swish

The squeaking of shoes, the hot, humid air, the cheering of the audience as boys in uniform run up and down the court.

Yep, I'm at a basketball game.

"Who's your boy? Number 14 is mine," I told the woman next to me. She turned and smiled at me.

"My son is number 44," she replied, pointing out a short kid with large round frames perched daintily on his nose. I resisted the urge to laugh and instead politely smiled back, nodding at the kid. Poor guy must have been forced on the team and taken on out of pity.

"He looks really good," I said to her. He had just rebounded the ball and was dribbling it across the court. At least the kid could move. I could see my Arthur standing on the side, waiting almost as if he didn't care if he got the ball or not.

"Thanks," the woman laughed. "He's just learned how to play this year. But I think he's getting the hang of it," she said as 44 ran in the middle of the defense and made a layup. Huh. Lucky shot.

"My boy's been playing for years now," I told her offhandedly. "He loves basketball. He can do anything with a ball." I shrugged even though inside I was beaming with pride at my little treasure.

"Oh, does he?" She frowned and watched as Arthur jogged lazily down the court. What a cocky boy! But the confidence was fitting, after all.

Arthur finally got the ball and held it, calculating it in his hands before he delivered what was to be the prettiest shot of the game. "Yeah, he's pretty much our little star," I said with a smile. Come on, Arthur! You can do it! "Go for the swish, baby!" I yelled.

He jumped and released, the ball sailing over the hands of the defender as it made toward the basket. "Go Arthur!" I screamed. He did it! He...

It was a swish all right. It was a perfect swish into thin air.