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Jordan dropped onto the chair in his dressing room, letting out a long sigh, and massaged his temples. The first day of recording had been very tiring, not just because the jet lag refused to go away after two days, no matter what he did about it, but because he had no idea of what he was doing. Although they had given him a teacher who instructed him on how to pronounce each one of the words he had to say in front of the camera and their meaning, he still felt there was no sense in anything he was saying. He was still wondering why he had to appear along with a guy in an octopus costume. He was lucky he had gotten Western food, because the sushi he had been courteously given at his arrival to Tokyo had felt like a cannonball to his stomach and had sworn never to eat any of the local dishes again, as much as his teammates had assured him he had to try them. At that moment he wasn't hungry at all, he just wanted to get this over with, but since he couldn't speed things up, he could just wish that they came to take him to the hotel soon and sleep, sleep a thousand hours, give his face muscles a rest after spending hours smiling at the camera like an idiot. He took this little wait to relax a little. He changed his clothes and checked his phone. Later, when having access to a computer, he would log into Myspace and update his profile. Would he upload a selfie of him? Of that awful face of him? Oh, sure not. But he still wanted to get in touch with his fans, so he would at least write a post about his stay in Japan.
After deciding this, he stretched and was about to get up when they knocked at the door. Outside, some heated voices were trying to shout something in macaronic English, and others replied to them in a native accent. He didn't recognize those. That could only mean one thing. Once again, he let out a tired sigh and forced himself to draw a charismatic smile.
The door burst open and Jordan saw he was right about his suspicions. None of the people entering were part of the staff. It was another group of hooligans who had fooled security to come see him. He wanted this over with quickly and prepared to sign whatever he was handed, pose for pictures and hear their yelling. Although it seemed that all of them had agreed to talk to him at once, the only child among them managed to speak first.
"Mr. Michaels!"
"Hello, boy, how are you?"
"Mr. Michaels! We've got to ask you something very, very important!" But right when he was about to spit it, a blue blob, an imaginary friend, pushed him aside.
"Astro Slam was soooo cool! Wow, you're taller in person! What's your shoe size? It's for a bet. Will you sign my forehead?!" And he would have gone on if it wasn't for the boy stopping him.
"Bloo! Leave that for later! Remember we're here for Wilt!"
Jordan felt like he had just been shot in the heart. He completely forgot about his own rules of courtesy and dropped his smile. His eyes were fixed on the boy but his mind flew off somewhere else.
He hadn't heard that name in years, but had always been in his mind, like a painful ghost.
Wilt. Oh, goodness gracious, Wilt...
"Wow, look at this: he's got an Xbox!"
They were all excited, of course. From travelling by bus and in shabby low-cost airlines, eating whatever they could get from convenience stores and only being able to wash their armpits in whatever restroom they found on the way, now they returned to the United States in a private jet. That word, jet, was pretty enough to forget all they had gone through those days, but as soon as they got into the plane and found that it was equipped with everything one could desire, the smallest whim, they completely forgot about it and almost had to made an effort to remember why they were there. A massage table, the latest video game machine with all games available, minibar, seats so comfy they could take a nap without fearing for their neck...None of them had ever seen so much luxury in one place.
Mac would have never thought he would see the day when he could freely enjoy all of this, but didn't feel the least happy about it. For some moments, he said nothing and Jordan didn't move, either. Finally, Mac thought he had found the right words.
"I don't think Wilt hates you, Mr. Michaels."
Jordan rose his head and looked at him with wet eyes. Was he going to cry?
"I've known him for a long time now. I don't think he's ever hated anybody," Mac continued, "specially you."
"Yeah...Wilt was very nice. Maybe too much for his own good." Jordan looked away, to some point in the wall, without changing his posture, and his lips curved into something remotely similar to a smile. "I remember we once practiced till very late. I just couldn't score from the center of the court and promised myself I wouldn't go come till I did it. Wilt reminded me all the time that we had to be back before it got dark, because, well, my neighborhood wasn't the right place for a child and his imaginary friend to be in at night, but I didn't listen to him. When we got home, dinner had ran cold, and my mom was so angry she would have slapped me silly if Wilt didn't make himself responsible. He got a good lecture for it, and he bear it without saying anything."
Mac smiled as well.
"Yes, that sounds a lot like him."
"I could be telling you anecdotes like that for days. He was so nice." Jordan made a long pause. "And I abandoned him like he was a useless rag..."
"Sometimes...Well, we do things we're not proud of. But I assure you Wilt doesn't hate you."
Jordan didn't say anything. After thirty years, memories around Wilt were very distant and therefore confusing. But he still remembered his smile, and the patience and enthusiasm he displayed when he taught him how to play basketball, which took him many, many months of hard work. As the memories of that hood court they played in every day started coming, his throat started aching more and more. For many years, he had kept those memories locked up in the bottom of his memory, had even wished they disappeared so they stopped torturing him, and now these people came, claiming that he knew Wilt...
Mac talked while he was lost in thought.
"I'm sorry, what did you say?"
"I was asking why you think Wilt went back to the old neighborhood."
"Your imaginary friend...What was his name?"
"Bloo."
"Yeah, Bloo. Bloo said he heard him say he had unfinished business, right?"
"That's what it seems."
"If he wasn't talking about me...I can only think of two people he'd want to meet, and those are Kevin and his imaginary friend Foul Larry."
"Who are they?"
"They were our rivals the day we grew apart. I don't know what became of Kevin; after Wilt's depart, I never went to the court again. Maybe Wilt wants a rematch."
"When did that happen?"
Jordan calculated it in silence.
"Thirty years ago."
