A basketball rolled down the sidewalk at the park. Not in the way a usual basketball rolls that is impelled by force in its path by someone else until it loses the battle with friction and gravity. This was a very unique basketball in that it moved under its own power and influence wherever it chose to go. He had been a basketball for as long as he could remember, but had never quite found what it was that he was looking for. What he really wanted was a basketball player who knew exactly what to do with a ball. Not to give himself the ability to have what he could not on his own, but a person who could take what she was and have what they achieved together be something they could share. So far, he had never found one. Oh sure, there were plenty who said they could, but they mostly bought the basketball to put on a shelf to claim they were basketball players, or to people who believed that all they needed to do was hold the ball and wear the uniform to be basketball players. Not one actually wanted to do both. So he kept looking. Today, however was a very different day.
As he dribbled and bounced his way along, he caught notice of the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. She was tall and thin, and undeniably very athletic, but she was exhausted with the effort of what looked to be an absolutely futile endeavor. As she approached him slowly, the woman attempted to work the strong lean muscles of her arms and legs to lift a bicycle a foot off the
ground and then slam it back into the sidewalk with immense force, over and over. It must have hurt her more than she would ever admit to him, and with every leap, she would bite her lip and wince as she inched forward. She was winded and sweaty and fatigued and for all of her diligence was obviously losing the battle. She stopped under a tree, threw the bicycle against the fence and stomped dejectedly away from the fence and toward the park bench at the side of the walk. Her brown hair hung in her face to the tip of her nose and her bangs on both her cheeks stuck to the side of her face in wet strands.
She was all by herself, and he watched her as she tried to gain a bit of strength in a place where no one would be able to see her. Just a few minutes would be enough to let her get right back to it, but it was perfectly clear to the little ball, that the muscles were not what needed to be rejuvenated. Inside her was a completely different battle. One that had no need of the muscles to which she had formed perfectly to the task she applied herself to. He continued to watch her and was amazed that he felt a pull to her in a way he simply couldn't quite put his, for lack of a better word, finger on.
The ball rolled slowly and carefully over to where she sat.
"Hi"
She jumped visibly as though all of her attentions had been consumed by who she was and what she was doing, but completely forgot about where she was.
"Oh. Hi. I'm sorry, I wasn't expecting to find anyone here and you kind of... caught me off guard."
"It's okay. I didn't mean to startle you. You just looked a little..."
The word 'crazy' nearly popped from his head as he recalled what she had been doing just prior to sitting here, but he stifled it.
"... upset."
Well I am having a bit of difficulty today. I am very frustrated and .....tired. I know its my all my fault and I am just not as good a basketball player as I should be. I try and try and I can never get to where I want to be.
"Why don't you stop doing what ever it is you are doing to do and be something else?"
"Why? I'm not a quitter. Does it look like I am a quitter to you?"
The ball was very careful here as he knew quite well that what she looked like as she labored down the path was ANYTHING but a quitter. What she was, however, was a complete and total mystery,. An undeniable paradox as he had never seen anyone do something so unusual as this and have it seem as though it were perfectly normal.
"Well, no, you don't look like a quitter at all. As a matter of fact I've never seen a person work so hard for anything in my entire life... but since we already both agree you are no quitter, then what exactly ARE you and what were you doing?"
She wiped the sweat from her brow and seemed to stare off into space and crumpling into a memory before trying to cement into her own brain what it was she was doing. It obviously was not a pleasant experience, and a sadness crept into her before she collected herself again and gave the well versed answer she had memorized by rote.
"I am a basketball player. And this is what I do. I play basketball"
The ball stared at her in absolute amazement, and had he actually had a mouth, it would have gaped open like the maw of a carp. It was true, she looked very much like a basketball player. Her clothing, although completely irrelevant to an athletes abilities, was just like anything else he had ever seen being worn by a person who played basketball. That is to say, that her shoes were of the right kind for basketball and laced well. Her jersey was crisp and clean with the numbers 29 on it, and her shorts were very nicely fitted to her body to allow a full range of motion but still be form fitting and sexy. Her body, even without the uniform, was designed to accomplish the sport to a degree that would make her not only a very good one, but undoubtedly one of the best. What it was she was actually doing,however, was so unlike, so unnecessary and overworked, as to take any skill and innate ability she may have inherently had and wasted it all on something completely different than what she described as being defined by.
