The morning light was pale and cold when Marcus woke up. His head felt heavy. The smell of stale beer hung in the small apartment. Empty bottles sat on the table. A pile of dirty clothes covered the chair in the corner.
Marcus rubbed his face and sat up slowly. His phone lay on the floor with a cracked screen. It had not rung in weeks. No one called to check on him anymore. His old teammates had moved on with their lives. He was just a name they used to remember and nothing more.
He stood walked to the kitchen and opened the fridge. Inside was a half full carton of milk and a few cans of beer. He closed it without taking anything. The thought of food made his stomach turn.
He stepped outside for air. The street was wet from the night's rain. People hurried past with their heads down moving toward work. Marcus felt like a ghost among them. They did not see him. Or maybe they did and chose to look away.
Down the street was a small shop where he bought his first drink of the day. The man behind the counter gave him a short nod and said nothing. Marcus understood. People once stopped him to shake his hand. Now they looked at him like he was trouble.
He walked back to his apartment and sank onto the couch. The paper Walt had given him was still in his jacket pocket. He pulled it out and stared at it.
Hawks Season Schedule.
He thought about throwing it away but his fingers refused to let go.
Marcus leaned back and closed his eyes. His mind drifted to the night of the final again. The roar of the crowd. The ball slipping from his hands. The buzzer. That single moment had burned itself into him. He had tried to drown it with beer but it always returned.
The rest of the day crawled by. He drank then dozed off then woke up and drank again. The apartment stayed quiet except for the hum of the fridge and the ticking clock on the wall.
As evening settled in he decided to walk to the park. The basketball court there was cracked and faded. The nets were torn. A few kids were playing and their laughter filled the air. Marcus stopped at the fence and watched.
One of the kids missed a shot and the ball rolled toward him. Without thinking Marcus picked it up. His hands remembered the weight of it. He spun it once and tossed it back. The kid caught it and grinned.
"You play?" the boy asked.
"Used to" Marcus said.
"You should play with us."
Marcus shook his head. "Not today."
He walked away but the sound of the ball bouncing stayed with him long after he left the park.
That night he lay awake staring at the ceiling. His thoughts kept circling back to the court the kids and the feel of the ball in his hands. He reached for the paper on the nightstand. Practice was tomorrow evening. Seven o'clock.
He told himself he was only curious. He just wanted to see the place. That was all. He would not stay.
The next day he woke earlier than usual. He skipped his morning drink even though his hands itched for it. Time dragged. The clock barely moved. By six thirty he found himself walking toward the address on the paper.
The sun was low when he reached the small gym. The building looked old but clean. Through the open doors he heard sneakers squeak and a ball hit the floor. Voices shouted. Shoes pounded.
Marcus stood outside for a long moment. He nearly turned around.
Then he stepped inside.
The court was smaller than the ones he used to play on but the energy was real. Players in mismatched jerseys ran drills under Walt's watchful eye. He stood at the sideline leaning on his cane.
Walt noticed Marcus right away. A slow smile spread across his face.
"You came."
"Just to watch" Marcus said.
"Suit yourself" Walt replied turning back to the team. "But you might find it hard to sit still."
Marcus leaned against the wall with his arms crossed. Players glanced at him then looked away. He caught whispers passing between them. Some faces held curiosity. Others held doubt. One tall young man stared at him for a long moment then smirked and returned to the drill.
The gym smelled of sweat and effort. Marcus felt something stir deep inside him. The old pull of the game. He followed the ball with his eyes. The quick passes. The timing. His fingers twitched.
Walt glanced over again. "We're short one man for the scrimmage" he said loud enough for everyone to hear. "Cole you in?"
Marcus hesitated. All eyes turned toward him. The tall young man shook his head with a grin that said this guy will be useless.
Marcus stepped forward slowly.
"Give me ball" he said.