[The Purple Emperor]

The rain fell from the sky, pouring ceaselessly over us. I was glad for it, for it concealed my tears.

"I'm sorry, Michael."

Her hair was wet, her eyes shimmering. Was she crying, too? I couldn't tell, and to look into her face was to be hit with torrents of pain. And so my eyes dropped to my hand. What once seemed shining silver now appeared moody, unhappy gray, the amethyst stone dulled by the deluge crashing down. There was a promise in that ring, and now that promise was broken - shattered as my soul.

"You have to understand," she continued. "I'm leaving for New York tomorrow. You're here, I'm there. I can't live like that."

"But I told you I'd go with you!"

She bowed her head, the noxious odor of too much water intermingling with the strawberry-apple-vanilla of her favorite shampoo to create a scent I couldn't place, and didn't care to.

"You wouldn't be happy, Michael."

"I'd be happy as long as I was with you."

In answer, she sighed, turning her back. Although she wore a coat, I could still picture the precise line of her spine, the one I ran my fingers over that morning after we made love, laughing at the happy coziness of my apartment against the angry storm. "No... just accept this for what it is."

Before I could respond, before I could continue fighting, she ran off down the street, a wall of rain soon concealing her from sight. From my life.

I stood there, promise ring still in my flat hand, literally reeling inside from the shock, my head bombarded with the dizzy unreality of it all.

And so, four days after my 31st birthday, in the last year of Kareem Abdul-Jabbar's 20s, and the last season before he entered free agency waters, my life plunged into a lake of despair.