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By Emmanuel Williams

I can see the ball spinning. The lift as it fights air pressure and gravity. It’s above everyone’s head. It’s taking forever!

Swish.

That’s what I’m talking about!

I sink another five minutes later, and suddenly they’re passing it to me more than anyone. I make one, two, three, the fourth one’s a bit off, but it tumbles in anyway.

Then something blurs my vision, and things go horribly wrong. I can’t explain it, but I know I did it to myself. I got cocky. I started assuming they would go in.

After that, the shots started to miss. They kept passing it to me and I put them where I could. But I had become 11/20. Missing my final nine.

The game ended. We lost. We hung our heads and left the arena.

I went home and tried to practice my shot at the garage hoop, but the magic was gone. I resolved to get some sleep and try harder at practice the next afternoon.

Yeah, that was cocky too apparently.

I showed up and stunk up the place. The coach is benching me and says “breathe, kid.”

Ok, let’s see here… Shot mechanics are basic. Point. Aim. Loft it. Set your feet, jump as high as you need to from where you are on the court and who’s in your face…

This chair. It’s too cold. I gotta get back in the game! Come on, kid! 

“Breathe, kid…”

I did. I stopped thinking and breathed. Slow and deliberate. Then out of nowhere my heart was pounding out of my chest. I couldn’t breathe, I couldn’t see anything. 

I had been gazing at the rim at the other end of the court. No one was shooting at it. It started to grow an ultraviolet color that told me I had been staring far too long. But it was deeper than a stare. This was my enemy. And it had won.

How did this happen? Where’s my shot?

I got here on my agility, my bravery in the paint, and my… my shot… and now it’s…

Is it…?

I don’t want to get up. I don’t think I’ve exhaled yet. It’s just all coming in, so fast.

“Jimmy! Get up! Let’s go! Free throw line.”

Is someone there? I can’t feel my ass, but I know I’m gripping the seat and it won’ t let go of my hands. And my eyes are… this is getting out of hand.

I sniffle. I sniffle. I sniffle?

It’s too late. I’ve crossed over to the dark side. There’s no saving me now. 

A shot goes off the backboard and into the hoop I couldn’t take my eyes off of. Until now. But instead of focusing on something else it just feels like they can do what I can’t. And I fall apart. The dam breaks. And it’s a flood.

I want to sit in it. Let me be. This is my lake of failure and it isn’t going anywhere. I’m not going anywhere.

There’s a basketball in my heart and I stabbed it myself. As it deflates it takes all the wind out of my chest, but it can’t come out of my mouth. And as I suffocate, I cannot move.

I’m going to die and I’m going to love it.

I may have leaked into my boxers. How would I know? Maybe they’re cranking up the heat in this rat house they call a gymnasium. Who cares? You think I’m welcome here anymore?

Sniff- It won’t even drip down my nose… I’m a disgrace. I’m shitty. I’m terrible.

There’s no coming back either. Good. Good. I’m of no use now.

I’ve committed suicide on the bench and they don’t even have the decency to remove the body.

Can I go now?