Mom’s Eyes
A Short Story To Celebrate Moms
I make my way to the free throw line. This wasn’t supposed to happen. My high school basketball team, the Foxes, was tied with our opponent. There were 2.1 seconds left on the clock.
This wasn’t supposed to happen. I shouldn’t be the one at the free throw line. Coach had drawn up the play in the huddle during the last time out. The play called for Ricky, our all star shooting guard, to get the ball in the corner. But somehow the ball was tipped around and I ended up with it. I threw up a mid-range jumper, knowing the clock was running out, and I was fouled in the process.
I wipe my sweaty palms on my basketball shorts as I step up to the line. I can’t feel anything but nerves as the referee says “relax on the first one guys’’ and passes me the ball. I almost drop it as the ball bounces up to me. I try to start my normal routine at the line, but I can’t even think straight. I panic. Is it two dribbles? Three? I take three. Not sure if that is what I usually do. As I look up from the dribbles and to the basketball hoop, just now do I realize the crowd for our cross-town rivals is going nuts.
I freeze. The noise reaches a deafening roar and I take an unconscious step back.
I am not supposed to be here. This is not me. This is Ricky. I can’t do this. Oh, the pressure! What…
