Archives:
May 4-May 10, 2008

May 4, 2008

“Close game, huh?” I say, handing the bowl of popcorn back to Cameron.

She takes the bowl by the rim without looking at me. Cameron’s always like this when we watch basketball, so I shouldn’t be surprised. It’s not entertainment for her—it’s a part of her being, and she has to soak in every second of it.

It’s not exactly fun to watch a game with her.

Nonetheless, it’s easy to focus on the game tonight. The NBA Finals series is tied two-two, and tonight’s game itself is almost tied, with Mike’s Knights down one, with just two seconds left on the clock. The camera zooms in on Mike as a bead of sweat slips off his nose.

The image on screen shifts to a much fuzzier one, taking us back in time.

“If the player at the free throw line looks familiar,” one of the sportscasters says on a voiceover, “it’s because that’s one of the stars of tonight’s game, Mike Weaver.”

“Looking a little lighter there,” another commentator says. “And he’s not a heavyset guy now.”

Mike does look smaller all around, his hair longer. He hesitates at the line, beginning to look around the gymnasium.

“This is Mike Weaver at a high school league championship game.”

“I think I’m seeing another familiar face,” the commentator says.

“Indeed you are. Standing in the lane, in a matching white jersey, you’ll see New York Knicks star Shawn Vetter.”

“The way these teams have been going at each other, you forget that those two star players are former teammates, and self-proclaimed friends.”

I finish chewing a piece of popcorn. “Mike’s told me about this play,” I say.

“What play?” Cameron asks. “He’s shooting a free throw.”

“Just watch.”

Mike looks away from the basket. You can see one of the guys from the other team follow his line of vision out into the crowd, as Mike tosses up the shot, under handed.

18 year old Shawn Vetter skies toward the basket, catching the rebound and slamming the shot down.

“Shawn Vetter was running that play in high school?” a commentator asks.

“And it has only grown more devastating with time,” the first guy says. “But now it’s time to see if Mike Weaver and his all star teammate Kevin Hardaway can show that same brand of chemistry in this game, with a championship of their own hanging in the balance.”

“These guys can’t play together,” Cameron says, grabbing another kernel.

The play starts at half court, where the Knights in-bound the ball to Kevin Hardaway. He crosses over, and jets past his defender. Two others collapse on him. Mike gets free off of a screen, and he’s wide open, just inside the foul line.

Mike holds a hand up, calling for the ball. Hardaway spins away from him. One of the defenders falters, but the other is right on him. Hardaway fires up a fadeaway jumper, a toe on the three point line.

The buzzer sounds, just before the ball hits off of the back iron, heading down into the waiting hands of one of the Knicks. The game is over, 96-95. Mike and the Knights are down 3-2 on the series.

May 5 , 2008

“All right, pot’s ready,” Chang says, removing the pot from the coffee maker. He pours a pair of Styrofoam cups full of stuff.

“You know,” I say, looking back down at my laptop, “if I was still an RA, I’d feel obliged to tell you coffee makers aren’t allowed in the residence halls.”

“Well,” Chang says, taking a sip, “fortunate for me, Res Life fired your ass, so now your loyalties lie here.”

I take my cup from his outstretched hand. “True enough.”

Chang sits back down at his desk, burying his hands in his hair. “You know, when Benjamin said all we had to do for finals was revise something we already wrote, I thought this was going to be easy.”

“Yeah. I thought so too.” I say, staring back down at my laptop. I pick up the stack of papers at my side. I have a dozen copies of my original piece, edited and marked from our non-fiction workshop. There wasn’t a lot of negative feedback, mostly positive remarks about how I captured my relationship with Valerie, and how honestly I wrote about where my dealings with her led me.

There’s something missing from what I’ve written—something doesn’t ring quite right, quite complete. I can’t put my finger on what’s wrong.

“I’ve got to say I’m torn on this,” Chang says, leaning back in his chair. “I wrote this whole thing about adoption—and now I know how it ends. I know where I came from, I mean.”

I think about everything that happened between me and Valerie. I think of how it all seems resolved to me. I’m not really even interested in talking to her ever again.

“Of course, I guess I don’t know how it ends,” Chang goes on. “I mean, my folks are gone now, and all I’ve got left is you and your dad.”

I take a long sip from my cup of coffee. It’s bitter, but not bad.

I think of how I started this piece, trying to write about love in general—every girl I’d ever been with, and where each one had taken me. I settled down on Valerie because I felt as though I had some distance from her.

