Someone just knocked on the door/rang the bell. We weren’t expecting anyone. I wasn’t wearing a bra. I quickly put one on.
I look through the peep hole. A small, chubby woman or maybe a child has his/her back to the door. I open the door. The dogs are going crazy. It’s a cacophony of barking and a twister of prancing energy behind me. The dogs are ready to eat whoever is standing there. The person turns around when I open the door. It’s a kid. About ten or eleven. Seems frightened of the dogs, so I step outside and shut the door.
He asks, “Do you have a son?”
Uh, no? We don’t have kids.
“Oh. I thought because of the basketball goals…”
No. We play with those.
And that was it. He walked back to his bike, which was parked in our driveway, and rode off. He was carrying a white plastic grocery bag with something in it – rocks? pecans? child-sized doses of crack? I don’t know. And I don’t know why I didn’t think to ask him – if we did have a son, what then? Was he going to challenge him to a game of basketball? Would it make sense to challenge the child who lives in a house with not one but two basketball goals? Obviously anyone with two basketball goals in the driveway takes that shit seriously.
Of course, we don’t take it that seriously. We just happen to have two goals in the driveway. I gave James a goal for his birthday a couple of years ago, and we ended up with Mason’s goal from his house. If you are interested in taking the goal that I gave James (Mason’s is much nicer, so we’re keeping that one), let me know. It ain’t fancy, but it gets the job done. Make sure to call first. We may be busy playing HORSE with a ten or eleven year old chubby boy who doesn’t even live on this block who goes randomly door-to-door looking for someone to play with.