The Exchange

  “Nice shot,” I said to John, my teammate. We had just met at the Hurst recreation center, and were playing a game of two on two basketball. We were behind 10 to 3 and I could tell John was a little frustrated with me. I was missing shots and having trouble stopping the guy I was covering. He was taller and more athletic.
    By the sheer force of his will, John got us to within one shot of winning.  On our next possession, he set a pick and I drove to the basket for a layup. When I jumped up, the guy guarding me slapped the ball out of bounds before I could release it. We still had possession of the ball, so John made an inbound pass to me and cut to the basket. I saw he was open and sent a rocket pass his way. He caught the ball, leapt into the air and dunked it to win the game.
    “Man, I wish I could do that.” I asked him if he lifted weights or did any kind of training to be able to jump that high. He just smiled and lifted his shirt to wipe the sweat off his face.
    “How bad do you want it?” he asked.
    “I’ll do whatever it takes.”
    “What are you willing to give up?” It seemed like an odd question and he asked it with a blank expression.
    “What do you mean?”
    “It has to be something important to you,” he said.
    The confused look on my face must have been obvious. I wasn’t sure what he was getting at.
    “Never mind,” he turned and started to walk away. I grabbed him by the arm.
    “Seriously, what do you mean?”
      “It has to be something important to you,” he repeated, “something irreplaceable.” There was something mystical in his eyes. I can’t explain it, but somehow I was convinced he wasn’t joking around.
    “Well, I guess I could give up my truck.”
    “You can get another truck,” he shook his head, “forget it, you’ve had your chance.” He turned and walked off.
    “Jeeter,” I said, “I’ll give my dog Jeeter.” He stopped.

    In the next game, I saw an opening under the basket and, with a quick dribble, drove past my defender. I jumped up in the air and slammed the ball through the basket so hard my wrist hurt, but I didn’t care. It felt so good. Years of pent up frustration were gone.
    Later, when I unlocked the door to my apartment, I wasn’t thinking about the deal. Jeeter usually had his paws to my chest licking my hands and arms, but he wasn’t there.
    “Jeeter,” I called.
    I began to search through the apartment, then I stopped in my tracks, remembering. I wondered, was it worth it?