14 Days

9

My sneakers beat against the pavement; the basketball snug in the palm of my hand. Clouds blocked the sun. Sweat stuck to my skin. The court was empty save for me. Fellow tourists wandered past, dressed in bathing suits and clicking flip flops. There were kids giggling on the playground across the yard. Their parents sat on the grass or at picnic benches with their lunch. My parents likely weren't much different on the beach. They asked me to join them, but I couldn't stand the sight of the color green.

Something was off. But not this. Not basketball. I've been playing since Dad bought me my first basketball when I was four. We had one of those small plastic hoops that I played with for hours. Then I started watching games, perched on the couch with popcorn in hand, shouting at ref's or admiring the moves of professionals that I could only ever dream of mimicking.

Basketball was familiar. I needed familiar now more than ever.

Rushing down the court. Jumping until my legs ached. Hearing the net. Running after the ball. Hitting the backboard. Then falling on the cool grass, breathing heavy under a sometimes blue, sometimes murky sky. The game, whether it was against others or only with myself, let my mind ease. When I stopped moving though, thoughts krept in.

Memories of a bunker by the sea. The sound of the ocean. The warmth between two. The musty scent of rust and sweat. Smooth lips and green; eyes of jade, cool and alluring.

We went to bed like nothing happened, but so much had happened.

I pressed my palms against my eyes. "Damn it."

My phone rang. I welcomed the distraction that Anthony gave; "Hey, you're still alive!"

"Still alive," I breathed, strumming my fingers against my chest. "What's up?"

"Just checking in, making sure you aren't dead in a ditch."

"Not yet."

Anthony hesitated. Sometimes he was an annoyance, not because of his quips but due to his uncanny ability to read the room. Even when I was miles away, he sniffed out the issues like a bloodhound.

"Something wrong?" He said more as a statement than a question.

"I'm stuck on vacation with Beau. Everything is wrong."

Anthony guffawed. "Yeah, I got that, but what happened that got you sounding like you just discovered Stranger Things got canceled?"

"Don't even speak such nonsense." I sat up, twirling the basketball between my parted legs. "I just got into a fight with the jerk again. And this time it was me that said some stupid shit."

"This time? Don't you mean all the time?" he teased.

"Screw you."

"What was the fight about?"

That was a loaded question that had an answer I was struggling to admit to, even when I knew how stupid I was being by avoiding the truth.

"This trip is messing with me," I said. "Don't talk to anyone about what I'm going to say, got it?"

"I won't. I promise."

And I knew he would keep that promise. Anthony was many things, a total fool at times, but he was loyal. I needed loyal too; a loyal friend to talk to before I went mad. Sanity was being washed away by ocean waves.

"I've been thinking about how he's going to leave when summer ends," I whispered. "Do I sound like an idiot for lingering on how everything is going to change? We aren't young enough to believe life will remain the same after graduation anymore so I thought I was fine, but apparently I'm not."