~The Emil Sheppard Stories~

No matter what time it was the hallway always looked white and empty. His white legs stuck out from under his robe. The tile was cold against his socks.
He used the chair like a walker. He walked next to him.
The doors of other rooms were open and all the TVs were on. They were always on. The patients in the rooms watched TV. They did not watch us walking.
Beads of sweat formed on his forehead. When he got close to the end hallway he said, “He,” -he put his entire weight on the chair and spoke to the doctor- “needed the exercise.”
He didn’t say anything.
The doctor stood waiting at the other end.

…..

The streetlights buzzed.
“This is basketball. Shoot until you can’t. Then shoot some more.”
Emil’s arms were heavy from shooting.
“Shoot until your arms are numb, until you are numb. Don’t think, shoot. Shoot everything human, -the ugly, the flawed, the lazy- out of you.”
The twine and the streetlights were the only other sounds.
“At some point you will stop. It won’t be you shooting. You’ll just shoot.”
His hands ached, it did not seem so long ago that he had shot with his father.
“You’ll play this game your entire life for a couple of seconds. A couple of seconds when you disappear. When the other players, the court, the rim, the backboard, the ball, everything disappears.”
He rubbed his hands, “You’ll play until you can’t. Then maybe you’ll teach your son.”
Emil defiantly left his follow through up. The twine whispered.
“Now drive.”
He dribbled hard down the left side of the lane, “Dribble with your left hand when you drive down the left side.”
He slapped the ball hard out of Emil’s right hand.
“Again,” the warm feel of alcohol hit Emil’s face.
Emil drove hard to the basket with his left hand. As he reached out to lay the ball up an arm came down hard across his body.
Emil went crashing to the ground.
“This is basketball. But this is life too.”

…..

He was lying on the curb and part of the grass in front of his house. He enjoyed the sun, the wetness of the grass, and the smell of the earth.
His mom called him into the house.
It’s for you, she handed him the phone.
I’m just calling to say that I’m leaving. I don’t know when I’ll be back. I can’t stand it anymore.”
“Okay.”
If you need any money, call your grandmother or ask you mother. They’ll give it to you.”
“Okay.”
He hung up the phone.

…..

Emil liked to shoot.
Emil caught the ball on his fingertips with his legs bent, feet shoulder width apart, right foot in front of the left. His right arm was a rigid ninety-degree angle. Emil pushed his elbow through his shot, dropped his left hand away, and flicked his wrist. He reached for something he couldn’t reach. The ball made a pleasant swoosh.
The court and the half court beside it were empty. Sometimes a woman would meet another woman to smoke cigarettes under the shade of the trees while their children played. Some days no one else came to the park.
But around noon, a man with a knee brace came to the park. Emil wanted to shag balls for the man so the man would shag balls for him.
The man nodded to Emil as he walked over to the other end of the court to shoot.
Other players started to show up. Players that knew each other shot on the same side of the court. Players that came alone or did not know anyone went to the hoop with the fewest players.
Sometimes when someone missed long, Emil would make a small effort to track down the ball and pass it to the person who had shot it. The man with the knee brace missed and the ball rolled all the way over to the other end of the court. Emil picked it up and passed it to the man waiting at half court.
“Thanks,” said the man.
“Sure,” said Emil.
Soon there were enough of them to play a small game. But everyone waited; everyone was sure that someone else was coming. Most everyone dribbled. Some continued to shoot but most just dribbled and looked up at the rim and waited.
About a half hour went by until another person showed up. No one wanted to wait for the new guy to warm up, the man in the knee brace asked the people on his side if they wanted to play. Then he went to the half court and asked the people on the other side of the court if they wanted to play. Everyone wanted to play.
To decide teams they lined up at the free throw line. Emil shot second. He made his free throw. When a person made it that person would walk underneath the rim to rebound for those who hadn’t. All but two made their shot. On his third shot, the man in the knee brace missed again. If he had made it, he would have been the last player on Emil’s team.
The teams were fair. The first points were hard; it took awhile for the players to feel each other out. But through the middle points things clicked. No one spoke except to swear or to say the score.
Emil had to guard the man in the knee brace. The man was not fast or strong but was a great shooter.
Emil did not shoot much during the game. But on the last point, he drove down the middle of the lane straight towards the knee with the brace on it and then changed directions. The man in the brace couldn’t recover. He yelled, “Help.”
But it was too late. Emil kissed it off the glass.
It was getting dark; no one wanted to play again. Emil walked by the man with the knee brace, he was adjusting.
“Do you want to shoot around?”
“No. I’m done.”
So Emil picked up his ball. It was on the tips of fingers. He kept his elbow straight. He reached for something he couldn’t reach. He flicked his wrist. His shot bounced off the stiff double rim knocking loss splinters in the twine and rolled into the grass.

…..

The vomit soaked into the shag.
Emil pushed as hard as he could.
“Turn over, please.”
But he could not move him. So he wiped it from his breath so he could breathe.
And he feel asleep against his side moving.