Kiana lay awake in the bed. She had been up for hours but she just didn’t want to move. She had her good days and her bad days. Although she’d divorced herself from her demons, on occasion, they would come calling and sometimes that was too much for even her. She was a fighter. She proved that on the court, day in and day out. But the things that plagued here were so much bigger than anything she ever faced on the hardwood. They tore at her. Pulled at her very soul. Sometimes the pounding would make her wake suddenly in cold sweats. It frightened her. Nights like this one. She tried to lie still until it went away. It wouldn't. She looked over at the window. The day was breaking. Begrudgingly, she got up out of the bed. She figured she could make the most of the day if she went out and did something productive. She slipped into a pair of long shooting shorts and a sleeveless T-shirt. She found her favorite pair of high tops and some black ankle socks. A bandanna was tied around her head. She went outside, to the basketball hoop on the side of her grandmother’s house. She’d lived there most of her life. Kiana’s mother had a revelation when Kiana was only 10 years old and decided to find herself. Leaving Kiana in the hands of the only person she’d ever admit to loving. Her doting grandmother. In this home, Kiana found sanctuary. Far from the hollow, dark footsteps of the past that haunted her. The basketball court was the only other place where she felt safe. Untouchable. It’s where she felt invincible. She needed those two things together. It was the only thing that could keep her sane. Real life was for too maddening. She began her routine slowly. Dribbling. All of the rudimentary drills she learned growing up on the playground. She dribbled faster. Between her legs. Crossing over. She began to move around the court and shoot the ball. She felt herself begin to level out and normalize. She felt a little better prepared to face the coming day. She was looking forward to seeing Shayna again. But she had questions in her mind. “ What was that kiss about? Did she do it because she meant it? Or am I just reading way too far into it?” Kiana never hid how she felt about whom she was. In that same respect, she didn’t wave a rainbow flag like she was some outrageous gay activist. She liked boys at one time, but now she knew she loved women. Shayna didn’t exactly fit the profile of her “type.” Kiana always got down with the ghetto girl types. The kind that hung out near the courts, wearing their knock off designer clothes and fake “bling” trying to catch the eye of the “ballers” that would assemble there. Kiana continued to shoot around the asphalt court. She got a little loose and started to show off. Kiana understood the game. She understood all of the rules. But the rules of the street game differed from those of the gym. Those who commanded the “rock” ruled the street. Braggadocios glory hounds whom knew no concept of teamwork or sportsmanship. There definitely was no “I” in team. Kiana was the exception to every rule. She excelled beyond any of her peers. She balled like a man. She was a force on the court. Unnatural. She played every point with ferocity and passion. The rock was her life. She defended it with every ounce of whom and what she was. She jumped at the chance to play pro ball. She played for two seasons in Greece before coming home to what she thought would be her ticket to fame and fortune. Before there was a WNBA there were a few smaller, but noticeable pro leagues for women. The day the ABL came calling, Kiana was ready. A team in Richmond recruited her. They relocated to her hometown of Philadelphia at the end of the 1997 season. It was supposed to be her triumphant return. It turned out to be her greatest tragedy. Kiana tried not to dwell on remembering this time in her life, but it was the only way for her to deal with her demons. Kiana fired the ball at the hoop. The bent metal rim rang every time the ball sailed through and the cotton net snapped as it fell to the ground. She had an impeccable “j”. Few could match her when she was hot. She had that indefinable thing. Most people called it natural talent. Some people called it attitude. They used her “attitude” as a reason to keep her off of the 1996 Atlanta Olympic team. A chance to compete alongside the greatest female basketball players of her generation. She knew she belonged there. It was her destiny, manifested before her. But in the end, fear and misunderstanding kept her from realizing her dream. Then the ABL happened. News of Kiana’s success reached home. It spread like a wildfire all over the courts. It was the first time anyone from the “street” made it big. It was always a fact that some street ballers were better than some pros. The best were tested at Rucker and Soul in the Hole. They matched up against the pros in the summer leagues and in Europe. But for a street baller to make it in the pros in the states, that was WAY big. Sadly, when you’re on top of the world, the haters come out of the woodwork and try to knock you off. Kiana was slowly finding her balance on the court outside of her house. This was her domicile. The place where no one or no thing could touch her. Kiana had one fault on the court. Carelessness. When she played the game, she played so well sometimes , that she played with little regard for herself or for others. During her time with the Rage, Kiana began to act and play differently. Like she was bigger than the game. Driving a new Jeep, wearing expensive clothes she really couldn’t afford. The league paid well, but not that well. It was more than she ever made overseas but not enough to live beyond her means. Some of the women around the courts began to hang around her. Thinking she was the next new hot thing. This didn’t sit well with the regulars around the circuit. Ridge Avenue. Kingsessing. 22nd and Diamond. 48th Street. It especially didn’t sit well with “Showtime”. He was the self-professed King of Philly. He ruled the courts, in his own mind. There was no man and definitely NO woman that could beat him. He went about the task of calling Kiana out. He left word of his challenge on each and every court. Kiana, naturally, heard about his challenge. But she was slow to react. The league had a policy about their players participating in non sanctioned contests and gambling. She worked hard, all of her life to get where she was. She didn’t want to lose it now. If the league found out she’d be through. It ate her up that she also fought to earn her rep on the street and this clown with no real skills was running her down all over her town. She tried to remain above it, but some obstacles just can’t be overcome. Kiana was so caught up in her reminiscence, that before long the ball lay still on the court next to Kiana’s right shoe as she stood in one spot, remembering like it was yesterday.
