I just want to be unconscious.
No matter how many risks I take, no matter how many times I drive the lane at men seven feet tall and built like tanks, I can’t seem to catch that blessed elbow to the face that will finally knock me out. I don’t want to be awake because the pain is too sharp. My heartbeat is beginning to flag, my head full of sand. To call this the worst eight days of my life wouldn’t even begin to cover it—and now I’m expected to win a basketball game. To prove the worth of the investment made in me when all I want is to be outside her window. Waiting outside her classes. When I’m close to her, at least I know she wasn’t a dream.
The arena is packed to the gills, fans wanting to see the new point guard in action. It’s loud and bright. My skull is a prison for an incessant
