Perception Magazine Spring 2020

I should have just asked Kianna Shakir I should have just asked.

I remember the first time I met you. One braid partially undone, the other still neatly tied against your scalp. You told me you’d never played an “outside sport” before, only basketball and volleyball. And I kinda laughed and then you smiled. Both new to the sport, goofing around, joking about how horrible our team was going to be that year. You were a star athlete, scholarship secured, but had decided to try a new sport for fun. You wiggled your butt when scooping down to get the ball and turned to laugh at me. My serious expression cracked.

I grabbed your lacrosse stick and helped place your hands in the right position.

The sticker from Dick’s Sporting Goods was still on it. You made me late for the office hours my Pre-Calculus teacher was holding.

I should have just asked.

I remember the day we became teammates, but I’m not sure when we became friends.

It could have been from practice. When something awkward or hilarious happened, we would both look for each other, make eye contact, then burst out laughing. I had always been so serious, but you made me realize that somehow I could dedicate myself to a sport, but not let it consume me. People wanted your attention, but some felt unworthy to approach. I was fortunate enough that whatever you saw in me you liked. I think there was a sense of mutual respect, but it may have just been me.

I should have just asked.

You wore #1, I wore #2. You stood at nearly 6ft, I barely made the 5ft mark. You were the leading scorer, I came in 2nd. You demanded to be noticed, but you shined with a humble smile. You worked hard like you had never earned the right to start. There was a tenacity that could not be stopped, but always a stupid grin and joke to go along with it.

I was never sure what to label it, and I’m still not sure. All I know is that I wanted to hang out with you and laugh with you all the time. You had other friends, closer friends, so did I, but none of them were like you. None of them made 36 | Perception