Spring Break

Beads of sweat drip down my face as I stare down the rim. One more shot, I tell myself. Just one more and then I’ll go home. But I don’t. I shoot, over and over again. Swish! Clunk! Air ball. My shoes squeak the gym floor and my shirt is drenched. I tighten my ponytail, brushing wisps of hair out of my eyes. My hand goes up, past my nose, and I flick my wrist just so. The ball is a part of me. Swish. I rebound, I run, I shoot again. Panting and gasping for air, I curse the owners of Wakefield gym. No AC, none at all. I shoot and run and sweat. My body begs for mercy, but my brain begs for perfection, and my heart begs for basketball. The court is mine. My shoes slip on my own salty sweat and my fingers are red. The blood pounds through my hands and to my head. Any normal person would stop. But my water bottle sits, lonely, in my bag while I push through the throbbing in my head. My finger collapses in on itself, jammed, but I play on. My spring break will be a cycle of run, sweat, rebound, shoot, and swish.

And I will love every minute of it…

But first I have to get there.