The ball felt heavier than Marcus remembered. It had been years since he held one in a real game. His hands knew the shape but the quick confidence that once came naturally was gone.
The players lined up for the scrimmage. Walt split them into two teams. Marcus ended up with three young guys who barely looked at him and one older player who gave him a small nod. The tall young man who had been smirking earlier stood on the other team. He waited at center court spinning the ball on one finger with his eyes locked on Marcus.
"First to eleven" Walt called out. "Play smart."
The whistle blew. The tall player's team won the tip off and surged forward. Marcus jogged back on defense watching their movement. The ball moved quickly around the court before landing in the tall player's hands. He drove past one defender and scored with ease.
"Too easy" he said loudly. His teammates laughed.
Marcus stayed quiet.
When it was their turn on offense the point guard dribbled up and called a play. Marcus moved into position but the ball never came. They ran the set without him and ended with a rushed shot that bounced off the rim.
The other team grabbed the rebound and scored again.
Walt's voice echoed through the gym. "Move the ball Hawks. Everyone plays."
On the next possession the ball finally reached Marcus. He dribbled once testing his balance. His mind was quick but his body lagged behind. He pulled up for a mid range shot. The ball struck the front of the rim and rolled away.
"Nice try grandpa" the tall player called out.
Marcus swallowed his response. He told himself it was just rust. Something he could shake off. But the game moved fast and the others stopped looking his way. They were younger quicker and hungry to prove themselves.
By the time the other team won eleven to six Marcus had scored only once. A simple layup after a broken play. Sweat ran down his face but not from effort. From frustration.
The players headed to the bench for water. Marcus sat at the far end. The tall player walked past and muttered just loud enough for him to hear. "Thought you were supposed to be good."
Marcus looked up but said nothing.
Walt came over and leaned on his cane. "How do you feel?"
"Like I should have stayed home" Marcus said.
"You are out of shape" Walt replied. "Your timing is off. But you still read the floor better than most of these kids. That does not disappear."
Marcus shook his head. "They don't want me here."
"They don't know you yet" Walt said. "Right now all they see is a man with a bad reputation. You can change that. Or you can let them be right."
The words hit harder because they were true.
Walt blew the whistle again. "Another game. Switch teams."
This time Marcus landed on the tall player's team. It did not help. The ball rarely came his way. When he called for it the pass arrived late or not at all.
Still he kept moving. He cut to the basket set screens and dove for loose balls. His legs burned but the movement woke something inside him.
Midway through the game the ball bounced his way after a scramble. Without thinking he stepped back and let it fly from beyond the arc. The shot was clean. Net only.
For a moment the gym went quiet. Then someone on the bench let out a low whistle.
Marcus did not celebrate. He simply turned and ran back on defense. But inside something caught. His body remembered.
The game ended in another loss but Marcus felt different. He was not sharp yet. He was not ready. But he was not finished.
When practice ended most players left without a word. The older teammate from earlier passed Marcus and said quietly, "Good shot. You just need more of them."
The tall player glanced at him smirked and walked out.
Marcus stayed behind sitting on the bench as the gym emptied. The smell of sweat and dust hung in the air. Walt came over and handed him a bottle of water.
"You came to see the place" Walt said. "Now you have seen it. Will you be back on Thursday?"
Marcus stared at the floor. "Maybe."
"That's better than no" Walt said with a small smile. "See you then."
Marcus left the gym slowly. Outside the evening air was cool and the streets were quiet. He passed the park where the kids had played days earlier. The court was empty now. The nets swayed gently in the breeze.
For the first time in years he felt the urge to practice. Not for anyone else. Just for himself.
He knew the road back would be hard. The team did not trust him. Some already disliked him. His body was weak. His habits were worse.
But as he walked home something became clear.
For the first time in a long time he wanted to try.