Page 3 of Loving the Legend
“Hell yeah!” I yelled as I swung from the rim.
My feet barely dusted the floor before I launched myself back in the air, chest bumping my teammate. I signaled to the crowd to get louder—and damn, they delivered. Their cheers reached a crescendo, bouncing off the walls and up my spine through my fingertips.
I searched the bleachers for my parents. They had to be out of their seats, going bonkers. They cheered the loudest. I froze when my gaze landed on the empty seats in their usual spot.
“Yo, that was fire!” My teammate yelled as he smacked my chest. A shadow crossed his face when his gaze flicked past me. I trailed his stare to a pair of cops speaking with Coach.
Coach pressed his hand over his mouth as he scanned the court. My stomach dropped when his gaze landed on me and he waved me over. I searched the bleachers again for my parentsbut knew they weren’t there. Somewhere deep inside, I knew something terrible had happened. Coach's mouth moved, but all I registered was—accident, parents, and hospital.Then, the school counselor, Ms. Jenkins, appeared holding my book bag.
The bubble of cold condensation from my breath blanketed the smeared dried blood on the glass partition of the police car as we were transported to the hospital. Ms. Jenkins patted my shoulder and reassured me everything would be okay. I never felt less okay in my life. She asked if I had any family in the area since both of the emergency contacts on file for me were my parents. I mumbled something about Uncle Adam in New Jersey. She asked me for his number, and I unlocked my phone and tried to type in his name but failed three times. My hands couldn’t stop shaking. She reached for my phone, located his number, and hit the call button. I overheard Adam gasp and then utter, “Oh my god,” as Ms. Jenkins shared the news and hospital details. She handed me the phone. Hearing Uncle Adam’s voice break caused the sob I had been holding in to rip loose.
“It’ll be okay. I’ll be right there with you. I’m already in the car. I love you,” he said. My whole body trembled as I tried to clamp down the storm that threatened to break loose.
Ms. Jenkins and I were in the waiting room for an eternity when the doctor, a bleary-eyed woman with salt and pepper hair, came in and introduced herself. Ms. Jenkins asked if she had any news.
I heard the words—Injuries too severe, deceased, seven minutes apart.
I flew out of my seat. “That’s bullshit. Take me to my parents!”
The doctor repeated the same information. She delivered it with a bloodlessness I’d never forget. Ms. Jenkins shared the news with Adam when he phoned from the road. His eyes werebloodshot when he arrived. I clung to him, sobbing, “Please, God!” until the room spun. I wanted out of this sick nightmare. I wanted to swim toward the horizon until the current pulled me under. Land held only darkness and a cruel God.
Mom once said that she stopped fearing death a long time ago. She said it would be as easy as falling asleep.
A false belief.
I imagined her mangled body hanging out of the windshield.
Adam went alone to the morgue to identify their bodies. As I watched him disappear past the waiting room doors, I caught the reflection of my basketball jersey in the glass pane. And it hit me—they were killed trying to get to my game.
They’d still be here if they had a different kid with different dreams. It should have been me in there. They didn’t deserve this. I ripped off my jersey and flung it to the floor. The block “Washington” on the back made me lurch to the waste bin as sick bubbled up. I crouched, burying my head between my hands, and gasped for air as my stomach spasmed. A firm hand pressed against my back. I couldn’t bring myself to meet Adam’s face. His silence snuffed out the last ember of hope that my parents weren’t lying lifeless on the other side of the doors. The hospital’s social worker pulled him away to discuss becoming my legal guardian.
I glanced at the jersey. Tonight’s game took them from me. A stupid fucking game. I clenched my fists. I’ll never touch a ball again.
Then I heard Mom’s voice as clear as the ambulance siren outside. “Washingtons don’t quit,” she always says…said…
I dipped my head between my arms and sobbed. I couldn’t face a world where they’re relegated to the past tense.
Shesays, “Even when you’re sinking through life’s muck, you reach out for help and keep going.”
But that was a belief, and I no longer trusted them. Dad lied to me. The day was never ours to claim. We didn’t stand a chance.
Beliefs are lies. They’re the tattered veils we cloak ourselves in to ignore the truth. From the day we’re born, we’re one step closer to being murdered by a drunk driver. We’re one step closer to bleeding out on a metal slab surrounded by strangers. I clenched my eyes shut. They deserved so much more than what they got. They deserved to grow old and see their kid go to college. I promised myself years ago that they’d never have to work for money when I went pro. God, they worked so hard all of their lives. They wanted so much for me.
I wiped my eyes and stared at my name written across the soiled jersey on the floor.
Washington.
They mattered.
Their sacrifices mattered.
Their hopes and dreams for me mattered.
I couldn’t fathom facing a life without them, but if I somehow managed to pull through, I promised that I’d become who I said I would until death took me.
No matter the cost.
If I can’t do that, I don’t deserve to be here.
