Page 15 of Loving the Legend
The director signals for us to wrap it up.
I groan inwardly as I nod. “One last question from me, have you thought about life after basketball?”
He frowns as his gaze flicks over his watch. “Uh, yeah. I think about my legacy often. It was enough to be a talented basketball player when I was younger. While I love the game and am grateful to have the chance to play every day, when this is all over, I want to dedicate more time to the non-profit organizations I support. Man, I look at my young cousins and feel a deep sense of urgency to help make this world a more equitable place for them.” The conviction in his voice tells me that this is important to him.
“That’s honorable. As someone coming up a few years behind you, I have to admit that witnessing your passion for social justice influenced the athlete that I want to be and how I want to use my platform.’”
“Thanks! I’m humbled. We’re so blessed to have the reach that we have. It’s easy to take it for granted.”
“I’m honored to sit down with you one-on-one,” I confess.
“Same. It’s official! We’re best friends now.”
I burst out laughing. “Should we cop bestie rings?”
“Fo’ sho! I’ll have my assistant call your assistant for your ring size.”
“No need.” I wave off the offer. “When I get sized for the championship ring, I’ll have my assistant call your assistant.”
“You’re dreaming. Hey, did someone spike Ty’s mug? I think he’s drunk.” He searches the room for answers, then scootsforward, picks up my mug, and sniffs. He screws his face up. “Moonshine.”
The crew roars with laughter.
“Bruh, now everyone’s gonna know about my bootleg basement distillery. You promised you wouldn’t snitch!”
“My bad! Everyone at home, this appears to be”—he peers inside the mug again—“lemon tea.” He winks at the camera. “The man’s not drunk, just delusional. Everyone knows the Marvels is taking it all the way this year.”
We're laughing when the director yells cut.
“Great interview, guys! Excellent chemistry, effortless flow.”
“Thanks, Joaquin. That was fun,” Sid replies.
Of course, he remembers the director's name. I’m terrible with names.
We have our mics removed and our original clothes returned. After I get back from changing, I notice Sid’s already wearing his coat.
He studies me. “There’s a big difference between you and the freshmen who get drafted a year after college.”
I nod, not sure what to say.
“Some of ’em have the mindset of a fourteen-year-old. I’ve never had the luxury of being that young. Here”—he hands me his phone—“put your digits in. Let’s link up for a meal whenever we’re in the same town. Or if you ever need any league advice, hit me up.”
I thought the whole,let’s be friendsthing was just a thing to say on camera, but I’m wondering if Sid says what he means. I take his phone. My hands tremble a little as I type in my info.
“Here you go.” I hand the phone back to him and pull on my coat.
“That’s tough,” he says, gesturing to my Italian shearling leather aviator jacket.
“Thanks,” I reply, staring down at it. “It was my dad’s.”
“Mmm.” He slides his phone in his pocket. “Aight, well, I gotta run and catch my plane to the Chi.”
“Ah, you play the Crows tomorrow. Good luck.”
He smiles. “Thanks.”
Neither one of us makes a move to separate. Our gazes lock and it’s like that day in the gym all over again. The air around us sizzles like we’re in a heatwave and not the dead of winter.
