Rarefactions: by Andrés Melo Cousineau

SHAWN

When one spends a lot of time in a single place, one will experience many surprising things. One will also meet many unique people. For we all are unique, unrepeatable. And each moment, as well, is unrecoverable.

I have spent tons of time at the Y seeking to recover. I had already spoken to a man who told me he was a medium. Once he had even signaled to horses. “Did I care about horses?”, he asked. I was quite surprised at his words given the history of horses in my family.  I spoke to him and questioned him. I asked him how he knew what he knew. We spoke respectfully. I always thanked him for sharing his way of thinking. When with him, I always thought about Socrates and about Delphi. The whole thing.

And then there was the Brazilian whom I called “Cantante”. Many times he sang beautifully. Once I asked him to whistle the Brazilian national anthem while doing exercises in the shower. He gladly did so. I remembered then all the times Brazil had been World Champions and how familiar these sounds were. I remembered my hero as a young man, Pelé.

Since we usually hung out naked in the men´s room, there are many other stories which are better reserved for private ears!

And then, one of the many days while doing my basketball routine as part of my recovery, a group of special needs adults arrived at the basketball court. They chose the side where I was shooting. Soon, I was left alone with them as all other players chose to move to the other side of the court. I did not mind playing with these challenged adults. The other younger players did. I played normally amongst them for a few minutes and saw how they marveled at shooting and enjoying their limited abilities. Their teacher, a young woman, really cared for them. It showed. They were having fun. It was like the NBA, but in really slow motion and with lots of misses. Like Jordan, but in the upside down world of timelessness. I was having fun too, as I always do with a ball. I was surprised at the amazing recovery I had undergone during the last few months. Almost a year.

But my routine had come to an end and I knew I could not keep on going anymore as I could injure myself. Now I had to cool down, as I usually do, by simultaneously stretching and powering down the muscles. This for, example involves kicking in the air and very gently jogging almost in place. If one just saw these last movements, they would actually look a bit odd in a basketball court. Some involve kicking as if playing soccer. But his was not a soccer field. You can imagine. Odd.

Then, it happened. One of the special needs adults stood up right beside me and started mimicking my actions. I looked to the side and saw it was real. It was true, he was doing exactly what I did! He still had his basketball in one arm, but he started to jog in place as best as he could, for it was obvious he had some serious movement difficulties. But that was not all. Suddenly he —–about 25 or so, and with a kind face—- started laughing with all his might. He did so while at the same time watching me and repeating my very movements. “HA, HA, HA”,  he almost screamed as if no one else were there in the gym. Louder than Santa´s “HO, HO, HO”, it seemed. But of course, there were many others. I had found it a bit odd that he was mimicking me. I wondered why.  What had caught his imagination. But when he started laughing, every single person on the court turned to face us. Their faces were that of surprise.  Some even seemed sorry for me. I wasn´t.

There I was cooling down from my routine and my special needs friend laughing out loud. And both of us doing strange non-basketball movements in a basketball court! Weirdly funny.  As I have been a teacher, I was not vexed by the unexpected situation. As I have myself overcome difficulties in movement, I was not vexed by his loud presence. Actually, I was happily surprised.

Soon his teacher saw what was happening, and kind of rushed to see what was going on. The young man soon was playing basketball again with his special needs friends. Everything was normal again. No more surprises, everyone had his and her appropriate place and his and her appropriate action. There was no laughter. The upside down reality set right anew. I continued cooling down and doing my own exercises knowing that I still had a bit to go before I could leave the court.

After a few minutes, I had to move to the opposite side of the court where I could stretch my hamstrings and legs by placing them on the only ledge that was available to me in the whole gym. Worked my muscles kindly as usual. Had done some nice shooting that day. Was quite grateful. I remembered when I could not really walk for so many years. Still had a long ways to go, though. Just behind me, the young players were playing a half-court  3-on-3. I looked over my shoulder once in a while as they sometimes ended up falling real close to me. Finished and stood up to begin the last part of my exercises.

And to my surprise,  guess who was in front of me looking at me intently. Yes. The young adult with special needs. He could not get over the exercises that I was doing, exercises I came up with myself in order to recover from my own injuries and own special needs! Soon he was laughing and imitating me once again. What was absolutely unusual was that he had crossed the whole court just to do that, and was also quite close to the players playing really hard. They could hit him on any given layup. He was unperturbed. It was as if an unspoken tunnel of silence and sharing suddenly appeared between us. An unspoken bridge. I was surprised and grateful he had come all the way to share with me this moment. Others would have fled, or at the very least felt terribly uncomfortable.

