Fierce Love by Sonya Curry

Author:Sonya Curry
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollinsPublishers
Published: 2022-03-25T00:00:00+00:00

Two years later.

Stephen has started freshman year at Charlotte Christian. One afternoon, through the back window, Dell and I watch Stephen shoot. Shot after shot. Swish. Swish. Swish. He sprints after every occasional miss, scoops up the ball, turns and fires a putback. He’s tireless, never stops moving. To rest, he shoots free throws. We watch him from here, his too-big jersey flapping over his skinny shoulders, and he looks even smaller than his five-feet, six-inch, one-hundred-thirty-pound frame. He looks scrawny. He’s fourteen, but to me, his mother, he looks about eight. He dribbles once, twice, exhales, flicks in another free throw from his hip. Swish.

“He has a good eye,” I say.

“Yeah,” Dell says. “And a poor release point.”

I scowl at him. I’m about to defend our son, but then I realize that Dell is not criticizing him. He’s thinking about how to help him.

“What do you mean?” I say.

“He’s so small,” Dell says. “If he shoots from down here, at his hip, or even his chest, he’ll never get his shot off. Taller guys will block it.”

“Pretty much everyone is taller.”

“Pretty much.”

“Maybe he’ll grow,” I say.

“Maybe,” Dell says.

Later, I see Dell working with Stephen. Dell, one of the NBA’s best shooters, demonstrates a new release point. He gently moves Stephen’s hands higher. He shows Stephen how to cradle the ball, shoot it quickly from right above his forehead. He’s not merely correcting Stephen’s shot. He’s completely changing it. Overhauling it. Remaking it. If he were an architect working on a house, he would be tearing up the previous blueprint and starting all over. Stephen watches his father, hands on his hips, nodding, taking in everything that Dell says. Then Dell hands him the basketball. Stephen starts to shoot from the free-throw line. Dell moves him closer to the basket, only slightly farther from the hoop than a layup. Stephen holds the ball the way Dell showed him. He looks at Dell for approval. Dell nods. Steph holds the ball higher, his release point close to the top of his head. Dell nods again. Steph looks at the hoop and shoots.

He misses.

The ball clanks off the back of the rim.

Even from here, I can hear Stephen shout in frustration. He looks awkward. Uncomfortable. Unsure.

Breaking him down, I think. Then building him up.

I know that’s Dell’s plan. And I know Dell’s right.

Dell says something to Stephen, claps his hands, pats him on the back, and comes inside.

We watch through the window, silently, side by side, as Stephen takes another shot from close in, nearly a layup. He misses. He shakes his head, retrieves the ball, slaps it with both hands.

“He has to change his shot,” Dell says, quietly, with certainty.

“Are you sure?”

Dell looks at me. “There are two or three things I know for sure. One is how to shoot a basketball.”

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