Butler and I love basketball, but Butler’s appreciation has withstood much more, for much longer, than my own. Butler has played basketball since the third grade, practically made for the sport with her tall build and strong hands. I, on the other hand, have not even begun to truly play the game of basketball. The strength, finesse, and piece of mind required is not available in my gangly limbs, not present in my small muscles, lost in my busy head.
Yet I pick up the coarse, round ball almost every day to hold, to dribble, to shoot. Butler’s there too, but her moves are more technical and I see no love in the flick of her wrist. And every other orb that is not a basketball reminds me of one; I hold them just the same. Butler just likes to show off.
And so Butler practices, showing improvement and patience in an effort to preserve her success and so called love for the sport. I practice with her most days, but sometimes I watch from the sideline, not quite available or willing for a two hour practice in the blistering sun. Yet I always wish Butler d call my name and ask me to play. She never does.
Brielle--You've got the lyrical quality happening here in this piece. When you write, "...to hold, to dribble, to shoot." Love that. Also, the honesty in, "Butler just like to show off." Keep these two elements working at all times--lyricism, honesty and then, work the image, make the reader "see," and you've got you need to write well for the rest of your life.
ReplyDeletep.s. Please forgive if I spelled your name wrong. I'll get it by Wednesday.