In an extract from his memoir, the 13-year NBA veteran reveals the childhood tragedy he has kept secret for more than 30 years
’ve never told anyone this before, but my best friend died in my arms – and it was all because of basketball. It’s a day I’ve kept tucked away in a corner of my mind for over 30 years, like the carefully folded contents of a weathered trunk, buried behind cobwebs and cardboard boxes in the farthest corner of an attic. Until I started writing this book, I hadn’t spoken about what happened to anyone, including my parents and siblings.
Two months earlier, Chris and I had been glued to the screen in my family’s living room, mesmerized by the feverishly back-and-forth NBA All-Star game, where Jordan was crowned game MVP. Yet, it was the dunk contest that had us buzzing like we’d each downed a two-liter soda. In his final turn, Jordan ran the length of the court and launched himself from the foul line to the basket –. An eagle, wings outstretched, screeching across the sky. Jordan was flawless and awe-inspiring.
On any other day, the older kid would have brushed himself off and jumped back into the game, plotting his revenge in the paint. On any other day, Chris and I would have walked home together afterward, side by side, happily reliving the amazing crossover. Ambulances don’t arrive immediately in the hood, but I prayed that someone had run off to call one. Chris moaned and gasped for air as we waited for the EMTs. Tears streamed down his face. He was in a lot of pain and I could see the sheer terror in his eyes.The older kids from the neighborhood slowly huddled around us, all of us witnesses to Chris’s final moments on Earth. None of them offered to help. I looked around at them, but they were all strangers, as Chris and I were to them.
I don’t remember the ride home or what was said, if anything at all. My mother cleaned me up and put me to bed, retiring to the kitchen table with my father as she’d done on most nights. I looked at my big sister, Natasha, sleeping peacefully in the twin bed next to me. I watched the shadows and light dance under our bedroom door and strained to hear my parents, but couldn’t make out their muffled voices. I reluctantly drifted off to sleep, my eyes still stinging from the tears.
“Is it far from here?” I asked, trying to surmise if this adventure would keep us days or even weeks away from DC.
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