We’re playing Saint Michael’s Academy. There is 10 seconds left on the clock. My team mate inbounds the ball to me. Once he does sprints out of my way like his life depended on it. My defender immediately presses up onto me, getting as low as his knees will possibly take him. Relaxed as I can be, I gaze over his shoulder to see the rest of the defense is packing the paint, practically begging me to shoot. 8 seconds. We’re only down by 1 so I don't need the three but it would be nice to have. I mean who doesn't dream of hitting the game winning shot on your high school's home court. I give my defender a quick jab step to create some space. After he jumps back, I put the ball on the floor. The second I do I see the fear in his eyes. Almost like he's begging for mercy, thinking “No! Please don't score on me again David, Haven’t you've had enough.” Nope. 6 seconds.

The defender shifts his stance to try to force me to go left, my offhand. Big mistake, most players offhand is their weak hand. Not me, all it is, is my other strong hand. Time to play with him, In and out, cross, between the legs, behind the back controlling the ball like a yoyo master would his yoyo or how a puppeteer would his puppets during a performance for an audience at a park. But instead of a park, it's a gym filled with parents and hormone crazed teenagers anticipating this next shot. I look up to see 3 seconds flash above the backboard. Time to move, I go left were the defender wants me to go. I take two dribbles forward; I followed by driving my right leg in the ground and step back to both feet behind the 3pt line. I release the ball; it comes off so silky smooth. As I watch the ball fly so high in the sky with a perfect rainbow arc.

The buzzer goes off. “Errrr” “Errrr” “Errrr” after the buzzer goes off I feel can practically feel the confidence drain from my body. My slight grin falls off my face just as easy as it came. I almost feel disgusted. But why I’m about to hit the shot to win the game. “Errrr” As the last buzzer goes off it finally clicks. The beautiful sight of watching the ball come off my hands towards the hoop fades away to blackness. “It was all dream” “It was just a dream” I wake up to my reality. My average, sucky, non basketball life. There was no shot, no game, and definitely no crowd screaming my name. I lazily roll out of bed, feeling like my self esteem was just brutally murdered in cold blood and left for dead. I apprehensively look at my calendar apprehensively checking the date. (Monday October 23rd). Just one week till go to tryouts. I’ve put in so much time and sweat into the past year.

What about my dad, I couldn't imagine what he'll do to me this time if I don't make the team this year. Having two star athletes for older brothers is hard enough but my dad. He might just disown me. I already decided that I’d have to run away. I wouldn't be safe night after night when he comes home drunk. And if he's pissed at me, I’d be 6 feet under.

6 days go by from when I had that dream. For the most part, the same as the last 16 years of my life. I go to school, talk to like three other people, after school I practice by myself in the gym, then I walk home, go to sleep, then repeat. Earlier this year I asked my dad if he could help me get a car, he replied with “Once you do something noteworthy with your life, come and ask me again. Actually now that I think about that was the last thing he’s ever said to me .At home when my dad’s doing his best to pretend I don't exist, my brothers are harassing me. Height wise I’m not much shorter than Edward and Jacob, but they are a lot stronger than me. I walk into the kitchen to see my dad hunched over looking into the empty fridge, with the intent like if he stared hard enough, food would fill it. “Hey Dad, you're home early” He grunts at me. At least he responded this time. “Ya know that tryouts are tomorrow right” I follow up with. The room goes silent “I’m going to make it this year dad...I promise” He drops his head.

At that moment Edward walks into the kitchen, seemingly overhearing everything “Hahaha yeah right David, you're garbage, I’ll be d***ed if you're on the same court as me. I choose to ignore Ed’s harsh words. My father looks up at him with a face somewhere between confused like he didn't hear what he said and disappointment. Upon seeing our father’s face, Edward grunts “Whatever” and walks out of the kitchen. My father resumes his previous position slumped down, over the fridge door. Having said all that I wanted to, I begin to walk out. As I turn the corner to head to my room I hear a soft voice, “David”. “Yeah dad”. Could this be it the moment where he finally gives me some positive encouragement, or tells me he doesn't care if I make the team or not, or that he loves me either way! My mind is racing. It feels like it's been a thousand minutes since I responded to him. What is he about to say? I’m facing him, staring in anticipation. He turns towards me with the same face he gave Edward earlier and opens his mouth and says with a bitter tone “you better not come in this house tomorrow without being on that team”. D*** that’s what I get for getting my hopes up.

Tryout day is here. I walk into the gym, to see all familiar faces. Returning players, returning guys that got cut last year along with me, and Of Course the coaches. Unlike in my dream, I am far from the player I wish I could be. Over the past year I have really worked on ball handling and shooting. But neither of that can be shown without getting the ball. What if I don't get a chance to show what I got? What if the coaches don't even notice me? What if I'm just not good enough? I try to shake off all the questions swirling around my head and stretch out. Before I can even touch my toes, the coach calls out "C'mon y'all, all players on the baseline, where going to see where your conditioning at".

Tryouts go very systematically, condition, followed by drills, then 5 on 5 scrimmages. Through the first two and most of the third I fail to stand out but during the 5 on 5, I finally got my chance. I was guarding the returning point guard from last year, Gabe. I pick him up the second he pasts half court. I could tell it didn't shake him much. I quickly choose to take advantage of his lowered awareness and jump for the ball. Before I know I I'm going the other way full speed for an open layup. After my made bucket walking back I could feel the coaches watching me. I just know that had to help my chances. I finish the scrimmage on a high note hitting two back to back threes. After the tryout as players were getting out of their shoes and changing into more comfortable clothing, the head coach announces “Please stick around, the final team will be published outside on the gym door in thirty minutes, I wish you to best of luck and thanks for trying out”. Immediately my heart sunk. Why would they do that? Publish it for every to see. The open humiliation for everyone who doesn’t make the team will surely follow. Against coaches wishes a few varsity players including my older brothers, continue to leave, most likely just confident that they made the team.

For the next 15 minutes, with what feels like 5 tons weighing on my shoulders, I think about many things. The team, basketball, my brothers, my dad, and more importantly me. I question why am I doing this? To please my drunk of a father? To get some respect from my brothers? Sure I think basketball is fun but if my father didn’t force me to join youth leagues as a kid, I would’ve of never tried to play on one. Before I know it the half hour is up and players start heading out of the school gym to the list of names. I decide to wait it out just a touch longer. Still deep into my thoughts, I wonder if I personally care if I make the team. Sure my dad is going to be pissed but who cares. Whether that list  If I don’t make the team and he attempts to put his hands on me again I swear on my mother’s grave I’ll stand my ground. Upon that thought, that’s when I come to a conclusion. I won’t let him hurt me any longer, physically or mentally. As long as I’m happy that’s all what matters.

I get up slowly and head out of the gym. I open the door to see about 10 guys crowded around a paper. I squeeze my way to the front and close my eyes before I can even make out one name. I whisper to myself “I’m at peace, I don’t need this, it doesn’t matter. I open my eyes to see…