The plastic wrapper crinkles under my fingertips as I pop the pink candy into my mouth; a watermelon Jolly Rancher, my favorite. As the synthetic sweetness washes over my demeanor, I pick up my pen, look down at the basketball court below me, and begin to paint my notebook with words.
Filling up line after line with poems, letters, and mostly stories consumes roughly eighty percent of my time and the rest goes to sleeping.
The smell of sweat and dirt fills my nose. He's here.
I'm in my usual spot tonight, perched on a sturdy oak branch that I feel has practically molded to my butt. My tree is about a stone's throw away from Belrose park's basketball court. I'm strategically concealed by numerous green leaves that have been gradually been yellowing from the dropping temperature.
I plop in this spot everyday. After school lets out, I make my way over to Belrose's public park, where I people watch from my branch.
I watch and I write. Something about observing the widowed, decrepit woman who feeds the pigeons everyday at dusk and the young couple that brings their bubbly toddler every Sunday afternoon to roam free on the kiddie playground triggers my imagination and brings it to life.
Romanticizing, emphasizing, and dramatizing what I see with ink is the only way I know how to cope with my disconnected disposition.
The smell of his sweat catches my attention again. I peer through the leaves and see that he is taking a warm-up lap, as he does every Wednesday at 7:45 p.m. He has never been late nor failed to show for the last eight months.
I guess at first glance you would categorize him as a very crush worthy player, both on and off the varsity court, constantly draped with flattery from insecure high school girls.
I know there's something more. His unwavering devotion to basketball and the determination in his eyes inspires my pen to write the Bible five times over.
"Dallas!" I hear someone call out from the parking lot. One of his teammates jogs up to the court a little out of breath.
"You're late," he says bluntly, never taking his eyes off the basketball goal.
"I know, man. I'm sorry. I left my phone at Cheyenne's house." He scratches the back of his head and looks at the ground.
"Theo, we were supposed to start thirty minutes ago. We have a big game this weekend, you know." Dallas stands there waiting for a better excuse then pats Theo on the back, "Did you leave your phone at Cheyenne's or your V-card?"
They both laugh and Theo steals the ball from Dallas, running it up court for a two hand dunk.
I smile and bury my face in my scribbles.
