Braiding.
During junior year of college, I lived at 144 E. 14th Avenue. The gym occupied the space between 13th and 14th. I feel like I spent the majority of my undergraduate years at that gym. Supposedly, the cap on hours of working at an on-campus establishment was 20 per week, but I frequently averaged over 30 a week on my paycheck.
Checking I.D.’s at the door isn’t what I miss about that place though, but it probably contributed to the source of comfort the Dow offered. Those on campus that didn’t know me from class associated me with the Dow. Many nights while closing at midnight, there were those of us that joked that we ran the place. I think we just owned a share, but now that I can’t possibly get fired from the job I held for four years, I’ll be open about the fact that I took liberties with my position at the Dow. I never stole so much as a dime, however a group of us used the service rolls as Halloween costumes, I played a fair share of ball during work … sometimes in jeans … and we had a few late night swims. One of my favorite people in the world and I also frequently got ready at the Dow after work — we were going out and trying to look good regardless of how late we had to be there. If we didn’t have time to go home and shower, do our hair, change, eat and take care of other “preparations” ;), we had the locker room. The Dow also had a never-ending supply of ice; we never had to worry about warm drinks.
That’s not to say the Dow doesn’t harbor it’s fair share of bad memories for me though, but that’s not what I’m craving.
What I’m craving is that sense of a place I belong to that can help fix me. There were countless nights, I would grab the good ball off the porch, slip on my hoodie, plug my headphones in and slip out the backdoor. I loved drowning everything in the world out. I had no interest in talking to anyone, playing with anyone or even any set goals. My soul just needed that respite on the hardwood. Standing at the top of the key, braid left, braid right, braid left, explosive left and pull.
Do it again.
And again.
Then pick up the speed a bit. There’s a better song on. You are fine. Things will be fine. Spin to right baseline, drive. Spin to left, drive, get a little backboard.
For an hour. And at this point, you’re the only one there. But that’s fine. If you go out the backdoor, you’re thirty seconds from home. So you pop a squat, roll the ball towards your belly and just spend a little time thinking everything over and stretching the hammys.
I miss it. I miss it bad. I miss the yellow light. I miss the smell of the gym. I miss the net around the track and the hoop in the southeast corner of the gym. I miss the noise the lights make when the supervisor turns them off. I miss the familiarity of the ball in my hands. On my hip walking home. I miss the confidence. The best feeling in the world was spandex under Nike hooping shorts that were a little too big. I miss the cutoff shirts with uneven sleeve holes. But mostly I miss the braiding rhythm. From the left, under the right, from the right under the left, from the left under the right.
