I wake up to the sound of rain pounding on my window. How many days in a row has it been raining? It seems like forever. The clock next to my bed says 10:46 AM. I’ve overslept again, but can it really be called oversleeping when your excessive sleep isn’t causing you to miss anything important? A quick glance out the window reveals no trace of sunlight, only a dismal gray torpor. Even the trees and the grass seem stripped of their color.
After throwing on the same wrinkled, odorous outfit that has heroically clothed my unwashed body for the past week or more, I trudge into the living room and flop down at my desk. The act of walking twenty feet through the apartment has already drained me of all my energy. Out of habit, I bring up my custom-coded boxscore aggregator to check the results of the previous night of NBA games, but, as has been the case for months, I am greeted with a blank screen. There are no boxscores to scrutinize, no player performances to evaluate. Sadly, the act of checking NBA scores doesn’t bring those scores into existence.
This space, with its powerful computer hardware, triple-monitor setup, and high-end speaker system, was, in a previous life, known as my “Highlights Den”. Now it’s just a computer desk. The magic which once flowed through these components, through me, has disappeared. Will it ever return? I don’t know.
I feel something nudge my ankle. Looking down, I see my feline companion, Japurri Purrker, holding a plate in his mouth. On the plate are two freshly-microwaved Pop-Tarts. I force my face into a smile and take the plate with one hand while giving him thankful head-scritches with the other. Content with the attention he has received, he waddles off to curl up in some quiet corner of my apartment. I’m glad he doesn’t want to stick around while I eat my breakfast. I don’t want him to see how Pop-Tarts no longer bring me the same joy that they used to. I reluctantly eat half of one, grimacing at the overly sweet taste, before throwing them out.
After that, I settle into my routine of aimless internet surfing interspersed with bouts of staring at the wall. Even my body’s requests to void itself of bodily wastes are only grudgingly acknowledged. Lunchtime comes and goes without so much as the thought of food. The various food-ordering apps on my phone were long since deleted. They are of no use to me anymore.
A ringing doorbell startles me out of my catatonia. Somehow, it’s 7:00 PM. A small flicker of life must still reside in my heart, because I, overcoming the urge to ignore whoever is at the door, get to my feet and stumble to the entryway.
I open the door. A sickly old man is standing there, a man who was once quite tall but is now stooped with age. He is so bent over that, as I watch, the spectacles fall off his face and bounce off the ground. He makes no attempt to retrieve them. When he talks, his voice is barely more than a wheeze, and the falling rain almost fully drowns it out. “Join us,” he whispers.
I stick my head out and look around. There is no “us”, only him. But the thought of joining him holds a strange sort of appeal. Contained within the yellowing skin of his frail man is the promise of something that will bring a finality to my life that I have been subconsciously craving. That craving isn’t so subconscious, now. So I step over the threshold.
Abruptly, the scene changes. The cloudy, rainy day is replaced by vibrant sunlight and a blue sky. Rather than staring at a parking lot, I am standing at the edge of a placid lake. Behind me, my apartment vanishes, to be replaced by a high-end resort. Japurri, seeing a bird lurking in a nearby bush, takes off like a jet. And the old man, now younger, is standing upright and proud. Somehow, confetti is floating down from the open sky, and there are multicolored balloons wafting around.
“Welcome back, DownToBuck,” says Adam Silver.
“W-what?” I stammer.
Adam smiles. “You must have missed the news. The NBA is back!” As he says this, players begin to emerge from various buildings. Two of them even come up to the lakeshore on jetskis. They’re all smiling and waving at me.
I look down at my ratty apparel. “I’m afraid I’m not dressed for the occasion.”
“Don’t worry about that,” Adam says warmly. “You are welcome just as you are.”
My stomach rumbles. When was the last time I was hungry? Suddenly, as if reading my mind, a resort employee is standing next to me with a plate of Pop-Tarts. When I take one and put it in my mouth, it is the most delicious thing I have ever tasted.
Overwhelming happiness lightens my soul and I am powerless to stop the giddy smile from overtaking my face. “It’s good to be back.”