Gemotions

"We need you closer to the basket," Coach whispered, his hand on Michael's shoulder. Michael felt like his gut had just been punched. He was a point guard, a facilitator, a dancer with the ball. Now, they needed him to be a power forward. He felt a wave of nausea, the room spinning slightly.

He was tall, yes, but not a bruiser. He wasn't built for the paint. His heart sank as he surveyed the court, imagining himself crammed in amongst the giants. He nodded numbly, the words trapped in his throat. He felt a profound sense of loss, a disconnection from the game he loved. The ball felt heavier in his hands, each dribble a reminder of what he had lost.