I look down, too. I wear an Aircast under my jeans. I can walk carefully but have only recently been cleared to put weight on it.
“It’s not bad.” I shrug. “All part of the game.”
She squeezes her eyes shut, pressing her lips tight. So tight I almost miss what she says next.
“He saw us, August.”
I don’t have to ask what she means. I know. I saw him seeing us at the game. And I saw the rage it caused before he made sure I felt it. “I know.”
She raises startled eyes that fill with tears. “This happened because of me.” She gestures toward my injured leg. “I’m so sorry. God, I feel so guilty.”
“There’s nothing to feel guilty about. It wasn’t you. It was him.”
“Right, and I don’t want him hurting you again because of me.” She steadies trembling lips into a firm line. “I don’t want him hurtinganyonebecause of me.”
“Why are you with him, Iris?” I ask, confusion propelling the question out of me.
That something—that unfamiliar thing lurking behind her eyes slips a shadowy veil over her expression, and the truth goes into hiding.
“Things aren’t always the way they seem. They aren’t simple.” She steps back until my hands fall away from her completely. “Nothing’s simple.”
“Then explain them to me. I can’t believe, knowing he’d do something like this,” I say, pointing to my leg, “that you would stay with him.”
“Iris!” Sylvia calls from the end of the hall, her eyes darting between Iris and me. “Um, is everything okay?”
She’s probably created all kinds of scenarios in her head by now about the relationship between Iris and me, especially since I asked her not to tell Iris I would be here. Seeing us together this way, she probably has more questions. I don’t care, but I know Iris will.
“Everything’s fine,” Iris answers quickly, taking another step back. “I thought the daycare was paging me about my daughter, so I came to check. She’s okay, though.”
She touches the pager I hadn’t noticed on her hip. That’s when I spot something else I hadn’t noticed. A huge engagement ring.
Shit. I’m deluding myself. This thing I’ve been chasing in my dreams, this connection I even told my mom about, it’s all in my head and all on my side. Her eyes follow mine to the ring on her finger.
“August,” she whispers. “I can ex—”
“Guess I better get back in there, huh?” I cut over her harshly, addressing Sylvia.
“Weareready to start,” Sylvia says uncertainly. “The kids are coming into the rec room now.”
“Good.” Without looking at Iris again, I head up the hall and into the rec room.
I’m an idiot. It’s complicated? No, it’s simple. She had his baby. She’s wearing his ring. She’s going to marry him. The sooner I get that through my thick skull, the better. I’ve lost enough pining over a girl who belongs to someone else. I’ve lost sleep and precious time.
I grimace at the pain arrowing up my leg from overuse today. I may have lost my career, my future, for something that doesn’t exist. I’m going to shut down my disappointment and anger, board up my heart long enough to get through this talk, and then I’ll put this fantasy away for good. I glance at the walls, plastered with motivational sayings and photos of famous role models. The community center has barely changed from when I balled here as a kid. The paint peels from the wall in places, and the hoops in the gym have seen better days. The best thing to dispose of a fantasy is a dose of reality, and this community will always remind you of what’s real.
My family was middle class. My mom was a teacher and once my stepfather retired from the military, he was in sales. My home life was stable, but I was always trying to find my place. I felt like a cog that didn’t fit in any wheel. A stray puzzle piece.
The best ballers in the city played pick-up games here. I wanted to be challenged and stretched, so I played here, too. I didn’t expect to find lost pieces of myself on these courts; of the culture my father would have shared with me had he lived.
Basketball helped me find my place. Not number thirty-three, point guard, basketball champion, or All-American player. Those things aren’t who I am. I’m more than that. This place helpedmakeme more than that.
I compartmentalize, swallow the emotion seeing Iris’s ring spurred in me, and look around the room, wall to wall with young faces—mostly black and brown. I remember what it was like to grow up here; the quest I was on, searching for my identity; feeling caught between worlds and comfortable nowhere. Many of these kids are struggling, too. Maybe not because they’re biracial and wondering how to categorize themselves, but struggling to reconcile the harsh realities of their lives with the vastness of their dreams—with their impossible ambitions. I understand dreaming dreams that are too big and chasing a life that most never catch. Against all odds, I have that life and am living that dream.
“I’m not here to tell you how to become a professional basketball player,” I start without preamble. “There are no guarantees, and most likely, none of you ever will make it to the NBA.”
A few faces fall at this bit of reality, but I have their attention. With middle-schoolers, that’s most of the battle. Iris walks in and takes a place at the back with the other two women here volunteering. Her sad eyes meet mine, but this time I look away. I’m not getting caught in that trap again.
“Even guys,and girls,” I say with a smile at a few of the young ladies on the front row, “who have the talent don’t always make the cut. Basketball is not the point. Dreaming is the point.”
