The basketball was slick from the sweat of other players. We scrambled and fought for it as the clock continued to tick down.
I don’t even remember how I got there.
I smack the ball away from several other people on the opposing team. I grip it in my hands and fumble it once or twice as the other team attempts to take it from me. I stood right underneath the rim. I hopped back and made a few on the enemy team stumble. I took the shot, the ball rotating and going high up into the air.
The crowd, who had been cheering before, exploded into applause and tears. Apparently that was the game winning shot. My mother was in the crowd, I picked her out instantly. She was crying and I could see her mouth moving. She was yelling at the person next to her, “That’s my boy!”
Not a moment later she and I are in an old basement, one that reminds me of my grandma’s. The carpet was a weird, tan color and flat. She sat at an old, wooden computer desk, complete with a weathered, boxy, white computer.
A long, wooden, cuboid stood vertically next to the desk; it was about five feet tall and about a foot wide. A wooden framed door was latched with a magnet, the middle of the door was thin glass. Several over the top drinking glasses sat inside the structure. I pointed to one and asked if it was Uncle Hondo’s. She just laughed and nodded.
I love you Mom.