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NNTP-Posting-Date: Wed, 24 Sep 2003 11:40:49 -0500
From: SirFozzie <Tarislan@yahoo.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} One On One (Chapter 1-Background)
Date: Wed, 24 Sep 2003 20:10:31 -0400
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Basketball has dominated my life ever since... well... since I was old 
enough to remember. Even at the ages of 5 and 6; I was clumsily trying 
to dribble a basketball on my driveway. Eventually that led to throwing 
the ball up towards the hoop, and after a while, actually MAKING some shots.

When I wasn't playing basketball, I was thinking basketball, and for 
that matter, probably eating, drinking and sleeping basketball. At 
least, the sleeping part I can confirm.
I hated winter with a passion, because with all the ice and snow New 
England got, I'd lose out on several months of basketball. My only 
solace was when the local high school, college and pro teams played. 
There was many an evening that I fell asleep to the rough voice of 
Johnny Most, as he was "High above Courtside" at the legendary Boston 
Garden. Bird, Parish, and McHale were my heroes, and Laimbeer, Worthy 
and Thomas were all names that gave me nightmares. I cheered when the 
Celtics won, and cried myself to sleep on the rare occasions they lost.

I told my folks that the second I could sign up for local youth league 
basketball; I'd be there ready to sign up, with or without them. I spent 
a couple hours a day by myself in the driveway, just dribbling and 
shooting. My mom claimed she could always tell when I was making 
trouble; she could tell I was up to something when she couldn't hear the 
rhythmic bouncing of the ball on the pavement.

My folks were, well, for lack of a better word, AMUSED at my fixation on 
basketball. They tried to make sure I didn't burn out on it, but they 
kind of expected me to lose my drive for the game eventually. But more 
than anything else, they supported me. They knew how much it meant to me.

And then in the blink of a moment, it all changed forever.

Some idiot had taken a car for a joyride, and had panicked when the cops 
turned on their lights and siren behind them, after they had confirmed 
that the car had been stolen. He apparently led them on a chase 
throughout the city, but near the end of that chase he tried to take a 
turn at too high a speed, and overcorrected, clipping a ten year old boy 
on the sidewalk that was just walking home from a friend's house, 
sending him flying 15 feet through the air... Three guesses who that boy 
was, and the first two don't count.

I guess I really shouldn't complain, after all. The doctor told me that 
it was touch and go for a while, that if the lunatic had hit me head on 
instead of clipping me with just a corner of his stolen car, those odds 
were pretty good that the thief would have been looking at vehicular 
manslaughter charges instead of the reckless endangerment and vehicular 
assault to go with the stolen car charge.

But that was not much solace to a ten year old that needed 11 surgeries 
to piece together a shattered hip and pelvis. I spent six months in bed 
and a wheel chair, either preparing for a surgery, or recovering from 
one. One of the things that kept me going in that very difficult and 
pain filled time was the fact I could look up at my dresser, and lying 
on top of it, was my basketball. I literally drew strength from that 
thing. The idiot who hit me had taken so much away from me, so much time 
(at least from a 10 year olds view point), even school (they 
home-schooled me for a year rather then have me kept back) and all the 
pain, but he wasn't going to take basketball from me.

After the surgeries, came the next step, which was physical therapy. 
More pain, but each time I used the twin guard rails to support my bad 
leg, and walked from one side of the therapy office to the other, I got 
a little stronger. It CERTAINLY didn't hurt that my dad offered to get 
two season tickets to the Celtics if I completed my physical therapy. 
With motives like that, it was hard to keep me from wanting to go too 
fast, but the therapist kept me on the right track, slowly rebuilding 
and strengthening my bad leg.

That October, I was able to get out of the wheelchair I had spent so 
much time in, for limited periods each day. Instead, I was given a cane, 
and was encouraged to walk a bit more each day. My first steps with that 
thing was more like a drunken man's shuffle, as I dragged the injured 
leg behind me, but it got slowly better. Dad lived up to his word, and 
was able to come through with the season tickets. We couldn't make EVERY 
game, but we made well more then half of them, and he never complained 
about the cost, or the premium parking he got to make sure I didn't over 
do it with my leg. That was the year that the Celtics went 67-15, so I 
got to watch the greats at the greatest time ever.

