“Ball up top nigga, stop bitching!”
“You’re the one acting all sensitive,” Kam remarked, shaking his head as he wiped the sweat from his brow with the shoulder of his shirt, “It’s a fucking contact sport.”
He tried his best to hide the wry smile that was creeping up on his face as getting under Jamal’s skin was perhaps his favorite past time. As soon as he checked the ball, Kam attached himself to Jamal’s hip, constantly pulling at his shirt.
“That’s right, fuck nigga!” Kam exclaimed as Jamal passed the ball, which was required by rule for play to officially begin but didn’t stop Kam’s words from penetrating through.
“Right here,” Jamal clapped his hands, demanding the ball back.
They had graduated into being the elder statesmen of the court so with no hesitation, Jamal’s teammate fired the pass back towards him which Kam anticipated and intercepted. In one swooping motion, Kam turned around and lobbed it towards the paint where his oversized, fifteen-year-old teammate took one hard-dribble before grazing the rim with a two-handed dunk.
“Game out! You can’t fuck with me!” Kam got right in Jamal’s face, eliciting laughter from both as Jamal jokingly pushed him away.
…
“You want another one?” the waitress shouted over the loud noise as she approached her usual customer.
“Keep them coming,” the heavy-set gentleman let out a subdued burp before finishing the rest of his pint, “Excuse me.”
“Shot and a beer?” she didn’t mind, he was a heavy tipper.
“You know it,” he smiled, “Make it a double, it’s getting to be quitting time for my ole lady.”
…
“Niggas get a couple fluke wins and lose themselves,” Jamal said to no one as he walked off the court, taking his drenched shirt off and throwing it towards the empty bleachers.
“You’ve been getting cooked all day, fuck is you talking about?” Kam shook his head in amazement.
“Nigga, you barbecue chicken when I step on this court. Finger licking good.”
“Ayooooooo!” screamed the peanut gallery that surrounded them.
“It’s y’all that be on that gay shit,” Jamal tried to clean it up, but the entire court had already decided that he was in violation.
“You’re wrong for that,” said one of his own teammates, holding their hands up.
“Players fuck up too,” he finally copped to it, taking a seat on the bleachers as the sun had given way to the moon, “What y’all up to after this?”
…
“I think that’s enough for right now,” Macie told her daughter as she pulled the dessert plate away from her, drawing a furrow brow that only lasted a few moments before Anna’s eyes were redirected towards the tablet in front of her.
“Kam likes those little sliders, right?” Cory reached out and touched his wife’s arm to get her attention, slightly startling her.
“We’re not getting him anything,” she shook her head in disagreement, “He can’t keep flaking on us on family night and still get to eat out.”
“Come on,” Cory pleaded, “I know you remember being that age, always wanting to hang out with your friends. You probably were a lot of trouble, weren’t you?”
“I don’t know about all that,” she smiled, “I certainly wasn’t Mr. All-American, mathlete, debate team captain.”
“I wasn’t any of that,” Cory laughed, “You need to stop creating this narrative and stop running away from the fact that you were a lil’ hot ass in your heyday. Still are.”
“Glad you corrected yourself,” she leaned in for a kiss, not particularly caring that they were at Cheesecake Factory.
…
The porch light flickered on as Kam reached his destination, unlocking the door to step into an oddly quiet home. He did not expect to have beaten them home but was glad to as he hurried to his room.
His phone, forgotten in the excitement of the games, was dead. He plugged it in and hopped in the shower, eager to wash away the stench of basketball and Backwoods. Surprised that they were still not home as he got out of the shower, he grabbed his now charged phone as the screen lit up with a barrage of missed calls, text messages and voicemails flooded in.
"Emergency... car crash... your family..." The words blurred together as Kam's world came crashing down.
Requiem for a Broken Dream.
-
Captain Canada
- Posts: 2259
- Joined: 01 Dec 2018, 00:15
Requiem for a Broken Dream.
Oh, you not wasting anytime traumatizing your main character huh 
Requiem for a Broken Dream.
writing this entire shit while Meet the Grahams is on repeat. this shit gonna be dark!Captain Canada wrote: ↑16 May 2024, 13:58Oh, you not wasting anytime traumatizing your main character huh
-
KimJongBaze
- Posts: 1337
- Joined: 27 Nov 2018, 18:31
Requiem for a Broken Dream.
What is this
Requiem for a Broken Dream.
A thread that won't go past 2 pages
Requiem for a Broken Dream.
-
chosenone58
- Posts: 3756
- Joined: 28 Nov 2018, 19:06
Requiem for a Broken Dream.
Kam took a few quick breathes before taking a deep one, preparing himself for the arduous task on the horizon. He lowered himself until he was ‘ass to grass’ before exploding back up, the metal plates still clanking against each other as he racked up the weight.
