Date: Fri, 15 Feb 2002 16:26:04 -0500 From: David L. Carmona Subject: For-Danny For Danny By David Carmona Author's note: This is a story not of my first time with a man, because mutual exploration doesn't count as something meaningful. This is about the first man I LOVED. And lost. Long before I even knew that I loved him. Danny was a basketball player, and a dear friend I knew in a school I was at for awhile. We lost contact with each other, and if Danny L. ever comes across this... I miss you. -DLC. Bonk. Bonk. Bonk. The wind blew briskly along the winter's afternoon. A lone figure stood in the half-court in the playground. The emotions on his face, a seething mass of rage. White sneakers. Baggy jeans. Black shirt. No coat. He glared spitefully at the worn, neglected net. He felt irritation, that nobody bothered to take care of the neighborhood property anymore. Where is my money really going ANYWAY, he wondered contemptously. He bounced his ball against the court a few more times, working up to make his first shot of the afternoon. He threw, and missed. "Damn." He muttered. Not a good start, and it only fueled his growing foul mood. He shot again, and this time made it into the basket. "For that bitch who declined my job application today," he muttered. He smiled slightly, realizing that naming every thing that bothered him each time he made a basket, felt good. So he began thinking of the next thing to curse on his next shot. Two more misses, before he finally made another basket. Images flashed in his head, and out came: "For the government services that failed me," he cursed out to the growing wind. Three more shots, before he made another basket. "For the fears that consumed me, both justified and not." He muttered half to himself. He paused, as the terrifying moment where a truck clipped his bicycle in the rear on a dark night over a bridge above the local river, came all too willingly to his mind. He squashed that thought back down, as quickly as it came to him. A few more tries, than another shot. "For the doctor who said I would be a living vegetable when I was born," he fumed, knowing he was more than THAT at least, even when the world ignored him. His pants began to slide down again, and he cursed slightly. Chasing after his ball, he returned to his spot, and shot again. It sank in. "For a waistline I hate," memories of being teased in gym flashing past his mental eye, part of his reason for giving up basketball all those years ago. A few more tries, another basket. "For the bullshit I've endured in schools all my life," memories of kids pulling hazing stunts, slipping tacks under his seat, of the people who hated him right from the start for one reason or another. He growled, and thought of his next complaint. "For the way I was raised, to become addicted to comfort foods instead of dealing with my problems directly!" he raged, making his next shot, then missing the next attempt as he thought of something else to be angry at. Another basket, right afterwards. "For the father who never was there, mentally, physically, or emotionally." He growled, gritting his teeth at all the excuses up until he was 10, for his father's absence in his life. Another basket, a few tries later. "For the father figure who abused me with a paddle, and his daughter who rejected me and married some frat brat." Another basket. "The counselor's son, who not only played with MY dick when I was barely a pre-teen, but did worse with OTHER boys younger than he was..." He shot again. "For living in a family mostly of women, but never being able to understand the female mind," Another shot, 3 tries later. "For the online relationship that I not only can't trust, but also have never EXPERIENCED, offline...." He missed again, then made it. "For having true psychic gifts, that nobody understands, and people hate when my predictions come true." He gritted his teeth, knowing that his powers had an uncanny 99.9% positive accuracy rating, which was highly unusual to begin with. He shot again. "For not being able to control my own life's path, even though I can see everyone else's before they can." He muttered, partly happy that his prediction for his mother's job was correct, but disappointed that his own applications were rejected. Again. He tossed the ball again, and made it in. "For all the times I had to conform to family expectations, and hide myself from them because they never would understand my decisions." Three more tries, and then another basket. "For all the times I wished for privacy and never got it growing up, because nobody TRUSTED my decisions, to be my own decisions, good or bad." A pause, before the next shot was made. Another basket, so this thought was also aired. "For all the bad decisions I made, and the people I hurt, either unintentionally, or through my own stubborn pride and drive for independance from pain." A twinge of regret passed through him, and the anger began to drain out from him. He glanced at the basketball, and remembered the very last time he stood on a court very much like this one. And who was playing with him, that day. A single tear escaped his eye, and the wind caught it. He focused on the torn and tattered basket, and made his shot. It went in, and he truly began to smile, at the slightly more pleasant memories that started coming back to him now. "For my very first kiss, from a boy." He shot and made it again. "For the Ninja Turtles, that we shared an interest and understanding of." he said, finding courage with each shot now. Swish-thunk, thunk, thunk. "For being happy, during tough times." Memories of past accomplishments and achievements as a team, came flooding back. His final shot came. He shot. He scored. "For Danny, who GAVE me that first kiss, and who understood me best long before I ever understood myself." He glanced up at the hoop one more time, and patted the pole. It was worn, it was tattered... but it was still standing. And he was grateful for that. The wind had picked up again, so he began walking home. The entire time, his mind replayed that private time in the boys' bathroom, how tender and sincere the kiss was, that was shared between two people caught in a world where they were shamed by their parents, into never doing again when they were caught one day. He then saw back to that moment about a week ago, that inspired him to buy a basketball in the first place. The visit to a basketball game, and seeing a boy the same age Danny was years ago, same physical shape, same glasses on his nose, same incredible basketball skills... and the same quirky habit to place his hand on his hip before waiting to catch the ball or make a move. It was that unconscious familiarity, that made him think to play hoops one more time, after 8 years. He walked into his livingroom, glanced at the ball, and gently placed it in his favorite reading chair. Looking at the basketball one final time, he whispered two words: "For Danny." And began to believe for just one moment, in a hope for a future success again. The End.