UTD PD is currently investigating what appears to be the disappearance of a UTD student. The student, whose name will not be disclosed due to privacy concerns, was very active in their community before the NBA season began. Since then, however… we’re afraid the following voice memos found on the student’s phone are clues to their eventual fate.
Memo #1:
Water. All I can see is water. From my feet to the horizon lies an azure blue world. The motionless water reflects the heavens with a clarity that makes its surface look like a portal to another world. I stare deep into the water, and then I glimpse something beneath the waves, someone that takes my breath away. Is it him? Is it my GOAT?
“LUKA! LUKAAA!,” I scream until my vocal cords fold under the weight of my own voice. It’s been so long, but if there’s even a chance it’s him, I have to take it. Adrenaline floods my veins as I dive into the great sky under the sea, just to get another glimpse of that Luka magic.
“LUKAAA—”
I wake up screaming. The pallid rays of the morning sun sift through the window onto my face in an attempt to pacify me as they color my room a dull, numbing gray, but the fire of my heart burns a brighter sapphire for the Mavs. That flame begins to waver as I think about the trade. That trade. I try to avoid it, but I have to face reality: my GOAT is gone.
Last month, the Mavs traded Luka for Anthony Davis because Luka was “out of fitness.” Since then, I’ve had to witness my PrizePicks account get taken out back and shot through the head 77 times as Kyrie and AD keep getting injured, leaving the Mavs’ court inhabited by benchwarmers. As my parlays keep getting spontaneously aborted, I have to watch as Luka cements his place as Lebron’s successor. Bronnie may be King James’ biological child, but when it comes to bucket-getting it’s as if LeGOAT conceived, gestated for two months, considered getting an abortion, got talked out of an abortion, gestated for seven more months, and then gave birth to the Don. Luka’s balling out like never before with the Lakers, reaching highs he never did for us, for me.
I hobble over to my fridge and chef up something to assuage my pain (chicken tenders in the air fryer). I sit down with my food and think about all of the other things in my life. I’ve been applying to hundreds of internships, but none of my applications have materialized into anything yet. I keep sleeping through all my classes, and I just know that I failed my exam yesterday. Right now, life is pretty bleak. There’s no light in this tunnel I find myself in, but then I turn on my TV and watch some Luka edits and everything becomes okay as he dashes around the court, carefully skirting around his opponents in a dance of brilliant blue and makes the shot. He was the light of my life, and all I can think about is how he came back for me last night. I need to see him again. I have to go back.
Memo #2:
I am… different. The water has changed me. Two nights after my last memo, when the moon was high and the stars were low, I found myself awake once more in that mysterious, watery, phantasmagorical dreamscape. I looked up and found myself face-to-face with him as he stood on the still water. He was wearing a white and blue jersey with the number 77 emblazoned on the back. His countenance was steady yet inviting, and he glowed pale like porcelain. He had a lanky frame engineered to maximize his ability to put balls into hoops, along with a bit of a tactical paunch — emergency energy he could call upon in case a game started getting rough. He stared at me with a piercing gaze that was inviting yet intimidating, but I could feel it. I belonged here, with my GOAT. Right as I began walking towards him, I saw his lips part as sound began to spill out of his mouth.
“I—“
When I came to, I once again found myself in my bed. It felt less like waking up from a dream and more like closing your eyes on a train — that sensation of being in motion without consciously moving yourself. I had slept through half of my classes already, and when I decided to finally check my email again, the wan glow of my laptop illuminated the myriad of rejections that I’d gotten accustomed to reading. I emptied the chicken tender bag onto my plate and watched what was left of my dwindling supply of Luka edits. What would concern a typical person, however, was missing from my mind. All I could think about was Luka’s royal rebounds and his European euro steps. In some ways, Luka’s magic made my dreams feel more real than my depressing UTD life, and I wanted more.
That night I returned to Luka’s deluged world once more and got up to face my GOAT. The usual dream fuzziness was gone; everything was so clear that it was impossible to tell I was still asleep. Even beyond the looks, everything just felt real. I traced the lines of my palm, sensing the real blood, sinews, and bone under the surface. This time, I could make it to Luka.
I sat at the shoreline and yelled out to my GOAT: “I LOVE YOU, LUKA!”
He looked steadily back at me and responded, “Zelo uživam v krompirjevi musaki,” with no pause or lapse of speech.
Suddenly I understood everything: why they traded him to the Lakers, how he got so chubby, what he was doing with LeBron. I don’t even understand Slovenian, but I could feel the meaning of his words overcome the linguistic boundary as they entered my heart as pure semantics. Just like that, I was whisked away from my GOAT once more.
I awoke in my bed, back in this sallow nightmare we call UTD. I passed my desolate bag of chicken tenders and my empty playlist of Luka edits, but there was nothing left in me that cared. All nightmares are dark dreams, after all — fleeting and transitory. I just had to wake up. I grabbed MJ-levels of Melatonin and shoved them down my arid, aching maw, not needing any water to ease it down. I needed to return to Luka.
I opened my eyes and I was back in the Don’s water world. I didn’t even look up before I rushed towards my beloved. I couldn’t tell where the ground stopped and the watery mirror began, but it carried me all the same. I reached out, tears bursting from my eyes, preparing for Luka’s soft yet confident embrace… then it happened. It was just me and Luka — and I think Dirk was in the distance, but it was mostly just me and Luka becoming one. Through his hug, I felt not only his presence, but the presence of every Dallas Mavs NBA all-star player.
I closed my eyes and everything ceased to matter. Was I alive? Was I underwater? Was that former Mavs owner, Mark Cuban in the distance? There was only one thing that I knew now that my metamorphosis was complete: I have become Maverick, shooter of ball.
