After The Basketball Game

September 13, 2007

I was sitting with a friend, a boy, conversing. I do not remember what we talked about, because he came. He casually said goodbye to my friend then he said goodbye to me. Bye, Kar. He packed his bags: a yellow backpack, a black Nike sports bag, some noisy plastic bags, and a basketball, ready to go home. Half of the basketball team came running down the stairs like a pack of wolves. All smiles, all laughter. Amazing, I thought, they just lost a game. He lifted them up, not struggling at all. Strong and capable like he has always been. He said goodbye to my friend one more time and walked between dirty lunch tables. I exhaled. At that very moment, I knew, I am not his anything anymore. He didn't say goodbye to me.

His basketball.

A few months ago, when he's not around, his guy friends would deliberately adhere dirt and lint all over his basketball; playing, shooting, dribbling on the red and green concrete court. After they are done playing, they would hand the ball over to me as if I owned it. This came into my mind when I saw him effortlessly picked up that same rubber ball this afternoon. I remember how I used to watch and cheer for him during lunch times. I would wait for him to change and pack up, only those days his hands were always full and I had to come to the rescue, carrying the only thing light enough for me to hold: his basketball.

He never asked me to wait for him, he never asked me to watch. It was all me. I wanted to wait and I wanted to watch. It only occurred to me now how he must have liked me being there back then. I'm sure he waited for me to come and sit down on the side lines just like I waited for the bell to ring so we could walk together to class. He never needed my assistance, he let me carry the ball for him. This I know, because I saw he did not need anyone's help to pack up. I did not see signs of weakness or helplessness; I saw a boy who could lift anything up not hindered by injury. He lifted my heart once, and God knows how heavy that is.

I observed him closely and absorbed a picture of him in my mind today. He was wearing his favorite shirt, not the shirt I gave him. I have never bought him any shirt, actually. The shirt I bought has a different story, holds a different memory, and it doesn't belong to him.

He still walks the way he usually walks; shoulders back, feet silently thumping the ground. He still grins the way he usually grins; mouth open showing a unique set of teeth. He still opens the door for me; he is a true gentleman and he will always be. He has not changed a bit and I like that about him. He still smiles the way he usually smiles; only now, those smiles are not meant for me.

His smile is simple with a meaning only I can interpret. Most of the time, it means 'I'm glad you're here with me today.' Often he would continue with holding my hand or simply letting me rest my head on his manly shoulders. His smile never said 'I love you', it said 'I missed you all through the weekend' and sometimes it also says 'Sorry' on his behalf. He was not a man with words. He acts and he smiles, and I always smile back even when I don't feel like it. I feel selfish and I feel low. At least he meant everything he did... He didn't smile when he was angry, and by the time we grew apart, he stayed out of my side completely. It ended without a smile and with the absence of words.

It's a new day today. A lot happened but only one moment stayed in my heart. One voice recorded in my mind. It was a picture of him leaving and the sound of his voice not saying goodbye. Everything has changed. It changed with the color of the court, now blue, and monotone. As flat and as boring as my feelings for him: Nothing.