To pick up the phone and call you. You’ve been gone for 4 years and every day is a struggle to not dial the number that is still in my phone. It’s raining outside right now and McDonalds is still open. The iPod is freshly charged and I bought new speakers for it. They re-paved the court at the Rec, put up new goals, and repainted the court lines.
Back in the day we would round everyone up around 1am when everyone got off work to go play ball for a couple hours while it was peaceful. No cops, no kids, no wives, no girlfriends….just us. The township would leave the lights on for us every Friday and Saturday night because they knew we would be out there putting those tax dollars to good use.
Bad knees, bad shoulders, bad backs…didn’t matter. Except for Brian’s tennis elbow on his non-shooting arm. Him and I STILL laugh about that when I see him. How do you get tennis elbow from drinking and playing basketball?
It’s 4 years later and I still have trouble looking at MomDukes because when she sees me, she sees you. She sees the 5 of us as 12 year olds doing nigga shit. She sees us as teenagers packed in that baby blue 87 Sentra on our way to wing night at Mike’s Bar every Tuesday night. She looks at me and she sees a son that is not hers by blood, but is her child in any and every other way. I know it hurts her. It hurts her that she knows that she can never help ease MY pain. It hurts me to know that she has to deal with my inability to cope.
Davon is fine. He’s your spitting image. Sometimes I SWEAR he’s you. He has your mannerisms, your laugh, your smile. Don’t worry, The Crew takes care of him. L gets him sometimes. B takes him to the park. I make sure he knows who you are. I bought him some paint and and an easel last week. Yeah, he can draw..I wonder where he got THAT from.
I wish we had one more night to play ball at midnight in the rain. Every night. Because I’m selfish.
I miss my best friend. My brother.
I love you, dude.