Gemotions

The rhythm of the basketball as it bounced on the court filled the air. He moved with a practiced grace, each dribble, each shot, a smooth extension of his limbs. The squeak of his sneakers, the thud of the ball, the rhythmic breath—these were the language of his comfort.

He’d heard about the shutdown, a vague notion that seemed disconnected from the present. The court, the ball, the feel of sweat on his skin; these were real, these were solid.

He practiced his free throws. He felt a sense of clarity, of focus, of a well-worn rhythm. He made shot after shot. The world fell away.