Chapter 47: Loneliness

Sylvester PoV

I panted as training came to an end. My whole body felt like jello. Especially my legs.

Wilt patted my back as we sat on the grass, catching out breaths. "Good job, Sylv!"

I gave him a faint smile. The guy was sweeting, but apart from that, he didn't even look tired.

"Thanks, Wilt," I managed to gasp out, my body still catching up to the fact that the training was over.

I let myself slump down onto the grass, my chest heaving as I tried to pull in as much oxygen as possible. The cool blades tickled my skin, the sensation oddly grounding. 

I glanced over at Wilt, who was busy chugging down a bottle of water. His brow was still wet with sweat and his breathing was slightly labored, but there was a certain calmness to his demeanor, as if the grueling training was just another walk in the park for him.

"How do you do it?" I found myself asking, my voice coming out in a raspy whisper. "You're not even... half as winded as I am."

Wilt looked over at me, a small smile tugging at his lips. "I've been doing this a lot longer, Sylvester. Trust me, I felt exactly like you during my first few months of training back. Granted. I was like seven."

"The over a decade of training really shows."

He grinned. "I would hope so!"

"I mean, you look so natural running. Like it's second nature."

Wilt laughed. "That's what a decade of doing something over and over would do, if done right."

I closed my eyes. If only my mom had let me join my middle school basketball team. I wouldn't have had a decade like Wilt did, but at least I wouldn't be so out of my element.

I felt a pang as I thought about my mother, her disapproving gaze as I'd told her about my interest in basketball. "It's a distraction, Sylvester," she had said. "You need to focus on your studies."

I had tried to argue, but it was to no avail. She was firm in her decision, and I didn't have the heart to go against her wishes. So, I had put my dreams of joining the basketball team aside, focusing on academics instead.

But now, here I was, years later, finally getting the chance to pursue my passion. Yet, I couldn't help but feel like I was years behind everyone else, struggling to keep up while they raced ahead.

I felt a hand on my shoulder, pulling me out of my thoughts. I opened my eyes to find Wilt looking at me, concern etched on his face. "Hey, you okay?"

I nodded, forcing a smile onto my face. "Yeah, just tired."

Wilt didn't seem convinced, but he didn't push. Instead, he handed me the bottle of water beside me.

"Thanks, Wilt."

The redhead grinned. "No problem! What else are buddies for?"

Drew scoffed as he walked over to us. "Honestly, Wilt, focus on your own training. You kept pace with Sylvester instead of going all out like last time."

Wilt shrugged. "So, what? I can decide how I train."

Loxus hummed as he joined us as well. "Is that leg of you giving you issues?"

Wilt winced as if he had just been discovered. His hand subconsciously went to his right knee, a sign that Loxus had hit the mark. "It's not too bad," he dismissed, trying to brush it off. "Just didn't want to push it too hard."

I looked at him, surprised. I had no idea Wilt had an injury. Was it from basketball? Did it happen during a game?

Drew frowned. "You should have told us, we could have adjusted the training."

Wilt just shrugged again, a nonchalant grin on his face. "I'm good, guys. Don't worry about it."

Loxus crossed his arms over his chest. "You know, if you get injured again because you're too stubborn to admit you're hurt, I'm not helping you."

That elicited a chuckle from Wilt. "Duly noted, Lox."

I watched the exchange, unsure of what to say. Wilt had kept up with me, even with a hurt leg. He had made sure I didn't feel left behind, despite his own discomfort. It was a level of selflessness I had yet to see in many people.

"Thanks for staying back with me, Wilt," I said quietly, meeting his gaze. "I appreciate it."

He waved it off. "It's what friends do, Sylvester. Besides, you're improving. And that's all that matters."

His words were simple, but they meant a lot to me. They meant a lot to a guy who felt like he was constantly playing catch up, a guy who constantly doubted himself. A guy who had grown up with no real friends.

----

[Four years ago]

I looked around at all the students walking the halls of my new school. Hopefully, freshman year wouldn't be as difficult as sixth grade was. There weren't many kids from elementary in middle school.

I navigated the crowded hallways, clutching my schedule tightly. My middle school years had been a lonely experience. I was quiet and kept to myself, making me an easy target for bullies. I didn't have many friends, and I often felt like an outsider.

Now, in high school, I hoped things would be different. But the familiar anxiety was creeping back in. The hallways were bigger, the students older, and I felt like a tiny fish in a massive pond.

Lunch was the loneliest time. I sat alone at the end of a long table, my packed lunch my only company. I watched groups of friends, laughing and chatting, and I felt a pang of longing.

During those lonely lunches, I often found myself daydreaming about the casual basketball games I used to play with the neighborhood kids back in middle school. I loved the sport, the rhythm of the game, the thrill of scoring a point. It was a hobby, a distraction from the loneliness.

I wanted to try out for the school's basketball team, but my mom was against it. "You need to focus on your studies, Sylvester," she said.

"But, Mom! They say sports look good on a college application!"

She sighed. "Sylvester, you aren't cute out for sports. Focus on what you're good at." She walked off, returning to the kitchen.

I let go of the paper in my hands and ran upstairs. I threw myself into bed and began to cry into the pillow. Why was I so weak?

I remembered feeling a crushing disappointment as my mom dismissed my interests so readily. It felt like she didn't believe in me, didn't think I was capable of balancing both my studies and a sport I loved. 

The tears welled up hot and full of frustration. I wasn't just upset about the basketball team, but about feeling misunderstood, feeling boxed into this image of who my mom thought I should be. I felt a deep-seated anger, not just at her, but at myself for not standing up to her, for not fighting for what I wanted.

In the following days, I tried to focus on my studies, tried to bury my disappointment. But every time I saw the guys from the neighborhood playing basketball in the park, my heart ached. I longed to be out there with them, to feel the rush of the game, the camaraderie of the team.

I thought about going behind my mom's back, about trying out for the team anyway. But I couldn't bring myself to do it. I was too afraid of her disappointment, her disapproval. So, I held back, resigned myself to the sidelines. 

It was a difficult time. I felt isolated, disconnected from my peers. I felt like I was missing out on something, on a part of life that could have brought me joy.

But I persevered. I threw myself into my studies, determined to make my mom proud. I told myself that I could live without basketball, that it was just a game, not a necessity.

Yet, deep down, I knew I was denying a part of myself. And that hurt more than any physical injury ever could. 

----

[Present]

Looking back, I wished I had stood up for myself. I wished I had taken the leap, faced the consequences. Maybe then, I wouldn't have felt so lost, so adrift.

But all that was in the past now. I couldn't change what happened, but I could learn from it. And that's exactly what I intended to do. 

Now, as I sat on the grass after a grueling training session, with Wilt by my side, I felt a sense of accomplishment. I was actually trying to get what I wanted, not what my parents wanted for me.