He nearly threw himself to the floor as he took a reprieve, observing from a distance and critiquing Jamal’s form as it was his turn to finish the last set.
The heat had swelled up in the shed where they had spent the past three years molding their bodies and strengthening their tendons, fogging up the mirror in the process. It had begun as a cool Saturday morning, but the sun had settled in and with it, the long day that awaited Kam.
He wasn’t one to look forward to a workout but for the past few days, it was a welcomed distraction from everything else that was going on in his life – or rather the lack thereof. If he wasn’t working out with Jamal, he’d be in the Patterson’s guest room where his thoughts would go to racing only to disappear when it was time to meet with Dr. Bracco.
“Boys,” Jamal’s father popped his head in, his tie loosened around his neck, “It’s getting to be time.”
…
“Fuck me,” Kwame was already regretting his cost-saving decision to skim on a hotel as he frantically pressed down on his collared shirt, trying to replace the non-existent iron that came with the dilapidated room.
His impressive frame filled out the suit a bit too much, showing signs that it had been acquired many moons ago. He tightened the tie around his neck while the YouTube tutorial played from his phone, rewinding, and undoing the tie for the umpteenth time before finally deciding that just enough was good enough.
“Shit,” he looked at time as he exited the video, realizing the Uber had already arrived for a few minutes.
…
“How did that make you feel?”
“I don’t know,” Kam had promised himself that he wouldn’t be combative in this session but here he was, “It’s a funeral, they’re sad, someone died.”
“This wasn’t just anyone dying,” Dr. Bracco emphasized, “You mentioned last time that you’d been to funerals before. Did this one feel any different?”
“I mean, I knew they were dead before I got there so it wasn’t like a surprise or anything,” Kam scoffed, getting even more frustrated with himself as he couldn’t help it.
“Your biological father,” Dr. Bracco adjusted herself in her seat, which Kam noticed she often did when she felt she reached a dead end on a particular subject.
“What about him?”
“Did you get a chance to speak with him?”
…
“Let me get that for you,” Kwame volunteered even with the hired help right around the corner, picking up the empty glasses and bringing them to the kitchen.
It had been nearly two decades since he was sneaking in and out of this very kitchen through the backdoor filled with a lustful nature. He rolled up his sleeve, attending to the dishes that had piled up in the sink.
“You need to sit down,” she rubbed his back, “You’ve been running around all day, it feels like.”
“I’m good, ma. Just helping out, is all.”
“Baby,” Jolie insisted, “You just need to let it hit you, you can’t run from it. Dustin tried to do it when his brother passed and he’s still doing it right now, even though I still catch him staring off the distance every once in a while, sitting in it.”
Kwame sighed as he took his hands out from the sink and dried them, “I don’t know how you’re doing it. I mean…I can’t even…”
“It’s not me,” she pointed towards the heavens, “He’s holding me up, He’s providing me with the strength. You don’t think I want to scream, holler, and just roll around the ground? Jump into that hole they put my daughter in…her husband…. that poor innocent baby?”
“I just wish...” Kwame started choking up, the words unable to leave his mouth.
“She knows you loved her,” Jolie assured him, giving him a hug that only a mother could.
…
“We didn’t really get to talk much,” Kam answered Dr. Bracco, “Flew in and flew out the day of the funeral.”
“So, you’re going to stay with your grandparents?”
“Yeah, I mean, what choice do I got?”
“Is that what you wanted?”
Kam shrugged.
“What about staying with your biological father?”
“He lives in Florida so not really an option.”
“And if he didn’t?”
“I don’t have daddy issues,” Kam laughed, “He’s cool people but shit, this my senior year, I’m not really trying to move like that.”
“Why do you say it like that?”
“Like what?”
“Daddy issues,” she adjusted herself in her seat but this time, didn’t leave the subject much to Kam’s chagrin, “What do you associate with having emotions or thoughts towards your father or any parent for that matter?"
“Look, I’m just saying, it’s not like…it’s just not a deep subject for me, okay?”
“How often do you see him, with him living in another state?”
“I don’t know, a couple times a year.”
“When was the last time you saw him?”
“It was Christmas but not this one, the year before that I think.”
“So, two years ago?”
“I guess, he used to come around more often, but he’s got a kid now, so I get it.”
“Are you close with them?”
“Who?”
“His child.”
“Nah, I haven’t met her. He’s shown me pictures of her though, she’s probably like five or some shit now.”
“You’ve mentioned your senior year a few times now,” she adjusted herself, “It’s very important to you.”
“I mean, yeah, shouldn’t it be?”
“Why is that?”
“I don’t have no offers or anything like that, but a couple schools are looking at me and Coach thinks they’re going to offer me anytime now so a good senior year, I’m out of here.”
“Where would you like to go?”
“Shit, after this shit, any fucking where.”
