They say that one night six kids gathered on an old basketball court.
They spray painted their names and tearfully promised to return four years later.
They promised not to cry.
They say they walked away that night, memories heavy on their backs as they retreated to the rest of their lives.
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I heard that one wrote a book. Made millions overnight, or so they say.
I never read the book, but I hear it's good.
He married a beautiful girl, they say. Had two kids, bought a dog.
But they said he was never really happy. His family sent cards out every year, of him and all the kids. People say the girl wasn't the one everyone thought he's end up with.
They say he never found his girl and eventually grew old and tired of love. Said he died of a lonesome heart.
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I heard one became a famous artist. Painted thousands of pictures, but never sold any of them.
People say she hung them all up in her house, so they would cover everything-the walls, the windows, everything.
People said she was depressed. Never talked to anyone, never socialized. Her old friends never called her, so she never called them.
Some say she ran a light and got hit by a car. But some say she ran it on purpose.
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I heard one became a fashion designer. She traveled to places like Paris and Moulin, selling close and becoming more famous by the second.
Some say the flashing lights dimmed her cheerfulness. They say she became less of the girl she used to be, until she was over-worked and tired of life.
No one really knows how she died. All they say is that fame finally caught up with her.
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They say the married couple grew older and apart. The flame that was their love had reached its peak and finally the wind of reality enveloped it.
They say the husband went on to become a famous basketball player. They say he never looked back.
They say the wife raised their young son. They say she cried herself to sleep at night.
They say that boy became a basketball star, just like his daddy.
The husband died of a stroke, I heard. Fell flat out on the court and never woke up.
They say the wife died too young. Said she died of a heart attack after watching a basketball game on TV.
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They say none of them ever made it back to the court. They all got swept up into their own lives.
Their names remain on the crumbled court, beginning to fade with every rain.
But you can still see them, drawn delicately in the heat of the night surrounded by friends.
But every now and then you can walk by and see that one name is gone, with but a shadow left lying upon the ground.
They say maybe if they came back none of this would ever have happened. They would all be happy, living life as it was meant to be.
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They say if you walk by the river court late ant night, you can see something. Perhaps a fading memory lost in the winds of time.
But if you look hard enough, you can see the arms wrapped securely around each others waists, holding on for dear life. If you listen close enough, you can hear the soft bouncing of a basketball and the laughing of friends.
That's what they say.