The ball said absolutely nothing as he took in everything around her and tried to fit all the pieces together into one cohesive picture.
She suddenly realized that for once in her life, someone was actually listening to her for what she had to say and not just as a matter of course. Playing basketball as well as she was supposed to needed to be seen as effortless but leaves little time for anything else except doing just that, and distracted people who simply don't have their head in the game tend to be....losers.
"From as early as I can remember this is what people told me I am and that this is what I should be doing, but it seems like it takes more out of me with each passing day than it does from other people. I think it's more me than the ball because everything else works just fine as long as I put the extra energy into it, but I really didn't expect to work so hard for something they said I would be so good at. I dunno...maybe it's how I hold the ball. It never seems to want to go into the net no matter how badly I want it to, and no amount of planning ever makes it easier. If anything, It's getting harder and harder to play ball and more and more people expect me to have gone pro by now. The best strategy I have now is to just learn where the ball expects me to be and then be there when decides to go where I hope it would."
She kept mentioning the ball and yet there was not one to be seen anywhere. It was obviously intrinsic to herself so its presence should have been blatantly apparent, but it wasn't. He decided he'd pose a question in the hopes that her answer would help him to look for it without asking its location directly.
"Doesn't a basketball player need...a ball?"
"Well, Duh! Of course a basketball player needs a ball, I have one. It's right there.
The ball rotated slightly to look in the direction where she pointed. There was no ball to be seen anywhere of any kind save for himself. There was a walkway, and a bench, a tree, and a long white picket fence, but no ball. Leaned up next to the fence, however, was an orange bicycle. For a moment the ball questioned if perhaps he had asked a completely different question than he believed he had. Try as he might, though, he simply couldn't find any other way to solve this visual dilemma except to charge right into it and state the obvious.
"You mean THAT right there leaning against the fence?"
"Yup, That's called a ball in case you were wondering."
"But... that's just a bicycle"
He stated the small sentence quite plainly, but kept his eyes locked onto the bicycle just in case, perhaps, a trick of light and shadow had made him perceive a bicycle. No sooner had the thought entered his mind than he completely dismissed it as utter garbage. It would take a trick of light as large as an atomic blast or a shadow as large as an eclipse to blur enough features to make a bicycle resemble a basketball or vice versa.
"No it isn't." "That's a basketball."
No, I am fairly certain that...that's a bicycle."
"And how are you so sure?" She asked in a curt tone, as though every word had been snipped to the quick like an overly manicured fingernail.
"Because I am a basketball" he finally admitted.
The woman rolled her eyes skyward at the comment."Don't you think I know exactly what a basketball is? I AM a basketball player you know. We've been around basketballs our whole lives, so I think we are perfectly qualified to identify one when we see it, don't you?.
"Well yes, I would ASSUME a basketball player is, under normal circumstances, perfectly aware of what a basketball is, but since I AM a basketball, I think that trumps your authority on the matter,don't you?"
"Well so what do you have that it doesn't? What makes you think what you are is better suited to say what is or is not a basketball or about playing basketball than what I have been using my whole life?"
"Just because you've done it your whole life doesn't mean you are doing it for the right reasons. I know plenty of tether balls that are used by fat kids as seats, but that doesn't mean they are masters at tether ball. And not to lose the main point, but a basketball is round with a place to put air into so that it will roll and bounce."
"Well my little round friend" She glared at him while pointing with her finger, "That basketball ball is round too. In not one but TWO places, and BOTH of them have air in them. As far as rolling is concerned, Yes. Yes it DOES roll. So what's your point?
"A basketball bounces."
"My basketball bounces too...if I work at it."She seemed to visibly cringe at the recollection that she does, indeed, need to work at it.
"So you're saying that as long as you put an undue amount of effort into it on your own, it will perform to the minimal expectations and criteria of a basketball?"
