AFTER BEING GIVEN THE OPPORTUNITY, Revea Rosenburg is now being assigned to the UConn basketball teams as their reporter. Despite only being 22, she has already become a rising star in the world of basketball media and analytics thanks to a rather...
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It began with the bounce of a basketball, followed by the soft pitter patter of the rain. It drips patiently, as if a small warning of what's to come. Unfortunately, warnings cannot be easily understood by a child. Much less a twelve year old girl who had been absolutely fascinated by a few basketball tricks, so much so that even dark clouds and precipitation couldn't stop her. Even if someone had told her that it would be pouring endlessly for the rest of the evening, it wouldn't stop this girl.
For as long as she had a ball in her hands, some concrete, and a hoop, she would remain fierce and insufferable. The clouds could shout and scream at her perpetually and she'd never stop. The rain could slap her harsher, and whip her like she's done something wrong, but it all felt too right. The simple motion of dribbling entranced her, like a silent promise of forever. And you truly can't blame the girl. She's well past the age where she'd notice that rainbows don't last and the sidewalk chalk drawing she'd spent hours on disappears with a quick splash of water.
But basketball? It doesn't vanish or fade. It doesn't let you believe all of your hard work was for nothing. It doesn't make you feel helpless. It doesn't make you feel any of those things.
The girl now idly looks up at the sky, taking in the fresh scent of earth and mud. As if on cue, the rain subsides for a short moment, and in the distance, a flash of light causes the girl to flinch. The girl's lips form a thin line, as she swallows thickly at the view. Then, just as quickly as it left, the rain came back in full force. It was here that she decided that perhaps the hours spent prior to all this was enough. After all, only now does she truly begin to understand how sopping wet she was. Her clothes clinged onto her tightly, while her shoes made small squelching sounds every time she put weight on them. Her hair was making it all even worse, as enough strands had escaped from her ponytail to cover her forehead almost entirely. Water dripped down her face, stopping briefly against the curve of her nose before impatiently falling onto her lips. She licked it subconsciously, the taste of rain cold and rigid against her tongue. She had also felt that her taste buds were telling her to go home, and her shivering body was very attracted to the idea. Sighing to herself, she picks up her basketball, which is in no better condition than her, and turns on her heels to walk back to her house.
She doesn't reach further than five adult steps, though, as another girl around her same age and height sprints towards her. She is wearing a raincoat and rainboots, the self explanatory outfit for the situation they were in. People would be earnestly impressed at how speedy a child could be when they have a clear goal.
She now stands face to face with the other girl who is in a long sleeved t-shirt, shorts, and running shoes. She frowns.
Holding up an identical, more ideal outfit, the runner quickly hands it over to the one that replies to the gesture with a dumbfounded expression on her face. It would have been funny if it weren't for the fact that the runner believed the other was going to die from a serious cold. Before the girl with the basketball could even accept the gifts, the runner shoves the coat against her back and through force, finally gets the girl into proper clothing for the weather. Dragging her away, the runner tells her a multitude of things. It was the childhood equivalent of cursing and berating.
