His Final Shot

Chapter 3

He jumped onto his bed letting his muscular arms rest, and his sweaty hair lay on his white pillow. David's bedroom was small, but small enough. His bed lay next to an open window on one side, and a cold wall incase he got really hot at night. His desk was on the opposite side of his bed, which was the messiest part of his room with paper covering every edge including his computer. David first glanced at the shelf full of trophies, which meant nothing to him. David shifted his body, and finally found himself facing his bedside table that contained a picture frame of his Father and him. He remembered that day so well.

Tears rolled down David's cheek as he began to recall the memory.

It was the year 2004, and David and his parents had gone to watch the game of the season; Chicago Bulls vs. Miami Heat. The whole of Chicago had their eyes glued to this game, and it just happened to be so that they got front row seats. It was perfect. Perfect. Players drove the ball from one side of the court to the other. And salty sweat ran down their faces like a cold rainy day. Shots taken. Shots missed. The excitement of the game was amazing. The atmosphere was indescribable. It was seconds to the end of the amazing game and the score was Bulls 95-102 Heat. Everyone was at the edges of their seats. Both teams held their heads high, and were determined to win. As the final buzzer rang David and his father jumped into the air, not in excitement but in frustration. As they did so, David heard a click and saw his father wide eyed in confusion just as he was.

"Why'd you do that?" he half screamingly asked trying over power the sounds of the half cheering stadium.

"Because both my favorite boys are together and nothing could be more perfect." David's mother replied in a confident voice, like the confident women she was. 

She was right. It was perfect.

David whipped his tears not allowing himself to cry over the past. He knew those days were over, but his dream lived on. He would one day be one of those players who drove the ball from on side of the court to the other. His sweat would run down his face like a cold rainy day. He would take shots. He would miss shots. But he would make his father proud, because one way or another he would get into college. Whether Butch gave him the money to do so or not.

Not long after, David slept.

And dreamed peacefully.