Spring

Prologue

Sage Gibson

I can see my breath in the air. It's probably too cold to be out here in shorts, but here I am. Long black shorts and a purple hoodie.

My lungs burn. I don't know if it's because of the cold or because I've been running around this court for hours. My nose and ears are going numb from the wind flying by them.

I don't ever want to leave this place.

This concrete court that's falling apart. It's only got one basketball goal at the end of it, just a hoop no net. Ten feet to the side is the start of the playground at this park. Fifteen feet to the otherside is the backside of my house and my open bedroom window I crawled out of. I doubt I'll ever live this close to a basketball court again.

I've been out here since I got home from school. I missed my mom coming home from work. I missed my little sister finishing up her packing. I'm probably currently missing them loading up the car with the last few boxes of our personal belongings.

I don't want to go back inside. They're taking apart my home bit by bit and storing it all away in moving boxes. No other house will fit the same as this one.

No other place will be as comfortable as here.

I shoot the ball from the three point line. It goes right in the center of the rim. I jog over to catch it before it rolls away.

My basketball is fading. It used to be bright and vibrant. It isn't anymore, now it's dull. I wonder if that's any representation of me. How I'm fading away.

Another three pointer, then a lay-up. My mind quiets when I'm out here.

My throat is starting to hurt from the cold air rushing down it. My chest aches as the winter wind dances around me. I don't stop.

I can't stop. I'm stuck. There's a cycle where I run, shoot, score. I can't leave the spiral. I don't want to.

My mind is cloudy but it still works. It's quieter but it's alive just like it always is. Instead of running it's walking. It cheers when I score and if I take a second too long to hesitate before doing something, it starts thinking again.

Moving away. This place won't be my home anymore. This is going to be the last game I play on this court. This might be the last time I even stand on it.

My concrete court. The place I found my love for basketball. The thing that was young and new when we got here and is now old and falling apart. Everything here is like that. That's why I fit in so well with this place, because I'm falling apart too.

I put up another three pointer. Then I grab the ball and do another. My arms hurt but I can put the ball in the hoop no matter what.

Sometimes I feel like this is all I really have left in my life. Basketball is the one thing I'm good at. It's the one thing I feel okay while doing.

I don't want to leave here.

"Sage!" A six year old's scream jars me out of the state I get in when I play. I look over and I can see the silhouette of my little sister in my bedroom window.

It's time to go. I don't want to go.

Reluctantly, I pick up my basketball and leave the concrete. It hurts me to do so. What hurts even more is the chill that sets in as soon as my mind isn't too focused to notice anymore. Good Lord it's cold out here.