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 Posted: Sun Apr 11, 2010 4:13 am
Sovereign Heights really had a marvelous sports faculty. It wasn't only the teachers, it was also the fact that the sports building was larger than those in Meadowview or in Hillworth. He supposed that Crystal didn't really engage in sweaty sports and so did not have as much variety in their facilities. There was the soccer field, the indoor sports hall, the running track, and although the last mentioned probably was what his attention should be drawn to since he was still in track after graduating from Hillworth...
Damon still noticed the basketball court first. In fact, he was right there, sitting at the bleachers at the very back, yellow tie unloosened, watching his schoolmates practicing and dribbling the ball around intently. He was asked to play sometimes, by the ignorant ones who didn't know of his record, but even then, he declined.
Still, others would notice that the dark haired boy liked hanging out in the basketball court, nevertheless of the fact that he did not play. He would not let himself play.
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Posted: Sun Apr 11, 2010 4:38 am
Damon was focused on one thing, which was the playing and how he was not going to do it. It had to transform into an anti-want, a non-desire. It was this intense focus that meant he missed the figure who stepped onto the bleachers and walked towards him without hesitation, a tall older man with a happy-face t-shirt underneath a shirt that had GUEST PASS clipped to the breast pocket. Edward Nguyen passed Damon a small styrafoam cup (Starbucks, Americano, it smelled like: Edward's smelled like a mocha augmented with five spoons of sugar) and settled in beside him.
"Now, this is nice."
Both had known each other long enough that some of the counsellor's impenetrable cheer had worn off. 'Nice' wasn't the word for it. The indoor basketball court was beautiful and always smelled of fresh wax, and even the outdoor court was non-slip tile rather than concrete. The basketball court at Hillworth had been faded paint on faded concrete with a twisted metal excuse for a hoop. The Meadowview courts had never matched this either. Edward was watching the players dribble. One of them went for a goal, and both winced as the ball flew hilariously wide of the mark. It was something they'd bonded over, basketball.
"I only played on tarmac, as a kid." He swigged from his cup. Damon could definitely identify it as sugar-laced hot chocolate now. "We kept redoing the lines with wall paint. It chewed up a ball in three months."
Which left the underlying: we're not talking about how you're not playing.
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Posted: Sun Apr 11, 2010 8:52 am
The boy started when Mr N handed the cup to him; or at least that was what Damon called him. He had taken one look at the nameplate on the counselor's table when he had first been sent to visit him with a slip in hand (For threatening a football jock not to cut the line and being caught by a teacher walking into the cafeteria. "You really need to be less violent, Amary." She had said disapprovingly.), and eventually gave up trying to find the correct pronunciation for Nguyen in his head. He oddly kept thinking of it as 'Glue-yen', for some reason, but never spoke this out; it had always been just Mr N.
He took the cup and had a sip, wincing not because of the flavor, but because he had caught sight of the missed goal. He too, understood; how many times had they cursed because a player on their team missed the hoop during games?
Mr N knew what was bothering him, although it had taken him a while to make Damon speak up and explain his grievances. What with peers trying to cut lunch queues, and those guys bragging about how they had bagged a girl when they had devoted girlfriends, and then there was that basketball incident.
His eyes were still trained on the players as he talked. "I don't know what to do." Would he be ever allowed to join the Sovereign Heights team, when he had beaten up an opposing player, when he had been off the basketball team for two years and counting?
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Posted: Mon Apr 12, 2010 3:36 pm
"You weren't banned from playing."
Mr. N's voice was quiet, intent. They both knew he hadn't been banned. Damon knew he hadn't been banned. That didn't matter, did it, because the moment they looked into his history they wouldn't want him on the team anyway. Even if the rest of them tossed goals like the boy currently dribbling down on the tiles, his name would be mud. They'd gone over it again and again and again.
"Tell me what you're afraid of." The 'afraid' rankled. Then his keyworker continued, interrupting himself -- "Wait. I'll tell you what you're afraid of."
The basketball made a hard thwud, thwud, thwud on the ground, bright and rubbery. His counsellor didn't look at him to see if he was tense or upset when he softly continued: "You're afraid you won't get in. You're afraid you'll get in. Someone will mess up eventually, the referee will ignore a foul, the other team are all elbows..."
Mr. N sipped his hot chocolate and trailed off there, letting it hang.
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Posted: Mon Apr 12, 2010 6:50 pm
Damon was silent, cupping the styrofoam cup with two hands and staring down at the contents as if it was some magic mirror that would tell him what to do. He probably hoped that such a thing existed, but the stronger part of him was shoving that aside and saying that he was being ridiculous.
"Either way," he said slowly, taking another swig of coffee and then swirling the cup with a hand, still staring into it, "either way, it doesn't end well, does it?"
