I could tell that you were upset.

The basketball hitting the cracked concrete of the driveway gave it away.

As I pushed my wet hair out of my face and put an apple in my pocket, I knew that life was unfair.


Because it was messing with you.


One of my favorite people in the entire universe.


My best friend since day one.


I pulled on a worn pair of your old flip-flops and padded out the garage door.

I caught you mid shot, your long-fingered hands poised to shoot the ball towards the hoop.

Your back muscles were taunted underneath your forest green sweatshirt.

Stress lines cut through your forehead as your shot bounced off the rim.

It tumbled into some bushes, and your hands clenched.

I watched as you stalked over, and grabbed the ball again.

It was a perfect night.

Quiet, with only the street light illuminating us.

Early spring frogs croaked from the creek, and the night air was humid.

You poised to shoot again, and I said, “Pass.”

Your head swerved towards me, as your hands launched the ball at my chest.

I grabbed with awkwardly and made a crooked pass.

You caught it effortlessly and dunked it hard.

As it bounced back again, I wondered.

I wondered how I could I could bring it up, without you closing up tight like a clam.

When people are upset, silence is a delicate thing.



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