Watching Allison Lewis Play Basketball

  
 A short story about being a lovesick teenager. I am gonna re-write this shortly and submit it for a magazine running a zine about nudity. Sure.





  Watching Allison Lewis
   Play Basketball 
   (Not American 
   Football. Basketball.)

    Seventh Period. I am on the top row of the bleachers, leaning back. I watch Alison Lewis run up and down the basketball court for most of class. She is working up a sweat, you can see it on the small of her back where her blue shirt has become darkened.
    I watch her perfect breasts, and her perfect legs and her blonde ponytail and I can’t help but think that she is too beautiful to be a real girl. Maybe Alison Lewis is as beautiful as the Pacific Ocean stretching out far past the California cliffs. Or as beautiful as the sunset in one of those sunset paintings those painters over exaggerate. Wait, look at this, Joe Frick is trying to steal the ball from her, but she dribbles it between her legs, pivots and passes it to Mary. That is how beautiful Alison Lewis can be, she is a heartbreaking sunset without even being a ball hog.
    Mary tries to shoot but the ball gets swatted down, mid air.
    "Rejected!" Tom Frick yells.
    That was uncalled for. Alison thinks so too, she flips off Tom, and then he chases after her, tackles her to the ground and commits what looks like a series of welcome fouls while she laughs about it, them rolling around while we all watch. They are going to be prom king and queen, its three years away but even as freshman we all can see it coming. Mr. Keiser isn’t even out in the gym to blow his whistle. He’s down on the track with some kids who need to make up time trials in the mile run. We are lawless. We are being trusted not to fight or fuck, or in my case smoke dope on the top of the bleachers. As I haven’t ever had the opportunity to fight or fuck. She is too beautiful to be a reality.
    Tom and Alison eventually get off of the ground, and its clear to everybody why they are class couple. The rest of us are devastating losers in living in their mighty shadows, and we will be the rest of our lives.
    Populating the gym class with our envy, our jealousy and in my case a hard on. They start shooting hoops again. Still boys verses girls, which is the stupidest idea anybody ever thought of. Boys verses girls? Why not get me down on the court, and have it be crippled kid verses everyone. I’ll even give them a ten point lead. I don’t have to come to the gym. They don’t make kids in wheelchairs participate in gym class if they don’t want to participate. But to be honest with you, I’d like the opportunity to feel like a normal
person, to be able to come to class and play basketball like everyone else. To join in during the ping pong games. However, I usually don’t even dress.
     Why don’t I dress? I don’t dress because Mr. Keiser told me I didn’t have to do anything in class if I didn’t want to. I could sit up in the bleachers and do nothing and I would still get an A. What kind of asshole would play basketball when he could be up here with a perfect view of Alison Lewis’s tits and ass?
    The only problem with my wonderful gawking, if that the social deviants who sit in the bleachers with me all think it’s high time for conversation, as if I’d like to interrupt my vivid "fucking Alison Lewis in a hot tub" fantasy to talk to the non wheelchair bound kids that are strewn about like sacks of potatoes (a term my mother loves). Even worse I suppose are the ones who failed ninth grade multiple times and live up here on the bleachers most of the day, drunk or high or just plain ignorant. For instance, Kevin Daniels thinks I want to not only watch him carve a swastika in the bleacher below us, but that I’ll want to talk about why it is so cool for him to be carving a swastika in the bleacher below us. "Too bad Keiser can’t be thrown into an oven with all of the other dirty Jews." He says. Initially I ignore the comment, because really, stupid comments like that aren’t headed anywhere, but of course Kevin has so much more to say on the matter. "I’ve been in Keiser’s Jew gym class for the last three years and the motherfucker keeps failing me because I got a confederate flag flying from the back of my pick up."
    Kevin Daniels was supposed to graduate high school three years ago, but instead he is a fourth year freshman. A true imbecile. "Sneaky Jew." He says. "Conniving money grubbing Jew. Jew." He says.
    "Jew." Finally I can’t take it anymore. "Its funny how
Jews all stick together too. Jews suck. Dumb Jews."
    "Not that it matters, but I’m Jewish. So don’t sit here and talk crap about Jews."
    "You’re a fucking Jew?"
    "My last name is Goldstein." I say. "I’ve heard of ignorant bigots before but …"
    "Fuck you, you stupid crippled Jew."
    "Are you done yet?" I ask.
    "You done being a filthy money grubbing filthy Jew?" He asks me.
    "Yeah." I say. "Sure. I’m done. I quit. Nevermind. Nevermind the whole deal Poof just like that, not Jewish. You see me right now, no longer a Jew. What would you rather I be?" Then luckily Kevin Daniels decides to spit on the bleacher and walk off to the locker room, where I am sure he is robbing the lockers once again. Taking wallets and chains and whatever else is strewn about by these careless gym participants.
    And then she comes slowly dribbling up the court, her golden hair flowing behind her, and I see the whole thing in super slow motion. She fakes out Eddie Wake, and he didn’t see this at all, it’s Alison Lewis putting the moves on, coming up on a breakaway pass, catching the basketball mid stride  (in my mind she is moving so fluidly that her shoes slip off, her socks slip off). She dribbles gracefully past Henry Tai (her shorts slide down), the other girls calling from behind cheering for Alison. Where has this sudden burst of competition come from? This is gym class not a playoff game. Alison is point
guard on the team (her blue shirt slips off and now she is in a pink bra and matching panties), the only freshmen to ever play Varsity. Alison Lewis is amazing. My mouth drops, hangs there, I want to drool, need to drool, but can’t. Tom Frick steps up, the last man between her and the hoop, and he is all grins, (Her bra unclips itself and falls to the gym floor) she cross dribbles and he reaches in for the ball, finds only air, loses his balance. She is airborne, soaring overt he freshly waxed floor (Her ponytail comes undone), her arm extends, the ball in fingertip (Her panties slip off) and Alison Lewis is naked,
hanging from the rim of the basketball net. Peaceful serenity on her face and, my eyes transfixed on her.