The Slow Boy

My friends and I played basketball with the slow boy.   We also patted the top of his head fairly often.  He seemed to enjoy that.

Not everyone would play with the slow boy.  He slobbered a little sometimes—most of the time—and blurted out single random words that did not make sense.  “Timbuktu!” he might exclaim when someone made a nice shot from outside the key.  “Breakout!” he would yell exuberantly if any long silence befell our play.

The slow boy never double-knotted his shoelaces and usually ended up with at least one sneaker untied during our games.  More often than not, the basketball bounced off the slow boy’s chest if you pitched him a brisk pass.  He sunk only the occasional shot at the basket and dribbled with two hands.

We did not tease the slow boy all that much.  Each of us made sure to ease him a soft pass now and then.  We allowed him open shots.   He played for both teams.  All of us understood that if he were a rabbit or deer or any such creature in the wild, the coyotes and mountain lions would have devoured him.

I know where most of the players are today.  From Helena to Seattle to the grave, I know…but what do you suppose came of the slow boy?

--Mitchell Hegman