The real turning point with regards to my injury was on a cool late 
September day. I had finished one of my daily walking sessions, when I 
sat down on the bed, and looked outside. My dad had finished raking the 
leaves (he jokingly told me that he couldn't wait until I was healthy 
again, so I could help HIM with the yard work). I looked outside, and 
realized that I hadn't been able to play ball since the accident, nearly 
14 months prior, and realized with a New England winter quickly 
approaching, it would be 6-7 months more before the weather would allow 
it again, and I saw the ball on the dresser.

I made a decision at that moment, and after checking to make sure Mom 
was still downstairs, taking care of the wash, grabbed my cane from the 
bed, and the ball from the dresser (Thankfully, it hadn't deflated at 
all since the last time I had held it), and hobbled toward the front 
door as quickly as I could. Somehow, I knew that I couldn't let the 
moment pass.

Heading outside, I weighed the ball in my hands, letting my fingers 
drift over the raised surface slowly, being very careful not to tip 
myself over, since I couldn't lean on the cane very well, with the ball 
in both hands, one on either side of it, committing every bump to 
memory. Then as my left hand returned to the cane that was propped on my 
leg and my right hand turned the ball over and pushed downward, and I 
waited for what seemed like an eternity as the ball ever so slowly 
succumbed to the forces of inertia and gravity.

I waited, and I was rewarded with the sound that I had been waiting to 
hear for so long, the ball hitting the pavement with a solid thunk, and 
returning to my hand. Slowly, hesitantly, I started dribbling the ball 
in front and to the side of me. No fancy moves, just a kid dribbling a 
basketball, and not very well, at first, but as I got used to the feel 
again of the ball coming up to my fingers and then pushing it back down 
again and again and again, it just felt... well.. it felt RIGHT.

It may be a bit clichéd, but I think, that was the moment when I truly 
started to heal. I didn't have to shoot, didn't have to move, I don't 
think my legs could have taken it, for once, the feeling of being weak 
in the knees was NOT because of my injuries! I honestly couldn't tell 
you whether it was a few seconds, a few minutes, or a few hours when my 
mother came running to the door, alerted to the fact that I wasn't 
resting like I promised by the sound of the ball.

That earned me a scolding the like I hadn't seen for a while. I took it 
with a smile on my face, however, and I tried to "Yes Mom" and "no mom" 
and even "Sorry Mom" my way through it, could tell she was really scared 
that I would hurt myself. I could always tell when she was upset when 
she strung my full name together and made it one word. So if she was 
calling me MatthewDavidThomas, I was in a world of trouble. Fortunately, 
after she wore down, she saw the happiness in my face, and the way my 
free hand cradled the ball against my hip... and her smile told me how 
happy she was that I was getting back to doing what I enjoyed the most. 
But she told me that if I ever disappeared without telling her where I 
was going, that the door would be locked when I wanted to come in.

Throughout the fall, I managed to get out once or twice a week for a few 
minutes under the careful supervision of one of my parents, and Mom made 
sure that I didn't tire myself out too much. And at the end of the 
month, I got another surprise, as after a year of home-schooling, I 
would be returning to school next year, which was great, as I missed 
being around people.. My family was great, even my younger sister 
Kaitlin, but trust me, I wanted to deal with more folks then just my 
family and my doctors!

The problem was that I had missed sixth grade, and in Holliston, that 
was the year that folks transferred from the 4 elementary schools to the 
1 middle school in town, and I missed out on the year where everyone 
mixed together and in many cases, set their cliques for the next few 
years. So, when I returned, I kind of was in an in-between status, as I 
knew a lot of people, but I didn't have many close friends.

Besides, with a cane and a limp, I was DIFFERENT, which is never a good 
thing at that age. But I didn't much mind, I had a couple good friends, 
who even liked basketball, and would listen to me ramble on and on about 
the game. And I even got Mr. Wilkins, the school janitor to leave the 
gymnasium unlocked a couple times so I could shoot some hoops at school 
and not have to worry about braving the elements at my home. I still 
didn't have the stamina to do it for more then a half hour, but I was 
grateful for anything

Of course, it wasn't all that good, as I had missed out on one of the 
things I had wanted to do so much, and that's actually play the game. 
The doctors told me that eventually, I could be independent of the cane 
on a semi permanent basis, but they told me it would be years before I 
could even RUN regularly. Playing the sport competitively was a definite 
no-go, as far as they were concerned for now. Even once it was fully 
"healed", which wouldn't be until my growth spurt stabilized, it would 
still be a little more vulnerable to further injury then my good leg. 
So, after two years of test after test, and trial after trial, I had 
finally gotten back to a semblance of normalcy. But my attitude had 
changed, as a result of my home-schooling.

