Walking up to his locker in the locker room of Wells Fargo Center, Richaun Holmes removed the earbuds from his ears, set his stuff down, and plopped down on the seat to start taking off his shoes. However, when his rear contacted the smooth wood, he heard an unexpected crumpling sound, as of paper. Standing back up in confusion, he looked down and noticed a folded-up piece of paper that looked like it had been torn out of a spiral notebook.
With growing curiosity, he unfolded the paper and was surprised to read that it was a handwritten note, clearly addressed to him:
“Hey Richaun,
I didn’t want to say this in front of the guys, so I thought I would leave you a note. I’m no good at writing down my thoughts but I’m going to try my best. Now that I’ve been traded, you have to be the one to catch all the alley-oops that T.J. and Serge are so good at throwing. You know Jah and Dario can’t do it, and who knows when Joel’s coming back. His career might be over. It’s all up to you now.
Oh yeah, and I drew a diagram of what a chick’s private parts look like. Remember when we argued about it on the team bus that one time? I asked T.J. since I know he’s, you know, ‘done it’ with a lot of girls, and he gave me the run-down. Hopefully I remembered everything. Girls are complicated, man, and not just their personalities either.
-Nerlens”
Richaun smiled as he looked at the sloppily-drawn diagram. He couldn’t vouch for its accuracy, but he was touched that Nerlens had been so thoughtful. Re-folding the note along the creases of the paper, he slipped the note into his bag, then sat back down. Instead of continuing to get ready, however, he closed his eyes and let himself imagine what it would be like to be the one converting all the alley-oops.
When the rest of the players began to arrive fifteen minutes later, Richaun was still sitting there, lost in a reverie granted to him by his close friend.