basketball and Backwoods. Surprised that they were still not home as he got out of the shower, he grabbed his now charged phone as the screen lit up with a barrage of missed calls, text messages and voicemails flooded in.
"Emergency... car crash... your family..." The words blurred together as Kam's world came crashing down.
