𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐄 𝐂𝐋𝐎𝐒𝐄𝐑

12'

Chicago, IL

15 years old
Keontae

"GET THAT OUT OF HERE!" I hollered, slapping the basketball out of my dad's hand.

"Alright, alright. You know I was going easy on you," he said, grabbing the ball by the rim. "Now I'm finna buss your ass, lil man."

I rolled my eyes and chuckled, "Yeah, aight." I had some decent skill, enough to give me a cocky attitude against anyone I played.

He comes up to me, dribbling the ball.

He gives me this sly grin, like he's about to drop some crazy shit. "Watch and learn, kiddo," he teases, bouncing the ball between his legs.

I smirk back at him, ready for whatever he's got. "cmon den, old man," I retort, stepping up my game with a confident stance.

As the dribbling intensifies, he tries a fancy crossover, but I ain't falling for it. "Nah, you can do better than that," I taunt, showing off some slick footwork.

He chuckles, "You got some tricks, huh?" With a quick spin, he breaks my defense, but I quickly recover. "Not so fast, pops," I grin, stealing the ball back.

He surprises me with a lightning-quick snatch-back, Before I can react, he's heading toward the hoop. "You ain't even ready for it!," he boasts, going for a layup.

I sprint after him, determined not to let him score easily. "Think again, old man!" I challenge, leaping to block his shot. He maneuvers, tossing a slick underhand layup that catches me off guard.

The ball swishes through the net, and he turns to me with a triumphant grin. "Smooth as butter, just like the good ol' days," he laughs. I shake my head, admitting, "Alright, you got that one, but it won't happen again, bet that ."

As he basks in his layup glory, his phone suddenly blares a ringtone. He glances at it, his expression shifting. "Hold up, gotta take this," he says, jogging towards the house.

I watch, curiosity piqued, as he disappears inside. The playful banter pauses, replaced by an air of uncertainty.

Left alone on the court, I decide to keep the ball rolling, shooting some solo shots.

After a while, I start to realize he's been gone longer than expected. Dribbling the ball, I glance toward the house, wondering what's keeping him. The backyard echoes with the sound of the bouncing ball, now accompanied by a sense of solitude.

Concerned, I decide to walk into the house, the dribbling ball now silent. As I step inside, an unusual quietness envelops the house, broken only by some muffled groans coming from my dad's room.

I make my way down the hallway, a knot forming in my stomach. Pushing the door open, I find him lying on the bed, looking worn out. "Hey, what's going on?" I ask, genuine worry in my voice.

He manages a weak smile, "Just a headache son" Despite his reassurance, I can't shake the feeling that there's more to the story.

I walk in, and his smile drops as he stares at me. A heavy silence hangs in the air. Instinctively, I look down, noticing pill bottles scattered on the floor along with some pills.

"Pops..?" My voice was weak , scared to come to the realization of what was happening before my eyes , His gaze lingers, and the unspoken truth hangs between us. The gravity of the situation sinks in as I realize something more serious than a headache is at play.

I take a step closer, my eyes widening as I see the extent of the scattered pills. "Pops , what did you do?" I ask, my voice trembling.

His face reveals a mix of regret and realization. "I messed up tae" he whispers with whatever strength he had left, the weight of his actions settling in. he tries to sit up but his body weighed him down , acknowledging the gravity of his mistake.

Panic rises within me as I quickly gather the pill bottles, trying to assess the situation. "We need to get you some help," I insist, my mind racing to figure out the next steps. The air in the room thickens with worry as we confront the reality of the moment.

My hands tremble as I gather the scattered pills, and the room feels suffocating. I glance at the label on one of the bottles, my heart sinking as I realize the severity of the situation. "We gon get you some help dad i promise." I urge, my voice desperate.

His eyes meet mine, a mix of fear and resignation. "I'm sorry, i love you tae" he whispers, his voice strained. The gravity of the moment hits me like a ton of bricks, realizing that my dad is dying from the pills he took.

Panic sets in as I fumble for my phone, dialing for emergency help. Time seems to stretch as we wait for assistance, the room filled with an overwhelming sense of helplessness and the harsh reality of the situation unfolding before us.

I sit by his side, the seconds ticking away like hours. Helplessness consumes me as I watch my dad, his condition worsening. The room echoes with the distant wail of approaching sirens, but each passing moment feels like an eternity.

His breathing becomes labored, and I hold his hand, unable to do anything but be there with him. Tears well up in my eyes as I whisper "It's okay dad , you'll be okay. they on the way.", praying for the sirens to get closer.

The weight of the situation hangs heavy in the air as I witness my dad slipping away. The sound of approaching footsteps finally breaks the silence, but it's a bittersweet relief, knowing that even help might come too late.