Jamie

Three: Boundaries

When I entered Taylor's new school, butterflies weren't just in my stomach, they were absolutely everywhere in me. Part of me was ecstatic for Taylor to be able to connect with those who have similar circumstances, but the other part of me wanted to protect my brother the best I could. When I wheeled him into his designated classroom, I felt him reach out to grab my hand. I grabbed his hand and gave him a kiss on the forehead. 

"Be a good boy, okay? I'll be back in a flash." I turned around and looked Taylor into his eyes; I gave him a warm smile but tears continually threatened to spill. I took in a shallow breath and wheeled him to one of the teacher aids. She thanked me and then ushered me out of the classroom. 

When I walked to the parking lot, I found the old beat-up minivan sitting exactly where I put it. The bright blue handicap pass sat in the front, and it swung a bit when I pulled the door open. The car groaned with age, but I managed to start it with little to no problem. I reversed in the busy parking lot and someone was eager to let me out and illegally take my spot. 

Not much of a shocker since it was drop off time. 

I turned the radio up, and it played some random station full of pop music. I sang most of the songs I knew and mumbled the other songs that I had no idea what the lyrics were. Granted I didn't get to sing much as the drive was really on ten minutes without traffic. 

Now, there was an accident so my music-jam session lasted a whole thirteen minutes. 

I pulled into my driveway and parked the car. The engine sputtered to an end, and I stepped out. The cold Boston air splashed against my face, and I, once again, regretted not wearing a jacket. 

I scoffed at the idea before I unlocked the door and headed inside. It was quiet, and, honestly, I had that ache to go shoot some shots. I eagerly headed upstairs and turned on some cheap knock-off wireless earbuds. My music started to play, but, just like the car, it was a bunch of random songs from all generations. 

I jumped around my room for a bit trying to make sure that I was stretched out. The last thing I needed was an injury. 

Wait --- I didn't play on a team anymore. 

I huffed in frustration; I kept on forgetting that I wasn't in high school anymore. I wasn't in New York playing for the state championships. I wasn't a goofy senior talking with my teammates until the ungodly hours of the morning. 

I shook my head, a void seemed to be in my heart. I couldn't think about anything besides wanting to be apart of a team. It was almost like my body ached to be in high school again. I stood in the middle of my room for a second as I looked at my basketball in the corner. How could something so small impact my life so greatly? 

I walked to the basketball and picked it up. The red leather was fading, and the black lines were starting to wear with usage. But I didn't care. 

I quickly scampered down the stairs and double-checked that I had everything on me.

Basketball? Check.

Phone? Check.

Keys? Check.

Gun and license to carry? Check and check. 

My gun was holstered in a little pocket on my side and it was, in fact, visible if someone looked at me. It was a sign basically telling people to not fuck with me.

I locked my front door and went down the same path as before. I dribbled the ball on the broken up sidewalk, and it, at times, bounced in a different direction, and I had to rush to make sure that it did not roll into the street.