Dante Was a Rolling Stone, Wherever He Laid His Hat Was His Home

If Dante had any resemblance of a religion in him, then the gym would be his church. The basketball courts were his daily prayer, pleasing the basketball gods by his obsessive practice and play. Feeling the rough texture of the ball as he dribbled. Crossing over, shooting, dunking, amen.

NYU was a great opportunity for him. The PWI housed many things Dante liked. The classes, the common areas, the women. He held a reputation of never sleeping in his own dorm. And if he did, despite having no roommate, he never slept alone. Being an athlete has its perks, and access to things that regular guys could only dream of getting away with was one of them. Dante was in a dreamland. He’d barely pay attention in class yet he always gets away with a B. He’d sleep with any woman he wanted to, and move on the next day with no hard feelings. He can have any friend do anything just because he’s the HNIC on campus. It’s no wonder Roy’s conversations seemed so foreign to him.

Roy urged him to relax. To actually pay attention in class. Sports as an excuse to let athletes get away with shit behavior is not something Dante should be proud of, he would say. But the addiction was too great. How could a king give up his castle? How could a kid who grew up with so little let go of so much? He loved basketball, that was the only thing he had going for him. His mother would come home sobbing after working at the diner. He felt like she resented him after that. The cold remarks. The calls got less frequent after he moved out. He wasn’t mad. In a way, he resented her too.

He was the spitting image of his father. A slut with nothing but sports. For Kenneth Florist, it was football. Being the star wide receiver when he lived in Alabama. Being good at something lets people know you’re better than colored. Being an athlete, especially a good one, allowed those racial walls to be torn down. Dante inherited that, for better or worse. It didn't help that he died. September 3rd, to be specific. He left the family with stories of his neglect.

He would dribble that ball, blow past a defender, slam it down, then go back on defense with a smile on his face. He looked at all the smiling faces, the sea of adoring bodies, willing to cheer, fuck, or die for him. Sure, his mother was nowhere in sight, as she told him if he’d pursued ball, she can’t support it. Dad was still on her mind. Veronica had the best intentions for Dante. She didn’t want the same lifestyle that broke the family apart. Dante was hell bent on stardom and glory. Last time he talked, he told her:

“You’d rather cry in an apartment, or a penthouse?”

Egotistical, sure. But Dante also had the best intentions in mind. And he’d make sure his mother got out of New York, whether she liked it or not.

The NYU Spartans had a state of the art gym. The space was clean, the fluorescent white smiled upon the polished wood, leaving a shine so good it reflected like a mirror. The lines were painted red and gold, as were the colors for the team. The nets were fresh, leaving a satisfying swish when shot correctly. Most importantly they had a beautiful surround sound that bumped perfectly to what song was playing. Dante was alone in his practice gear. Red shorts and the Spartans official practice shirt, His hair nice and tied up to get out of the way of his face. He dribbled the ball a few times to the beat of Throw Some D’s by Rich Boy. His theme song, of sorts. He was there trying out a few moves to rush to the basket. He shot a few shots, dunked, anything to perfect his scoring. It’s all he had left. Basketball loved him, he wanted to pay his dues.

He invited Roy, but he’d come later. For now, it’s just him. A few of his buddies came in, chattering about the latest events of the campus, in the colorful language you’d expect from college athlete douchebags. The three laughed and hollered, approaching Dante as he was shooting a mid-range shot. One of the men, Jack, dapped him up. “Sup, brah?”

“Nothing much,” Dante said. “Getting some shots in. What’s up?”

The other man, Daniel spoke up. “Halloween party’s coming up. You in?”

Dante was interested. “Who’s hosting?”

The third man, Paul, answered. “Who else? Rich.”

Rich was the nickname of Elijah Rich, some kid with too much money and not enough time to study. Every large party was hosted by him. Dante smirked. “Ohh, so it’s gonna be that bumping, eh?”

“Fuck yeah!” Jack said. “You’re a fuckin’ star now, Tae. Think of the hoes you could bag? Shit is gonna bump!”

Dante was warned about these types of temptation by his cousin. He’d never usually go to those big parties, as he rather have fun at kickbacks. He gave a face of thought, which made Paul speak up. “Don’t be a pussy, dude. Come on. It’s just a party.”

Fair point, he thought. Fuck it, let’s party. “I’m down.”

With the cheers of joy, Dante gave into his peers and was headed down a fun night of partying.

All he had to do was not drown.