The ball whooshing through the net contrasts with the blaring sirens in the distance. “Li’l Mark, that was a cold shot!” Kevin shouts to me from across the dimly-lit court. I don’t disagree or tell him how I hate that he and all of Mark’s old friends I play against use that name. I’m big now. And I’m not Mark.
Kevin likes the shot even more because it wins us the game. Kevin, Tony, and Scott decide to take a break before we go again. Scott’s new to our Sunday night game. He replaced my brother Josh.
Even though it’s cold outside, Mark’s friends cool off more by drinking forty-ounce beers.
“How’d you get so good?” Scott asks as he offers me a forty. I decline.
“Playing them.” I point at Kevin and Tony. They laugh, but I’m not sure why. If they would have stayed in school and kept up their grades, they would have been scholarship material. While a college coach would’ve smoothed out their moves, their instincts for the game—like Mark’s—were so good, they could have made the NBA. Instead, they get a game at tiny Tuxedo Park.
“Does Mark even play anymore?” Scott asks.
“Not since he broke his ankle,” I answer, which for some reason makes Kevin smirk.
“Mark’s too busy with other things,” Kevin says. Kevin and Tony laugh. They’re not only Mark’s friends. They’re also part of his crew. They traded hitting jumpers for likely wearing County Jail jumpsuits. Me, I just want to wear a basketball uniform as long as I can, but that’s easier said than done. The court comes easy, yet my shot at making it is slim; the streets are hard but the payoff’s every day. Lots of risk, but lots of rewards. Mark showed me that too.
They finish their beers and we hit the court again. When Kevin makes a crazy dunk, I tease him, saying, “Great shot, Kobe.” He cracks up every time I say that. When Mark first introduced me to the park and the game, people got nicknamed according to the player they most resembled, which was normally an NBA star. Kevin would see a Kobe move on Friday, try it out on Saturday, and by Sunday have it down stone cold. I was the same, except I didn’t see the moves on TV. I saw them on the court made by my oldest brother. As much as I don’t like it, I know I’ll always be “Li’l Mark.”
We play until my curfew. Then I go home to study. They head off in another direction.