We were eating really good barbecue in the basement of an old building in a small town. I suppose if he was going to stab me in the heart, that was as good of a place as any to leave the body. Something told me that in the long history of that basement, mine wouldn’t be the first body left behind.
“No. You’re teasing, right?”
He gave me a half shrug. Not even a full, apologetic shrug. “It’s too slow.”
I sucked in a breath, my mouth a frozen “O” and my eyes wide. “Take that back.” He laughed. I didn’t want to strike, but he had laughed. “Basketball is monotonous. You’re confusing running with fast paced.” He laughed louder. I decided I wasn’t going to tell him he had a smear of sauce on the corner of his mouth.
“I don’t think you fully understand basketball,” he said. I don’t understand it at all.
“What’s to understand? Run one way, score. Run the other way, score. On and on until a buzzer wakes you up.” He wiped his mouth while he laughed. At least one of us was happy.
“I’ll make you a deal,” he said. “You watch a few basketball games with me and let me point out some finer points, and I’ll watch as many baseball games as you want this summer.”
“You’re on.”
We shook sticky hands on it.
Now all I have to do is get him to stick with me into baseball season.
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