Maybe too much distance.

I can’t think about Valerie now. Every one of my thoughts is leading me back to Emma.

I open a new Word document on my computer, and begin to type. My fingers fly across the keyboard. There are typos, and sentences that don’t quite add up. Articles left out, missed capitalizations. But the story is here.

It’s the story of me and Emma. It’s where we were. It’s where are. Finally, it’s where I want to go.

I don’t stop typing until I’ve got the first three pages down. I pick up the cup, and drink what’s left. Peering across the room, I see the coffee pot is still half full.

May 6, 2008

“Thanks again for the coffee,” I say, raising my paper cup to Emma as she sits across the table from me at the Student Center Café. I set the cup down quickly. In the interest of being more environmentally friendly, the café started using paper cups instead of Styrofoam. They haven’t perfected the transition yet, and the cups are still too hot to hold in your hand for very long.

“Yeah, no prob,” Emma says, sipping slowly from her bubble tea. She’s told me over and over again that this café’s attempts at bubble tea suck. Time and again, she’s gone on ordering it.

“So how are finals going?” I ask.

“Not bad. I’m just ready for it all to be over, you know?”

“Yeah, I know.” I drink deeply.

“You look tired.”

I nod. “Chang and I were up all night last night working on our final revisions.”

“Ah—the non-fiction class.”

“The non-fiction class.” I nod again.

“You still writing about love?”

I had forgotten that Emma and I talked at all about the piece I was working on earlier this semester. I suppose there’s not a lot we haven’t talked about.

“I actually took it in a new direction—narrowed it down some.”

“Is that right?” She makes a face as she sucks in one of the little bubbles through her big straw.

“Yeah. I started just writing about you.”

Emma looks up at me. It’s kind of bizarre to sit with her now, after I spent all last night putting our relationship into words—posing the question of what we are, then answering it, or at least writing about what I hoped we could be. I made my decision, sitting in a dorm room across campus, while she was probably sleeping. Here I am now, trying to make it real.

“I’m in love with you, Emma.”

She starts to smile, but fights it back. “It’s not that simple anymore.”

“I know.” Emma’s looking down at her bubbles, but I keep my eyes on her glasses, willing her to look at me again. “I know that. But I’m ready to work it out. So, the question is, are you ready?”

Emma draws some tea halfway up her straw, then lets it drop back down into the cup. Her eyes meet up with mine for a second, before she looks back down. “OK.”

May 7, 2008

Shawn Vetter posts up his defender on the TV screen in Emma’s room. This does not bode well, as every time Vetter has used this move it’s led to him scoring and,often getting fouled in the process.

There’s no foul this time. He spins and lays in a one handed dunk without event.

“I don’t get why they’re not double teaming him in the post,” Cameron says. “They’re not going to stop him one on one.”

The plastic of Emma’s water bottle pops, collapsing on itself as she empties it into her mouth. I feel kind of bad having her just sit through the game here, when she’s not the least bit interested. I couldn’t miss game six of the Finals, though, and Emma said she wanted to be together tonight, whatever we were doing. I wasn’t going to tell her no.

Mike releases a quick jumper from the baseline that falls right in, restoring the Knights’ lead to 7. The Knicks call a time out.

I put a hand over Emma’s. She turns her hand over, and collapses her fingers over mine.

“It’s kind of funny when you think about the way basketball has developed,” Cameron says, as the screen shifts to show Vetter’s dunk again.

“What do you mean?” I ask.

“It’s just—this game started with guys playing in a gym with a soccer ball and peach baskets,” she says. “You have to wonder what Naismith would think of zone defenses, and the triangle offense. Not to mention games getting played in front of sold out audiences, getting broadcast on national TV.”

I nod. “It’s pretty impressive.”

Emma yawns.

The game starts up again. The Knicks try to inbound to Vetter, but Mike swipes the ball away. Kevin Hardaway sprints ahead of him up court, and Mike launches the ball ahead, where Hardaway scores off of a one-handed dunk of his own.

May 8, 2008

My cell phone shakes in my pocket. Emma and I walk side by side, licking off of ice cream cones, holding hands as we head down Main Street. I reach for my phone out of instinct, only realizing that I’m breaking our grip after I’ve got a hand on it.

“Holy shit, it’s Mike,” I say flashing the caller ID screen to her.

“You should answer it.”

I flip the phone open. “Mike?”

“Presto, what’s happening, bro?”