It used to be that the only books or magazines I'd read had to do with 
basketball in some way. Even with all the home-schooling work my parents 
gave me (they were afraid I'd fall behind if they didn't test me with 
more advanced items than most kids my age would face), there were many 
hours of the day and night where I was left to my own devices, and I 
couldn't fill them with working out and TV, so I started picking up 
books and spent many days reading them. My favorite was still stuff 
about basketball, but I learned to read authors like Anthony and 
McCaffrey, and that led to other books.

So I hung out on the outskirts of all the groups at school, and made a 
couple good friends, including my best friend, Analise Craig. Anna hated 
being called Analise, and would only let her parents call her that. 
Anyone else and she would ignore them, with her nose up in the air. She 
also had the not-so-affectionate nickname of the "Mouth from the South", 
because she was from Alabama, and because she spoke like a Southerner, 
even slipping up and saying "y'all" every now and then, a fact that 
drove our English teacher, Mrs. Dinter, nuts. (If she caught Anna using 
the words, she'd always remind her that "y'all is not a proper word, 
Anna". Anna would blush and promise not to do it again, and then a few 
days later it would happen again!)

But she was another inveterate bookworm, just like me, so we always saw 
each other in the library during our free periods, or kicking back with 
a book during lunch. Eventually, I dragged her a little bit out of the 
shell she had put around herself, and she helped keep me from going 
insane when my injury was acting up. Soon we were swapping books, with 
recommendations of which one to read next. We were never boyfriend and 
girlfriend, even as the whole school discovered that particular phase of 
life, but we were always friends.

The next couple years saw me going in for a couple follow-up procedures, 
to make sure I was still healing properly, but all was going well. Anna 
and I even helped a couple of our friends out, by doing a study group 
for folks who were having trouble with certain lessons, but we never did 
their work for them. We just tried to find a new way to explain it to 
them, or finding a different way to express the issue, and seeing where 
they took it from there.

Being a brain was one of the worst things that you could be tagged in 
that school, but somehow, Anna and I never got tagged with that label. 
In my case, I think a major part was because I was such a basketball 
freak, and Anna always would tag along with me when I watched a game in 
the gym (even though she'd spend most of her time reading). But I think 
the most part was that Anna and I never talked down to the kids who were 
having trouble, or called them dummies, or what have you. Both of us 
knew what it was like to be ridiculed, and didn't want to put anyone 
else in that place.

So eventually, we made our way to Holliston High School, and the hole 
inside me grew a bit deeper, as I watched others pull on the red and 
white of the Holliston Tigers boys' basketball team. And I wanted that 
so much, but I had to remind myself that I couldn't have it. Well, it 
wasn't a dream I could have for the foreseeable future. So I supported 
the team as best as I could, acting as the team's manager and 
statistician. Anna became friends with a few more of the in-clique, but 
we still had a connection, and we usually spent our lunch hours talking 
together.

During my sophomore year, the dread p-word, puberty hit, and hit hard. I 
shot up eleven inches in a span of three months. Trust me; it drove my 
mother CRAZY to have to buy me a new set of clothing every few weeks it 
seemed, as I just outgrew whatever I was given. Despite my utter 
embarrassment (I even felt a little lopsided leaning down on my cane on 
the times that I used it). But Anna was my savior during this so-awkward 
time. She could tease me without the jibes hurting, and she had a stream 
of stories and commentaries that had me cracking up.

By the time things finished up, I was about 5'10", and with my 
friendship over Anna (who was five foot nothing at best), got us a 
little bit of teasing, we joked it was our Mutt and Jeff impersonation. 
We tried to explain the joke to folks who looked at us in confusion, but 
we usually ended up shaking our heads and muttering "Philistines" under 
our breath. This usually just made their confusion even more palpable, 
and it also made our laughter louder.

My dating life was not non-existent, but it wasn't what you called 
hardcore. I didn't pass one of the three dating rules in the unofficial 
code. A) I wasn't a member of the in-clique or a sports star (those two 
groups of people pretty much overlapped at Holliston High), B) I didn't 
have lots of money, and C) I didn't have my own vehicle. To mangle the 
classic ditty "Take Me out to the Ballgame", it was 1, 2, 3 strikes and 
you're out at the old dating game.

