I remember when I met my buddy Mike for the first time. It was summer and I was eleven. Me, my ma, and my sister had moved to an apartment across the street from the middle school. We had lived in a house before but now we lived in this apartment. I could see the outdoor basketball courts from my room. It was late, like ten thirty or something, and Mike was shooting all by himself. The lights from the softball field, where the bar leagues played, illuminated the courts.

     I wanted to play him one on one. I grabbed a basketball from the floor. I had like fifteen. I would go up to the courts and steal basketballs while the older kids played full court. I don't know why I did it. I couldn't help myself. As soon as I had my hands on a basketball I had to take it home. I made sure I found one with enough air and finally decided to take a black one that I am pretty sure somebody had gotten from Pizza Hut.
     It had a lot of air in it and I liked to dribble so that was best. I headed over to the court. My ma was asleep. I locked the door behind me, and ran across the street.
When I was ten, I was chubby. I had on green shorts and a green shirt. It was my favorite outfit. The older kids would call me Mr. Green Jeans. Not in a nice way like, "Hey everybody it's Mr. Green Jeans". But more like, "Hey, look at this fat little homo dressed all in green let's call him Mr. Green Jeans."
When I got out there Mike was shooting free throws. He had really nice form for a ten year old.
When he shot I threw my ball at his. And it knocked it way up in the air.

I said, "Let's play one on one."
"Why?"
"So we know who is better?"
"I just want to shoot."
"You're a pussy."
"I'm not a pussy. I just don't care."
I got up close and just started guarding him. "Try and score on me." Mike was a skinny kid, and I pushed my forearm into his side. He took a dribble backwards and shot the ball, it went in. I grabbed the ball, and dribbled to the top of the key. "Guard me."
"I don't want to guard you. I just want to shoot." I dribbled next to him and waited for him to try and guard me. He didn't. I dribbled past him and scored. I said, "One to one your ball." and whipped the ball at him. He caught it and shot it before I had a chance to get up close. It swished through the net. The game went on like that. Him not guarding me, me dribbling around him and scoring uncontested lay ups. I would hand the ball to Mike guard him close and he would make jump shot after jump shot. When the game was tied ten to ten I said, "Check ball and whipped the Pizza Hut street ball off his shins. It bounced back to me and I dribbled towards the hoop and made a lay up. "I win."
"So.'
"So I'm the best."
"You're not the best."
"I'm better than you."
"You look at the ball when you dribble and you shoot with two hands. You suck."
"I don't care. I won."
Mike shot the ball, "I guess," His shot swished through the net.

I asked him. "Do you live by here?"
"Yeah."
"I live across the street in the apartments. But I used to live in a house. I moved here at the beginning of summer. Where do you go to school?"
"St. Theresa's"
"That's were I'm gonna go to school."
"Yeah."
"Yeah,"

Mike kept shooting and I started dribbling and running as fast as I could from one end of the basketball court to the other shooting lay ups when I reached the hoop.  I was at the end of the court by Madison Avenue when a dude who was riding by on a bike screamed, "Fuck You Mr. Grean Jeans".  I missed the lay up and looked up. It was this dude that I called Slow Talker. I don't know if anybody else did. But it was a good and appropriate nickname because this dude talked so slow that when he would try and talk shit during a game, you would be up and down the court three times before he got out whatever it was he was trying to say.   

He was a dick and loved to call me "Mr. Grean Jeans:. Fuck him, he was twenty five, and still working as a bus boy at Tony Roma's. His girlfriend was like fifteen and the only reason she didn't break up with him was because he gave her herpes and everybody knew she had herpes so nobody else would go out with her. I knew all this because nobody ever picked me to play and I would just shoot around and listen to people's conversations until I got bored, stole a basketball and went home. 

            When he was far enough away that I was sure he couldn't hear me I yelled,   "Fuck you, Slow Talker, you have herpes!" Mike dribbled over to me and said, "Why did that guy call you Mr. Green Jeans." I pointed to my outfit. He nodded, "You should stop wearing that outfit."  

            "I can't. I play better when I wear it."

Mike laughed, "Yeah but people make fun of you." 

            "I don't care. I play to win."

Mike nodded and I new that we would be friends.