“Not a whole lot,” I say. “I’ve gotta say, campus has been pretty dead—everyone’s glued to their TVs watching you play.”

“So, I suppose you saw the game last night?”

“You and the Knights forcing a game 7 in the NBA Finals—don’t think I’d miss that.”

Mike laughs. Emma takes a step to the side, looking in a shop window.

“Well, listen,” Mike goes on, “it looks like I’ve got some seats for game 7 at the Garden. Any chance you and the guys want to come on down?”

“You’re kidding, right?”

“What can I say—when you make it to the Finals, you get a few perks.”

My mind races, thinking of everyone I’d like to invite. The campus really has turned into one full of NBA fans, all eyes on Mike. “Well, I’m there. And I’m sure Chang wants to come too.”

“Hold on a second,” Mike says to someone else, before coming back to the phone, “Well hey, ask around, and let me know how many people want to come. I’ll see what I can do.”

“This is awesome,” I say, looking over to Emma as she bites into her cone. In my mind, I start to imagine traveling to New York with her. I like the idea of it. “Thank you, Mike.”

“Ah, you’re doing me the favor. I could use a little hometown support. So I’ll talk to you soon, all right?”

May 9, 2008

“You have to give Matt a call?” Chang asks, following after me, his book bag bulging over his back.

“Na, he said he’d track us online and just meet us here,” I say, looking back to make sure Cameron and Emma are both still with us as we make our way past the secure area of the airport.

People rush past either side of us, LaGuardia buzzing with travelers. I’ve never flown through here before, and start to wonder how we’re going to find Matt.

On one of the walls I spot a lit up poster, showing Mike and Shawn Vetter both going after a rebound. It’s an advertisement for the game on TV tonight, and it’s hard to believe that I’ll be sitting up close to watch it happen in person.

I think of the last time I saw Mike play live, back at Taylor. He was playing head and shoulders above everyone else in the game, knocking down shot after shot. I remember him taking the team all the way to the Division III championships.

I remember his friend Alicia traveled with him to the game. I remember finding Mike and Alicia in bed the next morning, when Pepper surprised him with a visit.

I wonder if Pepper will be watching the game tonight.

I wonder if Mike is wondering too.

“Welcome to New York!” I turn to find Matt standing there.

“Matt, good to see you.” We clasp hands and hug with one arm, before he does the same with Chang. He hugs Emma, and looks like he’s about to do the same to Cameron, when she sticks out her hand and introduces herself.

“Let’s head up to my place,” Matt says, swinging a set of keys over his index finger.

“You’ve got a car down here?” Chang asks.

“Na, Julie’s here for the weekend,” Matt says, looking over his shoulder as he’s already started to walk away.

“I thought Julie didn’t like you driving her car,” I say.

“She doesn’t.” He glances at his watch. “Time for us to wake her up and grab some breakfast.”

May 10, 2008

“Hey, Alicia?” I say, stopping at my seat in the lower level of Madison Square Garden.

Alicia looks up. I think it takes her a second to recognize me, and you can sort of tell when her smile goes from put on to sincere. “Hey—it’s Preston, right?”

“That’s right,” I say. “Glad to see you here.”

“Well, I think might got the seats for his cheering section altogether.” She pauses, looking to her side. This is Chris, Karen and Ray—they’re friends from home.”

I reach out a hand to shake their hands. Ray—an old guy, I take to be an uncle or something, keeps his eyes fixed on the court, not acknowledging me. “Nice to meet you. I’m Preston—Mike’s friend from college.” I take a look down at my ticket, to be sure I’m sitting in the right place—one seat removed from Alicia and her friends. “Somebody else coming?”

She looks down. “He sent a ticket to Pepper.” She looks back up, smiling weakly. “I don’t think she’s going to come.”

“Right,” I nod slowly.

A horn sounds, and players from both teams jog out onto the court to shoot around.

*

Nearing the end of the first quarter, the game is tied at 23. One of the Knicks gets fouled, and I spy Shawn Vetter whispering something into his ear as he walks to the line.

Looking to Mike, I see his eyes fixed on the two of them as well.

The shooter drains his first free throw. The players stretch out arms, eyes already on the basket as prepares for his second shot. The ball bounces hard off he backboard, heading right for Shawn Vetter’s waiting hands.

Vetter’s in the air to meet the ball, but Mike cuts in between, slapping the ball away. He recovers the ball, and while he’s falling out of bounds, sends it sailing toward half court. Kevin Hardaway catches the ball off of an awkward bounce and throws up a long distance three point shot as the buzzer sounds. The shot rattles home to give The Knights an early lead.