I asked him if he liked basketball. He answered with an awkward movement of his head and with a not too clear affirmative moaning expression. It was not a “yes”, but it meant “yes”. Or so I translated in my mind, as best I could. I asked him if he knew how to dribble. He once again said “yes” in his language. He started dribbling with his left hand. It was obvious he had to think about it. He had to send a message from his brain to his muscles to his arm and then to his hand. It was all in slow motion, but it all seemed so natural to us. “Well, what did you expect, LeBron?”, he seemed to be saying to the world with a smile. Soon, well, not really that soon, the ball finally started moving downward and upward. It was amazing. He did it several times and I think he could have gone on forever right then and there. I remembered when I could hardly stand up. Sending the messages to the brain and the body as if asleep, painfully asleep.

But we teachers know that repeating something forever is quite boring. Yes, we must repeat, but learning is not repeating. So I asked him, using plain English,  whether he could dribble with his right hand. Suddenly, I asked myself whether he actually understand what his RIGHT hand meant. Was about to say “the other hand”, when he moved the ball to his right hand. He was definitely smarter than I was!  But, here is the thing. I had seen how this right hand was not normal at all. This hand was always facing inward in an unnatural form. I really wondered whether he could dribble with it at all. But I saw his face and immediately saw a level of concentration and will that I have seen in few humans. He was determined. How was he going to do it, I wondered. And then it seemed as if his brain told his weak hand to try to stretch out as best as it could, to start moving up and down and then dribble the ball. If previously it was all in slow motion, now it was as if the world had stood still in wait. And then, there was movement. The ball went down and up again to his right hand. And then once again. He was absolutely proud of what he had done. I have always been very athletic and was both impressed and humbled. One could see it in his face. It was simply amazing to see. It was an incredible physical achievement.

But being a teacher I could not stop there. Teachers, what a pain. Leave us be, please! So I asked him if he knew how to pass. You know, to connect with him, connect with his unspoken world. To make him understand we all have such potential, such amazing potential. And, of course, and he did not know this —–or perhaps he did, or perhaps he sensed it and that is why he was there with me —-  I also had loved soccer balls, basketballs, bouncing balls. all kinds of balls, all my life. So again he kind of said “yes” in his own language and mumbled a few words I could not really understand. He must have said something like: “Of course, you dumbass”, or something of the sort.

With his normal concentration, and after repeating the whole process of motion, he finally passed me the ball. He thought about it, used both his hands —including the injured one—- and passed the ball to me. It bounced slowly and finally reached me. I had seen Magic Johnson pass a ball like a bullet, This was not it. Nonetheless, it was magical. I took it into my hands and promptly, asked him, “Can you catch it?”. Again he mumbled in his language something I took to be a “yes”, and without thinking much I bounced the ball towards him gently. This was the gentlest pass I have ever made in my whole entire life. I was taught never to make such passes for a good defense would always pick them up. He caught it and immediately knew we were playing together and proceeded to pass it again. We passed about six times. Passing was now an event we shared. It seemed nobody else was there, not a single soul. There was nothing else but the motion, the back and forth motion. A rocking soothing motion.

But I also knew my muscles were cooling down and I still had to do my hydrotherapy. He was wearing a New York hoodie. So I asked him: “So, you like New York”. With great excitement, he made me know he really did so. Actually, he might not have ever been to New York, but he loved it nonetheless.  I knew that feeling. I had felt that for 17 years before I actually came to Canada, my second home. It ran in my blood even if I had never stepped on it, not a single time until 18 years old. And I was a bit tired. So I asked what his name was. He mumbled something like “John” or “Shawn”. I was not sure. I came to him and stretched my hand towards his. He did the same. We made contact. I said I had to go. He laughed understanding.

I went to pick up my backpack with my basketball at the other side of the court and saw his teacher. I asked her whether his name was “John” or “Shawn”. She said, “Shawn”.  So I went to up to Shawn who was shooting with his buddy and said: “Bye, Shawn”.  He too said “Bye”. We shook hands once again. We proudly shook hands. He laughed and smiled. I left the gym but it would never be the same gym I had known. Now it would forever be the upside-down gym as well. Only Shawn and I knew this, though.