PEMBERTON

In an assignment in my narrative journalism class, I was tasked with observing a scene, including the dialogue, and describing it in as much detail as possible. While excluding my own commentary, I depicted a 20 minute moment at a local basketball court.

Pemberton: Text

This court is a cathedral. A sacred ground of competition, laughter, good vibes and hoops. Basketball is the service, the sound of the ball on the pavement and the sneakers quickly changing directions is the sermon, and North Cambridge is the congregation.

The three courts fenced in from Pemberton Street is where the kids of North Cambridge would gather over the weekend, after school, and every holiday. But more than anything, the people that play here recognize the community that basketball has helped them form.

“No homo, but I really love y’all man,” Xavier Dottin said after taking a long hit of a joint full of tobacco and marijuana. Everyone sitting against the fence at the baseline of the center court looks at Dottin. “Y’all helped me a lot. When my pops passed, you were all here, and I needed that.”

A spray-paint mural of Irv Dottin, Xavier’s father, had become weathered down after serving as a memorial since late July. No one had used the court since Irv’s passing - out of respect.

“You know we got you bro, ain’t nobody deserve to go through that,” Justin Ramkissoon said.

“Yeah, don’t say that again though. Just say we brothers,” Antonio Garcia said while letting out laughter directly afterwards, everyone joins in - including Xavier.

The smoking soon comes to an end, and the filters of the multiple joints are thrown over the fence towards the train tracks which is home to Gatorade bottles, Slim Jim wrappers, blunt wraps and used filter tips.

A group of middle age white men have entered the court. The group smoking on the fence looks at them with a lack of recognition. New groups were rare, but always accepted.

“Who are these n-----?” Ramkissoon asks the group. Most of the group shrugs in unison.

“No clue, but they look trash,” Jahel Augustin jokes. Everyone laughs as if they’re on cue.

A portable speaker turns on on the far court playing “It Ain’t Hard to Tell,” by Nas causing a mutual respect to form between the groups. Hip hop is the only accepted language at Pemberton.

Shots begin to rattle off the rim, and bang off the backboard. The group of high teenagers slowly begin to get up and start to shoot around again before they realize the court has reached the magic number. 10. Just enough to play a game of 5 on 5.

One brave soul from the group of smokers walks over to the newcomers and asks, “Y’all tryna run?”

A collective nod assures that the game will soon begin. The group chooses the far court, away from Irv. The church bells ring. The teams are chosen. The church ushers open the front doors. “Game to 21?” Xavier confirms with the group, as everyone begrudgingly agrees to the impending long game of basketball and running. The organ begins to play. The ball is checked up at the top of the key behind the three point line and the running begins in an effort to put the ball through the rim. The pastor begins his sermon - the church service has begun.