Howdy,
#NaNoWriMo (550) — Day 28
(Unedited, or only slightly)
Continued …
That day Jake was taking the campus like he took the court — but in a daydream that it worked anything like that, that getting noticed for something good, that making friends, that earning respect, happened in such a straightforward way: play well, receive his place with welcome. That day, it was completely possible, even as a lifelong underdog, that Jake Jones was overconfident.
Riding that wave.
Up on a few good breaks, Jake was eager to take the school court, show the others what he could do with a basketball in his hands, both hands, strong or off, show that he could play, the way he’d been playing. Someone more experienced may have cautioned young, sixth-grade Jake: warning him of breaks becoming white-capped curves pushing higher before a relentless and crushing crash in tumbling, rippling, swirling surf. Flattening all out in foam.
Only Jake didn’t know that school morning would flatten his game all out in foam.
Dissipating foam.
Jake thought about basketball. A lot. And he thought he could play. In that he certainly wasn’t all wrong. But, either way, once he started playing, it wouldn’t have mattered.
Though he definitely practiced at home or on his own with his shortcomings in mind, his disadvantages plain to him, Jake displayed unusual talent in focusing his hyped energies in competition: instinctively juggling his own performance review and counteracting opponents’ specific attacks. Continually.
The other teams’ schemes and called plays shifted constantly, as often as any or each trip down the floor: dynamics flowing from both hammered routine and unpredictable athletic freelance. Even young and inexperienced, Jake, without much five-on-five tread off his high tops, tracked team plays, and, of course, the individual cutting and juking to take him down.
And Jake’s own performance streamed live, a real-time reflection on a continuous tape in his head, with no known Eject … Stop … or even Pause.
No. With those two — opposition and self-evaluation — Jake Jones forwent any useless worry about his height while competing on the court, forgetting, believe it or not, to think of himself as undersized and “vertically challenged,” as he really was. No argument. Not even from him, when he was realizing it. When he relaxed. Not when he was going for the win.
Sure, stepping on the court — well, always really — he noticed the others taller than him. Because, it was true. He knew he was short and slight. He just didn’t waste thoughts on it while guarding another player; thankfully, since Jake had enough going on in his head already.
And what could he do about it anyway? About that part of his game?
It didn’t help being short. Not in basketball. Inching taller by a wish or a prayer rested beyond Jake’s ability; he’d tested it.
Who knew when he’d grow? Jake didn’t.
And being so athletically active at his young age he’d also stay slender.
Short and slender meant slight.
Slight, with fight.
Jake had proven that as well. He had fight. Because he’d also put in the work: fun for him, mostly, the hours on the court “puttin’ in the work,” as the expression goes, probably due to the sweating over time, working out time after time.
Evaporating into a satisfying thirst.
Jake knew enough to do two things: smile and keep sweating.
To be continued …
—Billy
Reading. Writing. Living.
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