2016 CAVALIERS

He remembered when she gave him that box, wrapped with a little gold bow. He may not have had the best grades, that was always her, always, but it didn’t take a genius to see how excited she was. Looking back, it was crazy how young they both were, yet seemed like yesterday.

They sat together now, her breath condensing on the windows of his mom’s old ‘08 Camry. It may not have been the prettiest piece in the CAK’s cell phone lot, but it got the job done as good as it ever did. When he got the keys, their world seemed boundless. But a tank of gas only goes so far, even in a Camry.

She giggled like a goon as he tore open the wrapping paper, not even noticing its color. He laughed as he unrolled the jersey within. She always called him dumb for burning his old Lebron Jersey. He never regretted that, but he wore this new one every game that Season. She said things would be different. They were. She was never wrong.

He itched to turn up the heat. She always insisted on getting to the airport too early–a habit of her dad’s she called it. She was so peaceful laying there in the passenger seat. Even in the depths of Ohio winter, her skin glowed with one semester of Florida sun.

She got that letter, the one she always wanted. It was her ticket out, she called it, and it was–he knew it. She always hated the rustbelt cold. Only once before had he seen that smile. It was fitting the letter was wine and gold.

He scratched at that jersey. Without thinking, he’d slipped it on over his hoodie on his way to pick her up. It seemed right. She stirred beside him. It was almost time.

“Morning sunshine,” he said. She checked her watch and rolled her head back against the window. For a brief moment, he hoped that she fell back asleep. Would it have mattered if she did?

She didn’t, and he clicked his Camry into drive. They drove in silence, they always drove in silence. It never bothered him, and he knew she liked watching the world go by.

She’d ask where he thought everyone else was going–the cars on the freeway, the planes overhead. He always guessed Cleveland, or Cincy. No matter what he thought, she always guessed they were going somewhere warm. Always.

He pulled up to Departures. Her hand rested on the handle, hovering there for a moment. Their eyes met, and for the first time he appreciated the slight tinge of auburn in them, almost a mix of gold and wine. He’d seen that look before though, and he knew he wouldn’t again.

“Fly safe,” he managed to croak.

“I will,” she smiled, softly, the excitement wavering ever so fleetingly, before she disappeared into the airport.

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A/N:

Most of my work trends toward genre/speculative fiction, and I figured I'd try my hand at something more... human. Have no affinity for basketball, nor Ohio, just this song:

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