Family Reunion
Darius opened his eyes in the hospital room. His vision was clear. He sat up without assistance from the bed. The room contained several people he did not recognize.
A woman approached the bed first. She was approximately forty years old with brown hair. Tears were visible on her face. She moved quickly toward Darius.
"Darius, you are awake," she said. Her voice indicated emotional distress.
The woman hugged Darius without asking permission. He did not resist the contact. She pressed her face against his shoulder. Her breathing was irregular.
"I am your mother," she said. "You have been unconscious for four years."
Darius looked at her face. He did not remember her specifically. However, something about her appearance seemed familiar.
An older woman stood next to the bed. She was approximately sixty-five years old. She reached for Darius's hand and held it gently. She did not speak initially.
"I am your grandmother," she said after several seconds. "We visited you every day while you were in the coma."
A man stood at the foot of the bed. He was approximately forty-five years old with facial hair. His arms were crossed. He observed Darius without speaking.
The room contained additional people. Darius counted seven total individuals.
The door opened. A doctor entered wearing a white medical coat. She carried a clipboard and a pen.
"Good afternoon," the doctor said. "I am here to check your condition."
She approached the bed and examined medical equipment connected to Darius. She wrote notes on her clipboard.
"You have retrograde amnesia," the doctor explained. "This means you may not remember events from before your accident. Some memories might return over time. Others may not return."
Darius spoke for the first time. "I remember some things."
Everyone in the room looked at him when he spoke.
"I do not want to stay in the hospital," Darius said.
The man at the foot of the bed stepped forward. "I am your father. The doctors need to monitor your recovery."
The doctor nodded. "We need to conduct more tests to ensure your brain is functioning properly. This will take approximately two weeks."
After the doctor left, the people in the room introduced themselves to Darius.
The man with facial hair confirmed he was Darius's father. His name was Marcus Kingsley.
A tall man stepped forward. "I am Uncle Theo. I am your mother's brother."
A teenage boy held a basketball under his arm. "I am Malik. I am your cousin. We used to play basketball together."
Darius looked at the basketball. "I played basketball?"
"Yes," Malik said. "You played every day. You were skilled at the game."
Two girls stood together. One appeared to be ten years old. The other appeared to be seven years old.
"I am Zaya," the older girl said. "This is Amari. We are your sisters."
Darius's mother explained that both girls were born during his coma period. They had never met him while he was conscious.
The family members took turns sharing information about Darius's life before his accident. They told him about school, friends, and activities he had participated in.
Uncle Theo explained that Darius had been a good student. He earned high grades in mathematics and English classes.
Malik described basketball games they had played in the driveway behind Darius's house. According to Malik, Darius usually won these games.
Darius's mother told him about family vacations and birthday celebrations. She showed him photographs on her phone.
Darius's grandmother described how he had helped take care of Zaya when she was a baby. She said he would sing to her when she cried.
Darius listened to all the information. He tried to remember the events they described. Some details seemed familiar, but he could not recall specific memories.
"Do you remember playing basketball?" Malik asked.
"I remember the feeling of holding a basketball," Darius replied. "But I do not remember specific games."
Malik spun the basketball on his finger. "Would you like to try playing again when you leave the hospital?"
Darius considered the question. The idea of playing basketball felt natural to him, even though he could not remember learning the sport.
"Yes," he said. "I would like to try."
His father placed his hand on Darius's shoulder. "We will take things slowly. You need to recover your physical strength first."
The family stayed in the hospital room for three hours. They continued sharing stories and showing photographs. Gradually, Darius began to feel more comfortable with them.
When visiting hours ended, his family prepared to leave. His mother hugged him again before departing.
"We will return tomorrow," she said.
After they left, Darius remained alone in the hospital room. He thought about the information he had learned. These people were his family, but they felt like strangers.
He picked up the basketball that Malik had left behind. The ball felt familiar in his hands. He dribbled it twice on the hospital floor. The sound and motion seemed natural.
That night, Darius experienced the white space again in his dreams. The Hustle System appeared.
"You have met your family," the system said.
"Yes," Darius replied.
"Your cousin Malik plays basketball. He can help you practice basic skills when you are released from the hospital."
"When will I be ready to play seriously?"
"Your physical condition is improving. However, you need several months of training before you can compete effectively. Your body must regain strength and coordination."
The system displayed information about local basketball facilities and youth leagues in Darius's area.
"There is a community center six blocks from your house. It has an indoor basketball court. Many teenagers practice there after school."
Darius studied the information. "Can I join a team?"
"Not immediately. You must first demonstrate basic basketball skills. Most players your age have been training for several years. You will need to catch up to their skill level."
"How long will that take?"
"With consistent training, approximately eight months. Your basketball knowledge from your previous life will accelerate your learning process."
The white space began to fade. "Focus on physical recovery first. Basketball training will begin when you leave the hospital."
Darius woke up in his hospital bed. Sunlight came through the window. A nurse was checking his vital signs.
"Good morning," she said. "How do you feel today?"
"Better," Darius replied.
He spent the morning practicing basic movements. He walked around the hospital room multiple times. His legs felt stronger than the previous day.
His family returned in the afternoon. This time, they brought additional photographs and some of Darius's personal belongings from his bedroom.
Malik brought a smaller basketball that was appropriate for indoor use. "This was yours," he said. "You kept it in your room."
Darius examined the basketball. It showed signs of regular use. The surface was worn smooth in several places.
"I used this ball frequently," Darius observed.
"Every day," Malik confirmed. "Sometimes you would dribble it while you did homework."
Darius's father brought a notebook that contained information about local schools. "You will need to decide which high school to attend. Your accident happened during your sixth-grade year. You are now old enough for ninth grade."
Darius reviewed the school options. Several schools had basketball programs for students his age.
"Which school has the best basketball team?" Darius asked.
His father smiled. "I thought you might ask that question. Roosevelt High School won the state championship two years ago. Their coach is very experienced."
Darius made a decision. "I want to attend Roosevelt High School."
"We will visit the school next week to discuss enrollment," his father said.
The family stayed until evening. When they left, Darius felt more connected to them than he had the previous day.
Two weeks later, doctors cleared Darius for discharge from the hospital. His physical therapy would continue on an outpatient basis.
His family drove him to their house. The building was a two-story structure with a driveway and a small backyard. A basketball hoop was mounted above the garage door.
"That is where we played," Malik said, pointing to the driveway.
Darius examined the basketball hoop. The net was worn and partially torn. The backboard showed scuff marks from repeated ball impacts.
Inside the house, Darius saw his bedroom for the first time in four years. Basketball posters covered the walls. A trophy shelf contained several small awards from youth basketball leagues.
"You won those trophies when you were nine and ten years old," his mother explained.
Darius picked up one of the trophies. It was for "Most Improved Player" in a local recreational league.
That night, Darius lay in his own bed for the first time since his accident. He held the basketball Malik had given him. Tomorrow, he would begin the process of learning to play basketball again.
He was ready to start.