The eternality in our ephemerality

Chapter 24. Why do people get sentimental in car drives?

Volleyball practice, for the first time, had exhausted every shred of energy in each of my muscles; the longevity of it and the exhaustiveness of each exercise seems to be the principal motivator for our coach. As for us, bright crimson cheeks, sweaty palms, crooked lips and the absolute absence of motivation. Mary was willing to purposely miss the net and hit the coach with the ball in the hopes that he would just let us go.

I asked Mary who would take her, she responded that she would go on her own and I told her, if she was willing and James too, that there should be no inconvenience. But, declining my offer and leaving me to embarrassment, she clung to her options and encouraged me to go with James. With her answer and assuring her presence, I sprinted into the bathroom where in a matter of milliseconds: the sweat in my hair was dried and straightened. The outfit I was wearing remained glued to my body; the kneepads were lowered speedily and the shoes switched into white converse.

Smiling, laughing at my ridiculousness I gave further goodbye kisses to my friends as my feet sprinted out the gym.

Step after step, the quizzical eyes were delighted to see that the red Mazda was parked outside the front gate. A pompadour next to the open gate being held by a grey shirt and navy blue jacket.

He semed peaceful, charming.... True to his beat, this had been the first time I had seen him as him: leaning against his car, enjoying the beat of his tunes...neglecting the pressure to be smiling or enforcing the soreness of his manhood. I smiled, dreary about those childish memories.

"Oh hi!" He noticed my clumsy entrance.

My feet petrified to the ground, unsure what to speak.

But as his first step hit the floor, my converse rushed out; neglecting his failed attempt to appear to be a gentleman I hastily, and cruelly, diminished his efforts and speedily opened the door myself.

"Hi" I greeted him with a smile. The uncertainty of my own tongue peeking my embarrassment "I am so sorry, the coach would not let us go and I was ah! I am sorry! How long were you waiting for me?" the tongue, as predicted, rushed the words in an adrenalinic frenzy of contempt. He, noting the hyperactivity to my concern, smiled with sweetness as we both entered his car.

My hand instinctively searched for the seatbelt and buckled it before he even sat on the driver's seat. I rushed out the words as my bottom located its seat in the passenger seat, next to him.

"Not long" He declared. I, in my intuition superpower, noted a glance which forced his tongue to spill the truth: "Okay, okay, like 20 minutes." His lips contained a laugh, mine squinted with an abash.

His hand, faintly grasping over the key, inserted them and the car begun to drove away. I squished to my end of the seat: placing my mind over my palm and staring, with soothed enthusiasm, through the window of a fainting city.

"Well I'm sorry anyway." I apologised "-And thank you for the drive! Of course!....How was football practice?" My feeble attempt to soothe the shame by switching the conversation.

"It was good." He spoke with indifference "The new kid is honestly very very good" he spoke the words with a grimace curled in his throat, forcing the words against his will. His hands, with incredulous force, squeezed the steering wheel along with a screech of tires that created a void in my, already crushed, stomach. Without knowing what else to answer, my compassion crouched down from my words and a smile was all the encouragement I could bring to his wounded ego.

"I guess Andrew is significantly good for what they say, but that doesn't mean you aren't equally as good-"

"No, no" He interrupted, my eyes flamed with the only hope of not being him to whom he was referring. "Andrew's in the team but he's a defender. He's dope. But nah, I was talking about Spencer."