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They were bonded by basketball, these two friends from North Carolina.

Juie Rattley III was from the country; Curtis Lennon, the city. And from the time they were 8 until they turned into men, they played basketball behind Juie’s house.

Every summer, Curtis came from Greensboro to visit his dad’s family in Columbus County, and every summer, Curtis and Juie played basketball on a concrete slab sandwiched between a clothesline and a ditch.

They’d start late in the afternoon and play for hours, past sunset, between the fields of tobacco and corn off Old Lumberton Road, stopping only to down a drink from a cooler or inhale some chicken and rice made by Juie’s mom, Virginia.

On the court, you knew who was who. And you really didn’t need the court’s two floodlights to figure it out. All you had to do was listen. Juie was the quiet one. Curtis was not. He always jawed at Juie.

“You’re going down!”

“You can’t play!”

“Man, when are you comin’ to the city? You gotta leave the country!”

Eventually, Juie did. After earning an art degree at UNC-Pembroke, Juie left the country and came west on scholarship to get his master’s degree in art from UNCG.

One of the first people he called was Curtis.

“Man, you’re not going to believe this!” Juie told him. “I’m coming to Greensboro!”

“Oh,” Curtis yelled. “It’s on now! It’s on now!”

That was August 2005. Curtis and Juie had always kept in touch, even after the summers of their youth on the concrete slab ended. They talked every month or so, mostly about basketball.

And when Juie came to Greensboro, their friendship continued to grow. Curtis showed Juie what sides of the city to hit, what sides of the city to avoid, and where to get his haircut: Lyon’s Hair Care Center, a small barbershop near the intersection of Summit and Wendover avenues.

And of course, they played basketball.

Juie turned his phone on every Friday night, because he knew Curtis would be calling early the next day. Curtis’ messages were always the same: “All right! I’m giving you plenty of time to get ready!”

That happened every Saturday before they took to the court at Craft Recreation Center.

That is, until May 19, 2007.

Juie’s phone rang, and of course, he thought it was Curtis. It wasn’t. It was one of Lyon’s barbers, the guy Curtis and Juie called Fry.

“Juie, tell me it’s not so,’’ Fry said.

“What are you talking about?’’ Juie asked.

“He’s dead,’’ Fry responded.

“Who?’’ Juie asked.

“Curt,’’ Fry told him.

Curtis DeAngelo “DD” Lennon was killed in an apparent home invasion the night before. Someone had barged into his rented house off Peterson Avenue near Bessemer Elementary School and shot him.

Curtis, who had sold cars and worked with his father’s insurance company, was just starting a lawn care business. He was only 29.

Six months after his death, Juie was married at the Kernersville home of Curtis’ family. Curtis had arranged it all after hearing Juie’s fiancée Pamela say about the spacious house: “This would be a great place to get married.’’

So, on a Saturday in October 2007, Juie and Pamela got married without Curtis in a black tux by their side.

“I can’t believe he’s the reason you’re getting married here,’’ Curtis’ mother, Angela Lennon, told Juie that day. “You know, that DD. He is something else.’’

Today, Juie is 30, an MFA grad from UNCG. He teaches art at Winston-Salem State and later this month, he’ll begin teaching art in Guilford County Schools as part of an outreach program created by the Green Hill Center for NC Art.

And he still has Curtis’ number in his cell phone.

He thinks about Curtis often. He even dreams about him. He wonders what they’d be doing or where they’d be going or how many weekend basketball games they would’ve played.

It’s the not knowing.

Juie knew Curtis’ older brother, Michael, was killed in April 1997, shot twice near a park in Greensboro. Police arrested two people in connection with Michael’s death. But no one has been caught in Curtis’ case.

There has been no closure. So, Juie paints.

He has painted a series of self-portraits that show him with various expressions of anger, resignation and sadness, and he’s given them titles he can understand.

There’s “May 18,” the day Curtis died. There’s “CDL,’’ Curtis’ initials. And there are others like “Home Invasion,’’ “Too Serious’’ and “May 19,” the day he got Fry’s phone call.

He sold two of the paintings at Green Hill’s most recent Winter Show exhibition.

He sees it as a way to cope with the pain of losing his longtime friend and to pay tribute to Curtis, the guy who introduced him around Greensboro this way: “This is my good friend from the country. He’s going to be a really big artist. You wait and see.’’

Later this month, he’ll be at Jefferson and Peck on consecutive Wednesdays, talking to students about using their own visual language to tell their stories in collages they paint.

If they ask him about “CDL’’ or “May 18,’’ Juie says he’ll tell them about basketball, the concrete slab, and the mouth-watering chicken and rice his mom made in a big wash pot.

And he’ll tell them about the power of friendship and what it can do beyond a basketball court.

Maybe then, he thinks, they’ll get it. Because he sure does.

Contact Jeri Rowe at 373-7374 or jeri.rowe@news-record.com