Re: The Gold Standard: The Ronnie Gold Story
4-6-13
He sat in his car, his eyes staring at the house down the street.
He hadn’t been in this neighborhood since he was young man. But this was still home to him in a lot of ways. He learned what he had to on these streets. He’d learned how to take care of himself and those that he cared for.
He had to learn the hard way. The way that involved a lot of blood and a lot of bruises. But he learned.
He flexed his hands, his knuckles cracking in the dark, silent, interior of his car. He’d gotten a few of the many scars that dotted his hands on these streets. He was a just a punk kid then but he was tough punk kid.
He was tough on the streets and on the courts. Never quite had what it took to make it to the pros on the courts.
On the streets though … he had what it took to be a pro there.
His eyes watched the house down the street carefully. The neighborhood was in worse shape than when he left Brooklyn all those years ago. Back then there wasn’t a team here. Now, the Nets had come back to town. It was different … but the same.
Brooklyn just got a shiny new coat of paint. It looked nicer but it was still just as broken, bad, and messed up as ever. In a few years that new coat of paint would wear off and people would remember why every team that had been in this place had left.
Until then though, Brooklyn was “fashionable” to be a part of.
But the people in the house he was staring at … those people didn’t care
about what was fashionable. They just cared whether they’d be around in a few months or days.
What was left of his family was in that house.
But it was his family from a past life.
But just because it was a past life doesn’t mean it didn’t happen.
He was here with the Bobcats to scout out some of the Nets players but he wasn’t even at the game. He didn’t care about the game. He was here to decide whether or not to let those he left behind in a past life know he had returned.
He had a new name. A new job.
But he was still the same person who left here all those years ago … just older. Wiser.
He looked at his hands.
He was also had more scars.
He took a deep breath and opened his car door.
The sounds of the street rushed at him. Barking dogs. Squeaky screen doors. Sounds of TVs through open windows.
The neighborhood still smelled the same … like a mix between a dirty bathroom and a construction site.
He shut the door and stood there. He shouldn’t be doing this. They were better off without him.
Despite his misgivings he found his feet taking him forward anyway. One step after another.
He was only ten yards or so away when a little girl came rushing out of the house, a smile wide on her face. Behind her came her mother.
“Kendra,” Desmond mumbled. She had been his little sister … only nine when he left this neighborhood all those years ago. Now she was a mother.
His courage shrunk away and he quietly stepped into an alleyway. He stood there and waited till the sounds of the little girl and her mother disappeared.
He then walked back to his car, got in it, and buckled his seat belt.
He couldn’t just show up there like nothing ever happened. Kendra wasn’t what he remembered … the last time he saw her she was pulling herself out of this life. She was with a good guy and looked to be getting away from these streets. She wasn’t a mother then. But the years had gone by and she was a mother now … she looked like she belonged on these streets now.
That was thing about these streets. They had a way of pulling you back in.
If he went back to that house and knocked on that door, he’d be letting the streets take him.
His old life was dead. His old name was dead.
He had to leave that behind or all the sacrifices he made would be for
nothing.
The family had pulled him out of here. They had showed him there could be
more.
He did time for them. He was free now.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered as he looked at the house. He couldn’t help them.
They couldn’t help him.
This was for the best.
He started his car and headed back towards the city. His phone vibrated and he peered down at it quickly.
The Bobcats had beaten the Nets.
Desmond turned his attention back to the road ahead.
He wouldn’t be coming back to Brooklyn.
4-6-13
He sat in his car, his eyes staring at the house down the street.
He hadn’t been in this neighborhood since he was young man. But this was still home to him in a lot of ways. He learned what he had to on these streets. He’d learned how to take care of himself and those that he cared for.
He had to learn the hard way. The way that involved a lot of blood and a lot of bruises. But he learned.
He flexed his hands, his knuckles cracking in the dark, silent, interior of his car. He’d gotten a few of the many scars that dotted his hands on these streets. He was a just a punk kid then but he was tough punk kid.
He was tough on the streets and on the courts. Never quite had what it took to make it to the pros on the courts.
On the streets though … he had what it took to be a pro there.
His eyes watched the house down the street carefully. The neighborhood was in worse shape than when he left Brooklyn all those years ago. Back then there wasn’t a team here. Now, the Nets had come back to town. It was different … but the same.
Brooklyn just got a shiny new coat of paint. It looked nicer but it was still just as broken, bad, and messed up as ever. In a few years that new coat of paint would wear off and people would remember why every team that had been in this place had left.
Until then though, Brooklyn was “fashionable” to be a part of.
But the people in the house he was staring at … those people didn’t care
about what was fashionable. They just cared whether they’d be around in a few months or days.
What was left of his family was in that house.
But it was his family from a past life.
But just because it was a past life doesn’t mean it didn’t happen.
He was here with the Bobcats to scout out some of the Nets players but he wasn’t even at the game. He didn’t care about the game. He was here to decide whether or not to let those he left behind in a past life know he had returned.
He had a new name. A new job.
But he was still the same person who left here all those years ago … just older. Wiser.
He looked at his hands.
He was also had more scars.
He took a deep breath and opened his car door.
The sounds of the street rushed at him. Barking dogs. Squeaky screen doors. Sounds of TVs through open windows.
The neighborhood still smelled the same … like a mix between a dirty bathroom and a construction site.
He shut the door and stood there. He shouldn’t be doing this. They were better off without him.
Despite his misgivings he found his feet taking him forward anyway. One step after another.
He was only ten yards or so away when a little girl came rushing out of the house, a smile wide on her face. Behind her came her mother.
“Kendra,” Desmond mumbled. She had been his little sister … only nine when he left this neighborhood all those years ago. Now she was a mother.
His courage shrunk away and he quietly stepped into an alleyway. He stood there and waited till the sounds of the little girl and her mother disappeared.
He then walked back to his car, got in it, and buckled his seat belt.
He couldn’t just show up there like nothing ever happened. Kendra wasn’t what he remembered … the last time he saw her she was pulling herself out of this life. She was with a good guy and looked to be getting away from these streets. She wasn’t a mother then. But the years had gone by and she was a mother now … she looked like she belonged on these streets now.
That was thing about these streets. They had a way of pulling you back in.
If he went back to that house and knocked on that door, he’d be letting the streets take him.
His old life was dead. His old name was dead.
He had to leave that behind or all the sacrifices he made would be for
nothing.
The family had pulled him out of here. They had showed him there could be
more.
He did time for them. He was free now.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered as he looked at the house. He couldn’t help them.
They couldn’t help him.
This was for the best.
He started his car and headed back towards the city. His phone vibrated and he peered down at it quickly.
The Bobcats had beaten the Nets.
Desmond turned his attention back to the road ahead.
He wouldn’t be coming back to Brooklyn.
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