He nearly threw himself to the floor as he took a reprieve, observing from a distance and critiquing Jamal’s form as it was his turn to finish the last set.
The heat had swelled up in the shed where they had spent the past three years molding their bodies and strengthening their tendons, fogging up the mirror in the process. It had begun as a cool Saturday morning, but the sun had settled in and with it, the long day that awaited Kam.
He wasn’t one to look forward to a workout but for the past few days, it was a welcomed distraction from everything else that was going on in his life – or rather the lack thereof. If he wasn’t working out with Jamal, he’d be in the Patterson’s guest room where his thoughts would go to racing only to disappear when it was time to meet with Dr. Bracco.
“Boys,” Jamal’s father popped his head in, his tie loosened around his neck, “It’s getting to be time.”
…
“Fuck me,” Kwame was already regretting his cost-saving decision to skim on a hotel as he frantically pressed down on his collared shirt, trying to replace the non-existent iron that came with the dilapidated room.
His impressive frame filled out the suit a bit too much, showing signs that it had been acquired many moons ago. He tightened the tie around his neck while the YouTube tutorial played from his phone, rewinding, and undoing the tie for the umpteenth time before finally deciding that just enough was good enough.
“Shit,” he looked at time as he exited the video, realizing the Uber had already arrived for a few minutes.
…
“How did that make you feel?”
“I don’t know,” Kam had promised himself that he wouldn’t be combative in this session but here he was, “It’s a funeral, they’re sad, someone died.”
“This wasn’t just anyone dying,” Dr. Bracco emphasized, “You mentioned last time that you’d been to funerals before. Did this one feel any different?”
“I mean, I knew they were dead before I got there so it wasn’t like a surprise or anything,” Kam scoffed, getting even more frustrated with himself as he couldn’t help it.
“Your biological father,” Dr. Bracco adjusted herself in her seat, which Kam noticed she often did when she felt she reached a dead end on a particular subject.
“What about him?”
“Did you get a chance to speak with him?”
…
“Let me get that for you,” Kwame volunteered even with the hired help right around the corner, picking up the empty glasses and bringing them to the kitchen.
It had been nearly two decades since he was sneaking in and out of this very kitchen through the backdoor filled with a lustful nature. He rolled up his sleeve, attending to the dishes that had piled up in the sink.
“You need to sit down,” she rubbed his back, “You’ve been running around all day, it feels like.”
“I’m good, ma. Just helping out, is all.”
“Baby,” Jolie insisted, “You just need to let it hit you, you can’t run from it. Dustin tried to do it when his brother passed and he’s still doing it right now, even though I still catch him staring off the distance every once in a while, sitting in it.”
Kwame sighed as he took his hands out from the sink and dried them, “I don’t know how you’re doing it. I mean…I can’t even…”
“It’s not me,” she pointed towards the heavens, “He’s holding me up, He’s providing me with the strength. You don’t think I want to scream, holler, and just roll around the ground? Jump into that hole they put my daughter in…her husband…. that poor innocent baby?”
“I just wish...” Kwame started choking up, the words unable to leave his mouth.
“She knows you loved her,” Jolie assured him, giving him a hug that only a mother could.
…
“We didn’t really get to talk much,” Kam answered Dr. Bracco, “Flew in and flew out the day of the funeral.”
“So, you’re going to stay with your grandparents?”
“Yeah, I mean, what choice do I got?”
“Is that what you wanted?”
Kam shrugged.
“What about staying with your biological father?”
“He lives in Florida so not really an option.”
“And if he didn’t?”
“I don’t have daddy issues,” Kam laughed, “He’s cool people but shit, this my senior year, I’m not really trying to move like that.”
“Why do you say it like that?”
“Like what?”
“Daddy issues,” she adjusted herself in her seat but this time, didn’t leave the subject much to Kam’s chagrin, “What do you associate with having emotions or thoughts towards your father or any parent for that matter?"
“Look, I’m just saying, it’s not like…it’s just not a deep subject for me, okay?”
“How often do you see him, with him living in another state?”
“I don’t know, a couple times a year.”
“When was the last time you saw him?”
“It was Christmas but not this one, the year before that I think.”
“So, two years ago?”
“I guess, he used to come around more often, but he’s got a kid now, so I get it.”
“Are you close with them?”
“Who?”
“His child.”
“Nah, I haven’t met her. He’s shown me pictures of her though, she’s probably like five or some shit now.”
“You’ve mentioned your senior year a few times now,” she adjusted herself, “It’s very important to you.”
“I mean, yeah, shouldn’t it be?”
“Why is that?”
“I don’t have no offers or anything like that, but a couple schools are looking at me and Coach thinks they’re going to offer me anytime now so a good senior year, I’m out of here.”
“Where would you like to go?”
“Shit, after this shit, any fucking where.”
