Essay #1

My passion began at the end of a long day of school, and constantly watching the clock. The chattering, superior, judgmental, annoying  air head school girls will at last be filtered out like shrimp on a lobster boat as a huge swarm of us girls rushed into the locker room.  Anxiously eager to take those uncomfortably tight jeans off and slip into a pair of silky gym shorts. Wrestling on that sports bra and tank top after tightly putting my hair back into a messy bun. Just barely getting on the last article, the whistle blows, and it’s time for business. This is the moment where all the "annoying, air heads" lose their spotlight. We quickly scurry out onto the freshly swept gym floor and plank our butts on the shiny, waxed wooded flooring.

After some of us get our ankles tightly wrapped and taped to spare them from getting twisted before the big game, we start our sets of sit-ups, push-ups, bicycles, then leg and arm stretches. Usually that got our blood pumping and competitive vibe going because we were always competing to see who could get just one more push-up in, or one more pedal of the abdominal wrenching bicycles.

Practicing one of my jump shots or perfecting my psych out, as i hear the constant dribbling in the background and that sound of 10-15 balls all hitting the rim at the same time. It didn’t matter, i was in the zone.  I was either, zipping past my imaginary defense after a psych out and landing a completely perfect lay-up. Or making them think i was going for the lay-up and sinking a 3 pointer in their face. I was good at my game; I knew it and so didn’t everyone else. I broke records on good and bad days; girls wanted me to help them improve their game. Sometimes, the boys coach would say he wished i was on his team.

 You could sign me up for any new challenge, a new play, one on one, and endlessly sinking them foul shots. You name it; I either conquered it or worked hard until i did. One of my specialties would be waiting for the point guard to dribble down the floor and just barely passing the half court line as I charge at her anticipating her very next move yelling "Ball, ball, ball!" swatting it just as soon as the ball left her fingertips as she’s still frantically trying to find an open team mate. I get a good four leaps away and everyone knew that once I had that ball, it was going all the way to the hoop. I hear the crowd screaming, hollering and whistling as I sink it and victory is ours!  Man o man didn't I love basketball. It was on my brain while i was eating, sleeping and breathing. It was my therapy, my escape from reality, a different dimension that became clear to me, always too late, that it would soon come to an end.