I live for her

Chapter 5: Mac Daddy Leroy

The coffee high was real... I could feel it surge through my veins. It made us play bball at a totally new level: his dribbling was erratic, his movements were no longer predictable... I spent my time on defense relying upon my instincts and too afraid to attempt to read his unstable motions. He got me - well, he thought he got me - I saw him flash a grin as the ball bounced through the open space between my seemingly useless and lanky twig-like legs... I'll be honest, I didn't know what I was doing... I'd like to coin it "relying on instincts": I tailed his behind, gaining in speed, I sensed hope thinning as his hands arched before a defenseless hoop - but my body ignored the doubtful voices in my head.

My feet kept racing towards the cheeky baller, my hands rose up like a dark cloud drowning his parade in gloomy tears - he let go of the ball, my feet leaped forward and upon hearing the "BAM!" against my calloused palms, I knew it was my turn to beam his eyes blind with a cheeky grin. (My right hand was really sore after that - but don't tell him that. I smiled as though I didn't want to chop my hand off because of how much pain was throbbing through its veins.).

"Fuck!"

My cheeks elevated to allow for a wider grin. "Lol, I'm sorry."  

"Just shut up please," he said as he wiped off the film of sweat gravitating towards his chin. 

I spread my arms wide to accentuate the aura of confidence that only protecting the 3-metre hoop could bestow upon my lanky bones. "Did you seriously think you could get past this wing span?" 

He smiled and gave me that nod that said I was feeling myself too much and he was coming back. He took the ball and bounced it with his right hand as he made it to the top of the three pointer line. He began to reflect on what had just happened, I could tell because he was in his head: his eyes had glazed over. He smiled. I knew Max too well, I knew that smile was to cue my defeat... I knew he'd birthed a new card up his sleeve into existence. And I knew that I should have been scared, something inside me did squirm, but pretty much my whole body was burning with excitement and anticipation, I wanted a challenge: I wanted my limbs to tingle with euphoria, I wanted my brain to be flooded with calculations. I wanted him to make me afraid again... of something other than...

The ball jetted towards my eyes, the minuscule projections of the ball's grip were coming for my eyes and reflexively my right hand came up and stopped the ball in its straight motion towards my visage. It made a loud thump as I cupped it. I bounced the ball back to Max, saw him smirk before he accelerated towards the right side of my peripheral vision. 

I stayed back and waited impatiently for him to charge towards the hoop. I saw his form take on a shooting position, I saw his eyes glint with confidence, I felt my legs dashing towards his average height body. I heard my brain say it was a fake... But it was too late: he leaped, I leaped and my heart screamed "Shit!" when his Nikes made contact with the court before mine did and he flawlessly made it to the hoop and started his lay up. But, in basketball, you don't give up... until you're fouled and the ref blows his whistle. Yes, there was no ref - but there also was no giving up. 

A sweat droplet invades the cornea of my left eye. It starts to sting, my left eye starts to sting, he starts to swing, his right arm starts to swing. My legs lunge, my heart thuds, thuds, thuds... My heart stops. Every single muscle in my body contracted just to get me flying and like a sun, the ball before my right eye was there. But it was like a sun, so my right hand extends, but my middle finger can only extend so far. It was like a sun setting, welcoming the moon to rule the skies of a night that's ideal for sorrow and melancholy; the ball hits the rim. The rusty rim makes a clink sound like Fate was clinking a glass of wine with Max: a toast of celebration before the victory makes its way to the present. And as my time in the air reaches zero, and gravity is suddenly birthed into existence: my body drops, my heart drops, my soul drops. My gluteus maximus kissed the sun-stricken courts and the sun descended through the net that I was supposed to leave untouched. (It's the Nikes... if I had such a good pair of basketball shoes that wouldn't have happened. No, I'm not being a sore loser, it's the truth. No offence to Addidas... none whatsoever.).