Page 29 of Personal Foul
“I did, too. I have today off and thought it’d be fun to stop down here to shoot some hoops with you. Do you mind if I join?”
Isaac still appears distant and unsure. When I signal for him to pass me the ball, he releases a heavy sigh and tosses it to me.
“I hope you’ve been practicing those three-pointers. You ready to show me what you got?”
A grin breaks out across his face, which seems to break the ice and ease whatever tension he was holding onto.
We shoot around for a bit and play a game of horse. I stop every so often to give them tips and pointers. The more time that passes, the more Isaac gets comfortable, and reminds me of the same kid I met at the charity event.
Eventually, James and Joshua prepare to take off as their mom was picking them up when she got off work. Joshua, who is a few inches shorter than Isaac, approaches him, clapping him on the shoulder.
Joshua murmurs under his breath, asking if Isaac can stop by for dinner, but Isaac shakes his head. He peers over out of the corner of his eye, checking to see if I am listening. I play it off like I’m not, giving him the privacy he seems to want.
James and Joshua grab their bags sitting on the floor along the edge of the gym, shrugging them over their shoulders. Joshua runs back over toward me, his backpack, which is nearly half the size of his body, bouncing behind him as he does. He reaches his fist up again, and we pound it, him grinning before he takes off back toward his brother.
“I wish I didn’t have to go,” Joshua says. “It was so cool to see you again, Rush. Thanks for shooting hoops with us.” His smile stretches across his small face.
“Of course, kid. I’m sure I’ll see you down here again soon.”
Isaac turns to look over at me, his eyes widening before looking down at the ball in his hands. Joshua raises his fist to me one last time, bumping them before ducking his head down to follow along behind his brother toward the front entrance.
“You want to keep shooting?”
“Yeah, sure!” Isaac nods.
“How much longer until you head out?”
He glances up at the clock hanging on the wall, taking a second to figure the time.
“My ride should be here in about thirty minutes.”
“Awesome. I’ll stick around until you head out.”
We take turns shooting, and I try to make small talk with him, asking how he got started playing basketball, which brings up the conversation about his dad. I pick up on how all the words he uses to mention him are in the past tense.
I don’t ask, not wanting to broach a touchy subject, letting him open up to me on his own terms.
“He got into a car accident two years ago,” Isaac says, looking down. He blinks through the tears I notice are welling up in his eyes. “My mom hasn’t been around since I was a baby. My dad had always taken care of me.”
“I’m sorry, Isaac.” I stop dribbling, holding the ball against my hip.
“Thanks,” he mumbles, staring down as he bounces the ball before stepping back to put it in the air. You’d never know how much is weighing on his mind, shooting the ball effortlessly with nothing but a swish of the net.
“My dad was a big fan of yours. He loved watching you play for Chicago. It was his favorite team. He would’ve been sad when you were traded to the Blaze.” He stops, a grin curling the edge of his mouth.
“Oh, yeah?”
“Yeah…” He chuckles. “He’d still buy tickets though to watch you play, even if he’d yell from the stands that you need to go back to Chicago where you belong.”
I laugh, picturing Isaac sitting next to an older version of himself, a drink in his hand while the other cups his mouth to shout from his seat.
“I bet he wouldn’t be too disappointed though if he knew it meant I got to be here shooting hoops with his son. That’s gotta make up for some of it, right?”
Isaac dribbles, looking down as he bounces the ball between his legs before he looks up at me, grinning as he nods his head eagerly.
The familiar sound of the gym doors opening has us both turning our heads, watching as Terri steps into the gym. Recognizing the woman she’s with as the woman who picked him up the other day, I ask, “That’s your foster guardian, right?”
“Yeah.” He hesitates. “Cheryl.”
