The
Black Knight Squash Fiction League Match #2
The Handouts versus The Tin Ringers
EAST
SIDE A
Collaborative Novel
Chapter
9
Resurrection By Steve Hufford
Pike woke to pain, regretting
consciousness. Movement hurt. His head was a stabbing
thing, his nose full of crusted blood. He had not won the fight
this time, and his combativeness had only made the beating worse.
At least nothing seemed broken. That was lucky. He had five
dogs to walk by noon. He would probably have to wear sunglasses
to hide the shiner.
Hank’s awakening, by contrast, was much
better. He lay in comfort, easing from pleasant dreams to waking
thought, his arm still embracing the gently-breathing Yvette. He
enjoyed listening to her soft inhalations and exhalations. After
a while, she had stirred, pushed back up against him, and they took up
where they had left off the prior evening. Breakfast came second.
“Scrambled or over easy?” she asked.
“Any way you like, Yvette. As long as we don’t have to smoke cigars with the meal.“
She laughed. “Yes, that was a bit unusual for me, too. I just wanted a quiet place where we could talk.”
“Well, your bedroom worked well for that.”
“Yes, but that was only afterwards.”
“I’m glad you’re a traditionalist.”
“Me too.”
Hank really did feel fine, buoyed by
Yvette’s company. Her apartment was sunny and comfortable, and
his cares seemed very far away. Until the thoughts of his looming
unemployment and missing daughter returned as they inevitably
did. Yvette, already well-attuned to him, noted a deepening in
the slight crease between his brows.
“What’s up? Eggs not to your liking?”
“Oh no, they’re great. I was just thinking about the club, and Kate.”
“Well, we can work on the club
situation. Jerry is pretty darned good at what he does, and at
the very least we can arrange a great party. As for Kate, didn’t
you hear she was playing squash over at the Village? I’m sure
she’ll be in touch soon.”
“Maybe you’re right. At least she’s using my old sticks…“
Yvette’s energy and enthusiasm made the
morning pass pleasantly for Hank. With her encouragement, Hank
signed up for the Master’s 40 and over draw, and even began to look
forward to training for it. Not that he could lay down any
foundation of adequate fitness in the time remaining, but the
tournament would give him a new goal, and add something to the unending
succession of his typical lessons, during which he repeatedly fed easy
balls up the middle of the court. He looked forward to some
competitive play, and also to watching Yvette in the 35’s.
Although he was surprised she signed up, he felt she had just the right
attitude for a player at her skill level.
“Well, I’ll have about the youngest legs in
the division, so maybe I can make a few of those 39 year olds work a
bit,” Yvette had said. “And there is a back draw. I can
always get more experience there even if I lose early in the main draw.”
Hank had to admire her gumption and her evident desire to do as well as possible.
“Hank, will you help me train for it? And coach me during the event?”
“Sure thing, sweetie. I’ll certainly be watching your legwork!”
Hank noticed that even the registration
process had gotten better since the last time he played or ran a
tournament. He could see all the registrants, by age division, on
the US Squash website. What a time ahead! It would be a
gathering of old friends who hailed from many corners of the world and
subsequently met and played on courts throughout the Big Apple.
The draws would include the likes of Balaram, Ish, Ivor, Jahangir,
Mohammad, Pascal, and Rainald. Chas, Chet, and Chip to round
things out. There were Indians, Pakistanis, Swiss, Scots, Brits,
Aussies, and quite a few preppies from Philly and onwards up the East
Coast. Not to mention a contingent of Canadian players he had not
yet met. They were always tough.
The Master’s looked to be a great
networking opportunity for the club reunion, and browsing the various
brackets on the website was tremendously helpful in reminding him of
the names of former Eastside regulars. Some were still at it in
their sixties and seventies. That was inspiring. And one
name definitely stood out in Yvette’s draw: Marlene
Kucinich. The lady in leopard!
Kate Reynolds was busy throughout the
morning, slowed only slightly from the night before. She managed
all her meetings and calls by noon and still had time to contact April
about her design proposals for the Manhattan Mayhem roller derby
team. She was beginning to envision some skirt-like shorts,
functional for movement, but with evident flair and flutter at high
speed. She saw them being color-coordinated with the knee and
elbow pads and with colored hemlines. If she could cover her
expenses, this freelancing would be fun. And it would be a good
start on her sportswear line.
April still sounded enthusiastic; she
agreed to meet Kate that evening to review sketches and tell her more
about the Mayhem players and the whole roller derby scene. But
first Kate needed some exercise. There was last night’s beer fest
to work off, so she headed to her afternoon court, determined to find
someone better than Pike to hit with this time. Maybe someone
with less accent but more strokes.
She had chosen to join Village mostly
because it wasn’t Eastside, so she knew she wouldn’t run into her
dad. Her court time probably could have been free at Eastside,
but being at Village meant she wouldn’t have to put up with her dad’s
comments about her career path. He had never really understood
design, or that fashion and art mattered to her. In spite of her
many faults, her mom seemed to understand the value of design, or maybe
she just had a tropism for what was expensive. Some of Margaret’s
things were quite tasteful. But from her dad, all she ever got
was squash, and he had been pretty pushy at that. With too many
memories of her ‘squash dad’ watching over her, it had taken her a few
years entirely away from the sport to develop any desire to come
back. At least she had his racquets.
It was not long after Kate’s afternoon court time that Hank’s phone rang. It was Carter again, letting Hank know that
Kate had just joined Village Squash’s league team, and that the team
had a home match tomorrow night.
That was good news, indeed. It was as
if a stone had been rolled away from the closed tomb of his
heart. Hank felt a resurrection of hope and a leap of joy.
He would see his beloved daughter the very next evening.
Steve
Hufford is a proud father, fortunate husband, former squash coach and
blogger, long-time squash/tennis/court tennis player, who enjoys
wielding a pen almost as much as swinging a racquet.
__________ This
is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are
either products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.
Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead,
is entirely coincidental.