"It isn't undue at all." She said as she rolled her eyes in an overly tired and exaggerated, albeit obviously irritated manner " It is what is required of all real professional basketball players to make the ball do what I need it to do. Everyone I know says so. It's a skill. You have to learn it and even when you do learn it, it doesn't mean much unless you were designed for it,too. It's a mastery that I have, mind you, and I have everything I need to be great at it."
"You mean by people who were master basketball players themselves?"
"Yes"
"Forgive me, but a basketball is designed the way that it is to enable the skill and abilities of the basketball player to be defined and recognized by how he or she maneuvers the ball into the net, not defined by how well he or she has to work to maneuver the ball. Getting the ball to do what a ball is supposed to do is not the objective of the game. The net is. The ball and you are supposed to be two parts of a whole to get to the objective of winning the game.
"What do you know? You are obviously not a basketball player, are you?"
"You're right, I stand corrected. I am NOT a basketball player. What I meant to say is that a ball is spherical. That, over there, is not spherical. Parts of it are indeed round, but a basketball is WHOLLY spherical. Come to think of it, that is mechanical which is very UNLIKE a basketball."
The woman stared at him incredulously and replied "Don't be silly. Basketballs aren't mechanical."
The poor little ball was stunned at the illogical disconnect between what it obviously was and what it was NOT being perceived as. As though by not recognizing the components, it was fair and true to say it wasn't a machine at all. Nothing better than disproving a valid point with a misplaced definition.
"Look, I understand that you are a basketball player, and that you do, indeed, believe that that is a basketball, but there are certain qualities to a ball in general, and a few very specific qualities to basketballs in particular, none of which that....thing possess."
.
"Well go ahead then, Mister. Since you are obviously the authority above a true basketball player, you tell me what defines a basketball."
"A basket ball is orange."
"Hello? Mine ball is orange."
She motioned over her shoulder with her thumb as though she were hitching a ride. It was, to be quite fair, a very dull Orange. Much like....well like a basketball would be to anyone else. The ball remained steadfast and attempted to ramp up the technicality of the conversation to prove its point.
"A basketball is designed to be held in either of the hands with the aid of small plastic projections protruding off the surface that allow it to be controlled and to react to the surface to which friction is transmitted."
Well, DUH! My ball has those too. There's one on this side and there is one on that side and they are both plastic and they both protrude ,and when I hold them I control the ball."
"Those are handle bars"
"Oh no you don't. We're using YOUR definitions here, so don't go twisting this all out of perspective by trying to lead this argument in a different direction. I don't know if you are aware of it, but basketball players are very aware of being tricked. It's part of the game, you know".
"Okay, I am sorry. Let me see If I can be a bit more blatant. A basketball doesn't have a CHAIN!"
"Oh, So now you're going to criticize what I do have hoping to use it to prove an argument for what I do not?
"No, I guess I am not."
The little ball had a new idea. One that had nothing to do with wordplay and semantics or with definitions and perceptions skewed into incoherence. He decided there was a very good way to show the difference between a basketball and a bicycle. Ironically, it involved the two of them operating simultaneously in a way that would appear totally normal to the outside world, but as unreal to her as what it is she did on a daily basis, and believed otherwise.
"Listen, I know you are a busy, hard working athlete, committed to your sport and profession, but what do you say we put aside this game for a few minutes and let me show you something really special. You in?"
The woman was more intrigued than worried and decided that a few minutes wouldn't do her any harm. Who knows, she may just learn something new about herself. She agreed, and before she knew it, the little ball asked the woman to lift him up and do the same things to him that she expected to be accomplished with her basketball.
As soon as she touched his skin, she noticed that he was the same color as her basketball, but felt the small nubs for the very first time. She thought to herself how much more efficient these would be in the palm of her hand as she bounced the ball against the pavement and noticed how her fingers curled off the ball, spinning it slightly to remove some of the work. With only a moments practice she realized that it could be moved slightly to come, not only right back to her, but to a place she expected it to be and could rely on. The muscles of her arms and legs worked as much with this round thing as with her basketball, but without the fatigue and bone crushing repetitive pain caused by first exerting the force to lift it, and then the impact of the consequential return. It was as though the round sphere was trying to make the whole sport easier. For the first time, in a very long while, she smiled. In five minutes, she was laughing as the ball was propelled into the air toward the net over and over. Score. Another two points. Half court for three. The points mattered nothing to the little sphere, but he enjoyed the fact that she needed them. All he needed was to have capable hands catch and release him as he needed and to know he could concentrate on how he moved through the air to give her the happiness.
