James

Thwock. Thud. Slap. Thwock. Thud. Slap.

The ball hit the side of the house, bounced once on the asphalt and came back to James’ ungloved hand.

Thwock. Thud. Slap.

Over and over he repeated this motion, the neon green tennis ball a shining light in the air.

Thwock. Thud. Slap.

“I. Hate. Him.”

The words were in rhythm with the ball, muttered as the ball hit each target.

Thwock. Thud. Slap.

James’ dog, Marley, looked on with pleading eyes, his long golden coat shining in the summer afternoon sun, but he knew better than to try and play with the ball when his master was so angry. So, he lay there, waiting for James to go inside.

Thwock. Thud. Slap.

This beat continued for thirty minutes, occasionally startled by a slip of hand, and ending up with the ball bouncing twice.

Thwock. Thud. Thud. Slap.

The motion felt good to James. His anger powering the ball and driving it to the side of the house.

I must remember to get mad right before the championship, James thought. He was the pitcher for their team –The Allstars– and they had a good shot at winning the championship this year. If James could pitch like this then, they would definitely defeat the Eagles, their number one rival team.

Thwock. Thud. Slap.

That is, if he could get back onto the team.

Thwock. Thud. Slap.

“I. Hate. Him.”

Thwock. Thud. Slap.

James was talking about his coach, who yesterday had kicked him off the team, because James had gotten to a fight with a guy from the Eagles, and “accidentally” clipped him in the jaw.

Thwock. Thud. Slap.

It wasn’t really his fault, James reasoned, because the other guy, Corey, had started it. Called The Allstars a bunch of losers and said they had no chance of getting anywhere. Besides, Corey had swung first.

Thwock. Thud. Slap.

James started to feel himself calming down. It was his fault, too, he reasoned, because he had hit him back. Just because he was provoked didn’t mean he had the right to hit the guy.

Thwock. Thud. Slap.

Marley eyed the ball, watching its motion and feeling his muscles twitch, dying to leap after it. But good training and animal instinct kept him his place, although he couldn’t help but give out a whine.

Thwock. Thud. Slap.

“Here, have it.” James tossed the tennis ball to the dog, who immediately jumped up from the driveway and caught in his mouth. He looked after James, who was climbing the steps to the door and dialing on his cell phone, with a pleading expression. But his willingness to play was lost on the retreating back of his master.

“Yeah, Coach. It’s James. Look, I just wanted to apologize…”

As James entered the house, Marley proceeded to chew the green fuzz off the ball.