Page 47 of Rome: The Ballerina

“Not today. I need to get some shut eye tonight.”

“Sure thing.”

I stepped out of the way to allow the person waiting behind me to come forward. I pressed my back against the wall on the side of the registers and lifted my right foot to meet it. Aimlessly, I scrolled the notes I’d taken from today’s meeting.

It was combined with film notes full of resolutions I intended to utilize during tomorrow night’s game. Knowing your opponent’s moves was the best line of defense on the wood. Because, you knew that even if you couldn’t score, you could keep them from doing so too.

“De Bacco!”

I grabbed the brown sack between my index finger and thumb.

“Until next time, Carmen,” I tossed over my shoulders.

“Don’t let it be another seven days!” She yelled across the counter, bringing a smile to my face.

“Noted.”

I conquered the distance from the counter to the door. At the entrance was a young boy dressed in black shorts, a black cap, and black shades. On his chest was the number four. The number held significance for me.

I leaned down, placing the back of my hand on his jersey. His eyes were no longer on his phone screen. They were on me.

“What you know about that, kid?” I asked, tapping his chest.

He snatched his shades from his face and peered up at me in sheer surprise. The gaps between his teeth were on full display, forcing a chuckle from my lips. I remembered the days.

“Saint– Saint DE BACCO. No freaking way!”

“Ahmad!”

“Sorry mom. Sorry, but do y– do you see this? Can I get a p–”

“No son. Let him get by. No pictures. We’ve talked about this.”

It’s all good,” I assured her, taking the kid’s phone into my hand.

I enabled the camera and leaned in closer for the photo. I was sure to capture a few in case he wasn’t feeling the first one. As quickly as the encounter began, it ended. I made my way out of the door as I turned to his mother.

“He’s got a set of legs on him. Bring him to the camp this summer. Get him on the wood.”

“Oh God. Yes. I will. A website to sign up? Anything?”

“Ahmad. I’ll remember him. Tag me in that photo and I’ll have my people reach out.”

“Thank you!”

“My pleasure.”

I could spot a baller out of any line up. They were always different. Usually taller. Slim. And, a lot more focused than those around them. Whether it was on their screen watching replays, sports shows, or studying their favorite player. A basketball was never too far from their fingers. And, their shoes were usually longer than their head.

In the parkinglot of Haystacks, I finished my sandwich and washed it down with the bottle of water in my cupholder. I crumbled the brown wrapper and tossed it into the passenger seat. My head bobbed to the Jeezy track spinning with the volume lowered.

Mentally, I matched every word he spat. The water cleansed my palette. I checked the time on my cell to see just how late my sleeping beauty was.

Thirty-six minutes after ending the call with Aliza, the headlights of her Mercedes led the rest of the whip into the parking spot beside me. Her favorite pair of Gucci sunglasses shielded her eyes from the viciousness of the sun.

The doors of the restaurant didn’t open until two, so it was a safe space. In fact, it was the place we met more often than not to avoid cameras, fans of the game, vultures, and journalists waiting for a new story.

I stepped out of my whip with her purse and lettuce wrap in-hand. She met me in between our cars. I avoided confrontation, although I wanted to check her about touching that handle with me standing just feet away.

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