Anna had a lot of the same problem, but that just meant we hung out 
together on a Saturday night, usually swapping bullshit stories and 
telling each other secrets about the foibles of our fellow classmates. 
Some would consider that dating, I don't think it was, just two friends, 
spending a Saturday night having fun.

This was good, because things kind of got kind of strained in my 
household. Things weren't going well at the office where my dad worked. 
They had bet big on a new product, and were one of the few "next big 
things" not to pan out during that time. There were rumors that there 
were going to be cutbacks in the near future. Dad did his best to 
explain this to us, and told us that if it did happen, things would be 
tight for a while, but we'd get through ok.

As the sophomore year progressed, I was able to spend a full day at 
school without the cane. On days I had PE during fifth period, I would 
spend most of the day walking without the cane, and then go through PE 
normally, and then use the cane the rest of the day, as my leg would 
normally be screamingly sore. The gym teacher offered to let me sit out, 
but I told him that's what I had been doing so long, and I wasn't going 
to let what happened years ago turn me into an invalid. I wasn't great, 
but I didn't suck at anything. Except kickball. I just turned into a 
blocker of the ball, and hoped my teammates would run it out while 
everyone ran into grab the ball. That worked four or five times before 
they figured it out.

At the end of the school year, we got the word from dad's office, and it 
wasn't good. He got laid off in a round of cutbacks that basically 
decimated his division. The severance package was good, but it meant a 
VERY uncertain summer. There was no vacationing, like there was usually, 
and both myself and Kaitlin tried to reduce our own spending (we had a 
weekly allowance that wasn't affected by Dad being laid off, but neither 
of us were big spenders, and didn't want to go overboard at a time like 
this)

Anna did her best to keep me from getting down during that time frame, 
but there were a lot of nights spent wondering what was going to happen 
next. About six weeks later, there was a big family meeting, with Mom 
and Dad were waiting for us at the kitchen table, holding hands, and 
Kait and I looked at each other nervously. Our folks hadn't had a big 
fight or something, had they? We sat in the offered chairs, and waited 
for them to tell us what was going on. There was a moment of silence, 
and then Dad cleared his throat, and took the initiative. "I have some 
good news, and some bad news. Since the bad news affects the good news, 
I'll give you the good news first. Starting in a week, I will have a new 
job."

He waited until the exclamations of happiness were done, but we knew 
there was a second part to it, and I had an inkling deep in my soul 
about what it was, but I just waited for the other shoe to drop. And it 
did drop, and quickly. "The job is in Pittsfield, as a middle level 
manager for a factory." He continued, and waited for that to sink in. 
Kaitlin looked confused, she didn't know where that was. I did, however, 
and it was a good hour, to maybe an hour and a half from where we lived. 
I looked at Dad, my heart in my throat, and he nodded, softly. "Even 
though the job pays the same as my old job here, I can't commute an hour 
and a half every day. So, the company is going to provide temporary 
housing for us in Pittsfield, while we look for a permanent home there, 
and we will be putting this home on the market."

That hit us hard, and especially came as a shock to Kaitlin. She had 
just turned 11, and was looking forward to going to Denbar Middle 
School, just like her big brother did. And in her case, she had been 
scheduled to be in a homeroom with all her friends. This hurt her, to be 
pulled away from what she had known for all her life. But she tried to 
put the best face on it, telling dad she was happy he was back to work, 
and promising to help out as best as she could.

I could understand how she felt. I had to tell Anna that night, and she 
was probably unhappier then I was. The first thing she made me promise 
is that I would keep in touch with her, by phone and mail as much as 
possible. Her exact words were "I have not spent nearly five years of my 
life with a guy that I trained to properly appreciate a good book, a guy 
that I can actually TALK to, to have him up and disappear on me, just 
because he's got to move." There were a lot of silent tears that night, 
but there was nothing further. We respected the limits we had set on 
ourselves. We were best friends... and that's what we were going to be 
forever.

The next week was a flurry of packing, as years and years of stuff were 
hurriedly stuffed into cardboard boxes. We didn't HAVE to pack 
everything up, it would take a little time to sell a place like our 
house, even during a busy market like the one we were facing, but none 
of us really relished the fact that we'd have to pack at least part of 
the stuff we were taking to us to our new, temporary home, and then come 
back when we either acquired a new, permanent place to call home, or we 
sold this house.

