Grace

13. Machine

Thunk.

Thunk.

Thunk.

The basketball pounded a steady rhythm against the concrete. The driveway was getting shabby, Jordan noticed. There were cracks in the cement and weeds were thrusting their ugly heads through the openings, widening them, splitting the concrete apart.

Swish.

Jordan threw the ball cleanly through the net without once touching the rim of the hoop. It was quite an impressive shot, considering the fact that two of his fingers were encased in fiberglass. He caught the ball and resumed the pounding rhythm.

Rubber on concrete. Cars driving past the front of the house. Dust on his hands. Weeds in the driveway.

Thunk.

A machine. That's what he was now. It was weird, how one moment you could be so full of life and hope and happiness, and the next moment all those things could be flushed right out of you, leaving nothing but a hollow shell behind.

What time was it now? He supposed time still went on, even if he didn't. He glanced at his watch. 6:01 p.m. In Fort Worth, a plane was touching down.

And Caleb wasn't on it.

His brother hadn't even made it to the U.S. base for treatment. There had been a freak accident. A landmine. Jordan could picture it in his head: a heavily- fortified army medical truck driving over the sand. A sudden boom and a ball of fire and gas. Had it been quick? How long had Caleb endured the suffocating flames, the smell of his own body burning, burning...

The basketball missed the net completely and banged violently into the closed garage door. Jordan watched it roll down into the alley without moving.

He didn't care what happened to it.