It was one stupid mistake, just that one, and it seemed that he would be filled with guilt forever. Towards his family, towards his friends, and most importantly, towards himself. "I suppose you're telling me to just forget about it." Just forget about even thinking about getting back on the team, and continue doing track like he already was.
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Posted: Mon Apr 12, 2010 7:19 pm
Now Mr. N was leaning back in the bleachers. "Let's roleplay a minute," he said, and at Damon's expression said: "No, hear me out. You're playing a basketball game. You're on, um -- you're small forward this time, and the other team are pretty aggressively fouling, you should have been able to sink it more times than you've gotten to try." Apparently Edward was describing hell. "Ref's not calling them. One of their players just full on bodychecked yours. Referee says he didn't see it, can't award the foul."
He took another long swig of his drink. When he was done, he continued, "Listen to me when I ask you this. What is your duty? I'm not asking you what you would do." A bit of a wry grin. "We can both answer that. Seriously, I'm asking you your duty."
Down on the court the bad shooter tried again. The ball hit the hoop and wobbled out.
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Posted: Mon Apr 12, 2010 8:30 pm
At 'Let's roleplay a minute', Damon had immediately grimaced; did they really have to do this? Apparently Mr N thought so and the boy remained silent and tight lipped as he described the scenario which only made him cringe more. Sometimes, having a counselor that knew exactly what ticked you off was not good, and the evidence of this was right now, sitting here and having to listen and imagine that horrible situation.
What he would do was obvious, no matter how hard he tried not to think about it, no matter how hard he tried to keep his temper in check. He tried to assure himself with the thought that any player on his team would be pissed if that happened, any player would go up to the referee and start complaining...
He sighed and answered in a monotone. "My duty is to my team, isn't it?" It sounded like he wasn't sure; was this a question with a definite answer, or was this a question where the answer was evaluated to observe his state of mind or some crap like that?
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Posted: Mon Apr 12, 2010 8:42 pm
"No." Edward set the styrafoam cup down as though that emphasised his point. "Your duty is to keep playing. There's no other duty. Damon, you're one of -- " Mr. N's hand made a weird, emphatic motion that Edward looked at himself, grimaced, and then kept on going with it -- "life's referees. You're the Terminator."
This sounded pretty goofy, and indeed it was. But his keyworker said, "You think it's your job to point out every injustice on the court and off. It's not. You're a player, you play. This isn't about your anger, it's about you not doing your job."
Damon's shoulders were tense with irritation. There was silence between them. Edward said lightly, "I always thought you'd make a really good referee, in fact, a real hard..." Most normal people would have ended in 'a**', but his counsellor finished with "...ball. Talk to me."
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Posted: Tue Apr 13, 2010 7:29 am
Bzzzzt. Wrong answer. Damon only sighed and waited for Mr N to explain what the right answer was; that perfect example he was supposed to emulate. Maybe not that far fetched, but it was definitely something out of his league.
"So I close an eye and pretend nothing happened?" He asked in a low tone, gritting his teeth. Just thinking about it made him wonder how could anyone do that, and why everyone around him wondered why he did the opposite. It was wrong, it was cruel and it was unfair.
"A referee." He repeated, sounding almost anguished. It was a logical thing for Mr N to suggest, really, but the thought of being on the court and not playing almost drove him insane. On the contrary, it was probably Mr N's point, to show him that it wasn't his job to judge. It was his job to keep playing.
Thinking about this gave him a headache. "I don't know if I want to get back in because I miss it. Or because I want to prove to everyone else that I could pick myself up after that mistake." Then he was quiet, and set down his cup on the seat besides him so that he wouldn't clench it out of anguish. "Or maybe I confuse myself too much. Is that it?"
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Posted: Tue Apr 13, 2010 5:23 pm
Mr. N thought about that. "Yeah," he said. His styrafoam cup was caught up in one hand and he stood, smiling at Damon as he unfolded himself. "Okay. You'll take ten seconds and leave your anger in the chair, then you have the choice of joining me. No thinking. Just your choice of yes or no."
Join him doing -- oh god.
Edward tossed his cup in a recycling bin at the side of the bleachers, and then as Damon watched he made his way down the stairs to join the players. A wave. He couldn't make out what his counsellor was saying. Obviously he negotiated to join in, because the players bewilderedly but amiably fanned back to start casual hoop-shooting.
Mr. N was one of nature's point guards. The ball stuck to his hands and went where he wanted it to, and he could make shots with tear-inducing patience and surety. He never would have been good enough to go pro, probably would have sat around in university basketball forever crippled by height that sat at six foot one only, but when he had the space and the distance he sunk it every time. He didn't look up to see if Damon was watching. That would have been hell too. They'd played one-on-one plenty of times. The SH boys playing where all casuals, though there were one or two that looked as though they had real talent -- damn.