It was basketball, but never what she had been shown or taught. Sure it was a bit different, and nothing that another person would expect or even possibly understand. But to feel the elation of watching it slip around the hoop and drop in the basket when she had become so accustomed to having to push and squeeze and jump upon that ungainly basketball was amazing. She wondered to herself why the hoop wasn't designed to fit the dimensions of her basketball and that it was so ironic that it had the exact dimensions of what she now held in her hands. Even more unbelievable was the fact that so many more things could be done that were previously thought of as impossible. Other basketball players could do them but she could not, and she had always attributed that to a lack of perfection on her part. She realized she was no longer looking over her shoulder hoping someone wasn't waiting for her to fall or fail. She was simply moving and relying on the ball to react exactly the way she needed it to.
Five minutes turned into fifteen, then an hour, and then two hours. All the while her legs and arms working back and forth and the small orange sphere dodging and weaving along with her as though they were two parts of the same thing. Amazing and wonderful and nothing she had ever thought it could be. And it wasn't a game to be played. There was no winner or loser. There was just her doing what she needed to feel and the other half ,the ball,wanting her to feel it. Even without a score, she was winning, and winning big.
The sun began to dip low into the sky and she realized she needed to get moving again. Her hair was no less sweaty than it was before, and she was out of breath, her muscles ached, but they were filled with an accomplishment she had not felt in a very long time. She wondered if maybe it wasn't really the game itself she wasn't good at,but how it was she expected to be seen playing it. If today was any indication of her skill, she was already better than she ever imagined. With a simple adjustment, she suddenly felt like a basketball player. Not a struggling one, or a mediocre one, or a good one that was ignored. She IS good at it. They sat on the bench laughing and talking about how much they enjoyed each other and how they couldn't wait to be together again.
The woman sighed loudly and contentedly put her hands on her knees before pushing herself to her full height again. She had obviously grown extremely fond of this odd little object that was on the ground at her feet and had turned into something that didn't define her any differently than she had always wished, he simply made it possible for her to be those things. She felt happy and excited and with a new found purpose to what she was always good at. She realized she had no idea what he actually was. She realized she hadn't asked that question at all.
"Just out of curiosity, what are you? I mean what do you do?
The little ball paused for just a moment. He knew all too well that what a person is and what they do are almost always two distinct things. He also knew that people believe they should define themselves with what they do, not define what they do by the kind of people they are. He hoped that this woman of such obvious and newly realized potential was going to persevere with the intent and belief that she, herself, was better and more perfect when the true agents of her perceived failures were revealed for their own inabilities, and that from now on, they would come externally of her and simply refuse to make their weaknesses dwell within herself.
Knowing full well that the correct answer was not one that she would believe nor tolerate with what she was made to know and believe in the past, the basketball replied in the best and most noble way he could. He looked at her with what was, for the first time,love, and said..
"I am a bicycle"
The woman did not expect to be so defined by a bicycle, but if that is what it took to make her feel like a basketball player, then she was not going to argue it. She happily smiled and said that although she thoroughly enjoyed the company and the brief time to just be herself, that it was a good thing no one else saw her playing basketball with a bicycle. "What would the neighbors say?"
The little round sphere looked at her and said as honestly as he could "They would have seen the best basketball player in the whole world".
And with that he rolled on his orange-skinned, textured, protuberant, and inflated bicycle of a body onto the walk and waited while the woman climbed back onto her "basketball " and dribbled it down the path and into the street. Her long smooth muscles beating fresh but now irrelevant holes into the pavement. The little basketball was a bit frustrated, but he did the one thing that he was happy to do. He rolled himself toward the basketball player and bounced happily along at her side. He may not be able to ever convince her that she doesn't have a ball, but he did hope that this basketball player would decide to be something else entirely, and wind up being exactly what she desired most of all in the first place, with a completely different kind of ball.