Anna helped greatly, becoming a fifth wheel that was actually useful 
during the process. She helped keep Kaitlin from being sad about the 
move with a litany of stories about high school that even I had trouble 
believing, even though I had been there at the time.

She performed the same function for me, even starting a laughing fight 
with me when she took it upon herself to pack my underwear... and 
COMMENT on it, too, saying "Jeez, Matt, you don't look like a 
"Tighty-Whitey" type of guy!" I don't think there is a jury in the world 
that would have convicted me if I exacted a bloody revenge on her. But 
that's not how one deals with one's best friend, even one who's intent 
on embarrassing you to death. So, instead, I tossed the pillow at her, 
in an attempt to keep her from further comment, an attempt that 
succeeded when she threw the pillow back at me, and we had a pillow 
fight that eventually drew in Kaitlin and even Mom and Dad.

I still think it was the funniest thing when my Dad started to give 
Kaitlin, Anna, and myself a mock lecture about proper home etiquette, 
only to have Mom sneak up from behind turn on the faucet, and squirt him 
with the hose used for washing dishes! He just about hit the sky with a 
jump and a yelp that echoed off the walls, and then chased my Mom around 
the house, laughing, and then tried to come back and continue the 
lecture, and pretending not to know why we were howling with laughter.

There was a lot of laughter, packed into seven small days. But as Anna 
was so fond of saying, "Time waits for no man and no woman either". It 
was a cloudy, humid Sunday when we were to say goodbye to the town I 
grew up in. Before we left, I had one last request of my dad. I asked 
him to take down the backboard, and the rim from the hoop in the 
driveway. He was a bit bemused, to say the least, but nodded his 
understanding when I told him I wanted it in my new room when we got the 
new house.

The morning of the move saw me taking a few last shots at the hoop, 
feeling very very sad, but a little excited too. A fresh start for 
myself, away from all the ghosts of the past. The minutes flew by, and 
Anna stopped by, watching me, but not saying anything. I think I saw a 
tear at the corner of her eye, and I'm pretty sure the same was 
happening to me. I saw dad, standing at the front door, with the step 
ladder, and the screwdriver. And I knew it was time. I put the cane 
down, took a few measured steps out to a white scrawled chalk marked line.

I knew that line by heart. It was exactly 15 feet from the hoop. No 
matter what level of basketball you played, that was the free throw 
line. From either side of me, Anna and my father watched silently, as I 
toed that line... the ball in my hands, and took two soft dribbles, 
raised the ball into position, and shot. And I knew it was in from the 
second it left my hands. Floating through the air it cleared the front 
of the rim, and through the hoop with a barely audible swishing sound.

After a second's pause, I hobbled to where the ball was, bent over, and 
picked it up. I smiled, first at my best friend, and then at the man who 
had done so much to give me a good life. "I couldn't do that again if I 
tried. I think it's a good omen. Let's get this party started." I helped 
my dad position the step ladder and watched as he brought down the hoop 
and the backboard, and I marched that item straight into the trailer we 
had rented to move all our stuff. A lot of it would go into storage, but 
it felt good to know at least one part of the old home would be going 
with me.

That afternoon, I remember hugging Anna, the first true physical contact 
we had allowed each other, and she demanded that I repeat her phone 
number one more time, and wanted to hear all about our new place. I told 
her that she'd better not find a new guy to be her best friend and 
forget about me.

"I've never had a friend like you... don't you find some girl that makes 
you heart go all a-flutter and forget about me either." She replied, the 
southern accent creeping in, showing how much this affected her, too.

I felt the same way. I didn't want to forget my best friend. Eventually, 
I got in that car, and even though the trailer we were towing blocked my 
sight out the window, I looked back in my dad's window's reflection, as 
we pulled away. I watched until she was out of sight. Just before we 
turned, I saw her give me a little wave. And then she was gone.

But I knew I'd call her the second my folks allowed me on the phone. It 
wasn't goodbye; it was instead so long for now.  But for now, I had to 
look forward. It was time for a change. And as the saying went, the 
change would do me good.


---
Author's Note: Well, 1 chapter down, the next one's being worked on: I 
have a pre-readers group (not just for my own stories, but several other 
new writers) at http://groups.yahoo.com/group/Erotica_Read_And_Write/

I'd like to thank Tony, Paul, Girl Friday and especially Cat for 
reviewing this, and making good suggestions (and making my stuff halfway 
readable), Chapter Two should be out soon.

David "SirFozzie" Yellope

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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