Emma and Cameron rise to their feet, clapping in the face of the crowd’s boos. Emma has taken to antagonizing the Knicks fans sitting around us.

*

Kevin Hardaway has to sit out most of the third quarter, because he’s in foul trouble. Mike makes a valiant effort to keep the Knights in the game, but the rest of the team can’t seem to do much. By mid-way through the fourth quarter, the Knights are down ten. They call a time out.

The Knights huddle is right beneath us. Most of the guys look tired, but the coach looks animated, pointing at his clipboard and barking out commands.
“It’s not looking good, huh?” Emma asks.

“There’s still a lot of time on the clock,” Cameron says. “When Hardaway’s back in, they can make a run.”

Hardaway is back in after the time out, and, as if on cue, scores off of a give and go play on the Knights’ first possession. He picks the ball off in the post on the other end, and brings it up himself, racing ahead of the pack, before he dishes it off to Mike for the lay-in, to cut the lead to six.

The crowd is growing raucous, yelling for the Knicks on offense, chanting for them on defense. The Knicks score off of a lay up. Mike converts a three point play. The Knights get a defensive rebound, and Hardaway nails a three pointer at the other end, to narrow the gap to two. The Knicks call time, with fifteen seconds on the clock.

To my right, I see Matt and Julie stand up, to let someone past. The person in the aisle doesn’t budge, though, looking right down at the court.

Her hairs a little longer, and even so, she’s got her head hidden under a beret. After a few minutes, though, I recognize Pepper.

I try to make eye contact with Mike, to let him know Pepper’s here. He’s focused on the coach.

Half the Garden stands alongside Julie, Matt and Pepper, as a horn sounds, and we enter the final moments of play.

The Knicks inbound at half court. They pass the ball around, trying to kill time, but the Knights get their foul. Cameron buries her head in her hands. It’s only then that I realize it was Hardaway who had to take the foul. Down two, with nine seconds left in the game, the Hardaway has fouled out.

The Knicks player makes one of two free throws. To my surprise, the Knights don’t call time out, rushing the ball up court, and scoring a quick lay-up, as the clock winds down to five seconds. The New York crowd falls into a stunned semi-quiet.

The Knicks have trouble inbounding the ball, and matters get worse for them as Mike steals it before they get past the half court line. He dribbles toward the hoop at a furious speed, and goes up for a lay up.

Just as the ball is leaving his hand, one of the Knicks clobbers Mike, sending him to the ground. The balls drops in off of the glass, and Mike is headed to the line. He has one shot, with two seconds left on the clock. The game is tied.

The Knights coach calls a time out.

“Check it out,” I hear Chang say. He’s pointing toward one of the big screens by the scoreboard. A camera has settled on us. Chang, Matt and Julie ham it up. Pepper stands, her eyes on the court.

Looking back to the court, I see Mike look at the screen, then up toward us.

The coach barks at Mike in the huddle. Mike gives him the occasional look, but each time, he’s pulling himself away from Pepper. She doesn’t move an inch.

Mike keeps stealing looks at Pepper, even as he heads back out onto the court. The ref passes him the ball. He bounces it twice, his head turned ninety degrees still looking at her. Pepper’s eyes are fixed on him.

She cracks a smile, and then she nods.

It’s the most movement I’ve seen from her today. Mike nods in return, though, bouncing the ball once as he squares up to the basket. He takes his shot, and it hits nothing but net going in.

The New York crowd falls flat as Emma and Cameron scream to one side of me, Alicia and Chris to the other.

The Knicks are out of time out. They inbound the ball, but a full court press is on. They fire a shot from just past half court, but it’s an air ball, meaning Mike and The Knights have one.

Mike shoves past a sportscaster and camera man, heading into the stand. I think it’s a wonder the New York fans aren’t pummeling him the way they’ve jeered him all game, and I imagine he’s insane to go out amongst them.

The camera broadcasting to the big screen follows Mike as he gets a running start, heading toward us. He leaps in the air, jumping higher than I’ve ever seen him go, to grab the bars dividing our section of the arena from the floor. He pulls himself up until he’s at eye level with all of us.

Mike can only get half over the barrier before Pepper’s there to greet him. Beads of swear pour from Mike’s face, but Pepper collapses her hands into his hair, pulling him in for a kiss.

Just one row among thousands, we stand up to give them a standing ovation.