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Posted: Wed Apr 14, 2010 1:56 am
Damon had barely got the 'Join you in what?' out of his throat, and could only watch in confusion as Mr N went down the stairs. What was he-- oh god. He wasn't. He wasn't going to ask him to...
He was. He realized, wanting to sink into his seat so that Mr N wouldn't catch his eye and motion to him to come down. Damon did not know what to do; he just continued to sit there watching, wondering, deliberating. At this point in time, there were only three options to him.
A. Just sit and wait.
B. Go down there and play with him.
C. Just leave.
He was about to toss a coin between A and C (C was a very tempting option), but glanced down again as a ball went through the hoop and gave a resigned sigh, and soon, he was down at the court, removing his jacket and tie and folding up his sleeves. "Are you sure about this?" He asked Mr N, still standing outside the white markings of the court. Or perhaps he was actually asking himself, Are you sure you want to step into there again? Are you sure you want to risk it?
It was just hoop shooting. Just. Hoop. Shooting. With this thought, he crossed the line.
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Posted: Sat Apr 17, 2010 4:17 am
Mr. N was jogging over to the hoop, catching the ball as another boy's throw spun it on the rim and teetered inside. The other boys were obviously a little baffled but kindly ran with it. One said, "It's cool," and with one of his keyworker's half-smiles the ball got thrown Damon's way.
It was just hoop shooting. It was also turning out to, in fact, just be hoop shooting. There was nothing more and nothing less. Maybe Edward had banked on his longing and curiosity overcoming his fear and irritation. Sometimes his counsellor could be as cautious with his feelings as though they were dangerous waters, and at other times he'd piledrive through them and push and push and push.
The SH boys seemed pretty nice about it. Even the one who couldn't shoot.
"You're Damon, right?" (One of the others shot him a slight look, but this was unreadable.) The ball got tossed his way. Mr. N introduced himself as 'Edward,' which was a relief as it made him look less like Damon's shrink or parole officer. "Go ahead."
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Posted: Tue Apr 20, 2010 8:00 am
Damon caught the ball neatly, still looking somewhat baffled; perhaps it was the mix of unexpected surprises that Mr N would actually approach the SH boys and play with them and that he, Damon Amary, was actually standing in a basketball court again, holding a basketball.
"Yeah." He said quietly, staring down at the orange ball in his hands, bouncing it up and down on the floor for a few times. It was so familiar, yet he felt as though this was some forbidden fruit he was not allowed to touch. It was like that story about the Garden of Eden or something and paying for your mistakes for eternity...
He gritted his teeth and threw the ball, and he sunk it.
Damon couldn't help but grin, just a little tug at the corner of hid mouth. Part of the pressure was that he wouldn't perform as well as he did before after quite a bit of an absence from the court, but this wasn't a real game. It didn't mean he could let himself relax though. He was still tense while thinking about what his mother would say if she knew, or that anyone that knew his history would come in and start making snide remarks.
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Posted: Tue Apr 20, 2010 6:29 pm
There were no snide remarks. There was no rehashing of old history. The ball obeyed him as it had obeyed him before, and he could feel the boys resizing him up, redoing their opinion -- who knew what they'd thought of him sitting on the bleachers before? Mr. N reverted to form, too, but it wasn't even embarrassing. He was just quietly talking to and realigning the elbows of the boy who managed to hit everything but rim.
"Please excuse my meddling," Mr. N was saying. "I'm a coach. Old habit." And the ball went closer after that, so it didn't seem to matter.
If the ball was the fruit of the tree of Wisdom, playing with it did nothing, nothing at all. The other boys were getting chatty. It was just flat shooting, no pressure. It took him a couple of minutes to notice, too, that Edward had left the court and was watching from the first tier of the bleachers solemnly. He'd taken away the safety net.
"What classes are you in?" another guy was saying, like this was Totally Normal.
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Posted: Sat Apr 24, 2010 9:13 am
Damon barely gave any reaction to Mr N helping the boy except that of a slightly raised eyebrow as he caught it out of the corner of his eye while watching another boy throw the ball at the hoop. The only problem with them getting chatty was that he didn't really talk much until addressed, and he soon was.
Grey eyes flickered to where Mr N had relegated himself to and his face was expressionless; there was no twitch of the face to hint for help, and Damon figured that Mr N wanted him to fend for himself now anyway. "General classes." He said. "English, Math, Science, you know the drill." He was pretty good in Math and Physics, and just a bit lacking in Chemistry and Biology. To him, application was easier than just plain memorizing.
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