Hoops

Ball bouncing. Old shoes, scuffing across old cement. Clang. Noisy metal rim vibrating. Rebound chasing. Worn leather, sliding, not gripping, through my hands. Wishing it was gripping. Swoosh, weathered net embracing ball softly. Swoosh again. Gaining rhythm. Clang. Rhythm gone.

Alone.

Distantly, bat meeting softball. Dong. Little girl. Five. Head-to-toe gear. Dong. Over-eager father: pitching, fielding, coaching, showing, urging, scolding. Not letting her be a kid. Soft, laughing chatter. Different direction. Conservative women, playing tennis. Girls in tanks and short shorts, next court.

Still alone.

Dribble, jump, shoot, rebound. Dribble, jump, shoot, rebound. Cars, driving by. Sun, warming skin. Leaves, rustling breeze. Joggers, padding feet.

Other ball now, bouncing in street. Other hand now, dribbling. Other voices now; loud, untamed.

No longer alone.

Nodding. They walking by. Three guys. Two girls. Clang. Other rim vibrating. Swoosh, other net inviting. Swoosh again. Calling. “Three on three?”

Crossing cement. Walking to them. Sizing them up. Collectively: not tall, not skinny, not athletic. Shooting for teams. Checking it up. Casual defense. Going through the motions, getting a hand up. Swish, three-pointer. Swish, another three-pointer. Tougher defense now. Preventing the shot. Forcing the drive. Blocking the shot attempt. Still losing; no help defense.

Shooting for teams again. Playing again. Driving in. Taking a hit on the head. No sympathy. Driving in again. Hit on head again: apparently clean defense. Driving, then pulling up. Missing jumper. Driving, kicking out to teammate. Losing again.

Shooting for teams again. Both girls with me. Frustrated. Taking over game. Driving in. Again and again. “And one,” I saying. Winning finally. Giving high-fives to girls. Big girl pulling her hand away. “I don't touch anyone," she saying.

“D***, this s***'s real.” “S***, I dunno.” Smoke, yawning and curling. Over the court. “Gimme some.” smallest guy asking. Request granted, reluctantly, begrudgingly. Big girl, looking at me. “You get the good stuff?” Saying no. “S*** yeah he does,” other guy calling. Others looking at him. Defending himself: “Well f*** then how would he know what it is?”

Not knowing what it is. Keeping shooting. Clink. Them leaning against chain link, puffing. Playing again now. No guarding inside. They only wanting to shoot threes. Getting my eye poked. Short girl getting elbowed on nose. Eyes watering, but she not showing weakness. “Over here, white boy!” other guy wanting the kick out. Making the jump hook. Instead. “Don't call him that,” someone saying.

Rim low six or so inches. Dunking, hands grasping metal, hanging in space, releasing. “D***”, them saying, but no admiration. Admiration equaling weakness, unable to be showing weakness. “Hey, the short girl's interested in you tonight,” big guy looking at me. “I'm not interested,” I saying. Shooting around, rebounding for them. Darkness creeping, breeze chilling. Turning floodlights on. Chemicals taking effect. Actions becoming more aggressive. Yelling. Big guy not giving big girl ball. “F*** you! F*** you! F*** it, I'll fight anybody here,” she saying. Guy and girl fighting. Others watching.

Treading softly. Suddenly realizing I need to go home. Collecting my ball. Walking by, outside chain link. My shoes crunching gravel. Another joining in the fighting. “Good playing,” to guy sitting watching. He nodding. Waiting for car to pass, crossing street, watching automatic street lights flickering on.

Car door shutting behind me. Keys rattling into ignition. Hand pausing.

Alone again.

Silence. Watching them, brow furrowing. Mulling, thinking, pondering.

Different lifestyles living.