"Thirty years!" Mac couldn't help exclaiming. Wow, that was a lot of time; he would have never guessed Wilt was so old. "But why would he want the rematch after so long?"
He had barely said it when he remembered what Wilt acted like during Creator Day, his nervousness, his tension, that smile so forced it was painful to watch...And thought that, after all that had happened between him and his own, that had to be a very torturous experience. Surely all that collective happiness he couldn't partake in made him burst and go back to recover his old friend. Mac felt really sorry about him. Wilt sure had to know Jordan wouldn't be there after so long, he had to be very desperate or looking for something he wasn't going to find.
Jordan didn't reply. He leaned back and finally supported his back on the chair, letting a long sigh.
"Sleep a little, Mr. Michaels. We still have a couple of hours." Mac advised him.
"No...I wouldn't be able to sleep even if I wanted to...If he's back to face that lump in his state, I'm afraid he'll seriously get hurt. The soon we get there, the best...I hope it's not too late."
"I hope not...Is that Foul Larry very big?"
"He was like five heads taller than Wilt."
"Oh..."
The silence following was a little awkward. In the meantime, the others, apparently oblivious to their conversation, were still enjoying the jet's commodities (except Bloo, who just looked through the window after the pilot had kicked him out of the cabin).
"But, you know?" The player looked at the boy and Mac saw him smiling again. "I'm glad Wilt found a home and good friends..."
That made Mac smile as well.
"I'm also glad I met him. He's the best friend one could ever wish for. And if you're not going to take my advice and sleep, could you...at least...sign my shirt? I know this isn't the right moment but...I-I'm your fan..."
Jordan snickered and stood up to stretch his aching legs.
"I'll go get a pen. But on one condition: you will rest for me. You've traveled across the world looking for Wilt, it's you who must rest."
It was a good deal, wasn't it?
All of them had ended up taking a little nap. The last one to wake up was Madame Foster's granddaughter, who Eduardo gently shook.
"Señorita Frankie, despierte, ya hemos llegado." He announced to her.
Frankie almost asked him where, and who he was, but remembered everything upon feeling the plane loudly take land. She stood up, wobbling a little and with her vision blurry and looked through the window, like the rest of the group. Compared to where he lived or with Tokyo, that seemed like Hell. That convinced her that Jordan was not lying when he claimed that he had humble origins and felt admiration that someone from such a depressing place could get where he was.
"Gee."
Soon the plane stopped moving and Jordan ran to the door.
"Watch your step. You can leave your things here, we'll take you back home. We're very near the court. Let's see if Wilt is there or not. Then, we could check my parents' old house. If he's not there, either...We will see."
The others agreed and descended one by one. Of course, their coming attracted the attention of the neighbors, who all went to their windows to see what all this noise was about. They would have felt upset about the annoyance and that plane in the middle of the street if it wasn't for the man walking out, who awoke their admiration and comments.
"Sorry!" Was the only thing he said to them.
Wilt had to be there. He was afraid he was wrong or late. He had to be there, he had to see him! Not minding about all the people looking at him nor making sure that his companions were following him, he ran to the court. A group of imaginary friends were crowded around the fence, watching a match. He heard many exclamations of pain. No doubt, Foul Larry was doing one of his nasty games. That made him run faster in that direction. He made way through the congregation and glanced with difficulty at the court.
There was Wilt. Not the way he remembered him: there was one arm missing, leaving a stump, his left eye was crooked and he doubted that his friend could see with it, and had many scars in his body. Seeing him like that felt like someone had poured freezing water over him. He didn't know...He hadn't paid attention that day...He had no idea Wilt had been so severely hurt...Had he known...What was he thinking, that he didn't even notice? How couldn't have he looked at him?
And Wilt didn't hate him for this?
Jordan tried to get Stat's attention, though he didn't even notice he was there. The match was very tied. Wilt seemed exhausted but determined to win.
"WILT! WILT!"
Wilt, of course, couldn't hear him, either because of the spectators shouting or because he was too focus on the match.
And this was no moment to lose focus: Larry seemed about to shoot, using his infamous move.
Oh, my God, no, not that!
Once again, pushing a little more, Jordan reached the gates. He ran like he had never ran in his career. Wilt would defend the basket at whatever cost, even if that meant getting crushed by Larry again. Idiot!
The spectators and Stats were shocked to see him running in, but the players didn't notice. When Jordan grabbed Wilt's stump and pulled with all of his strength, the imaginary friend didn't even ask himself where this came from. His eye was fixed on the ball entering the basket at the same time Larry slammed his back against the wall, making pieces of brick and plaster burst.
The whistle indicated the end of the match. 49-48. Wilt looked up at the sky while Larry let out an exclamation of glee and walked over him.
"I lost again..." Jordan heard him mutter, "I can't believe I lost again...Now he'll never forgive me..."
Jordan pressed his lips, the lump in his throat becoming unbearable. Hearing him say that made him want to give him a good hug, to cry, to tell him it was him who had all reasons to hate him, to beat him up for leaving him and then leaving Foster's and for even thinking that...That statement made him feel so many things at the same time he wasn't sure of what to think.
There was Wilt, in front of him—that was all he knew for sure, and all he could think about. It wasn't a dream. He wasn't in his dressing room in Japan, dreaming that this was happening, like many other times. This was actual.
Had he hurt him...more? He seemed he didn't mind about that yank. He quickly checked him and seemed to be fine, just terribly disappointed.
He had dreamed about this moment for thirty years...
So many things he had to tell him...
He smiled, thinking that Wilt was now in front of him to share them with him.
"Wilt? I'm sorry but...are you okay?"
THE END