Time is Limited

11 0 0
                                    


Wake up, feed the dogs, take a shower, gulp down a breakfast bar, and head out the door, to ride a bike, play sports, or play with the dogs. My daily routine. Not once have i skipped it. Even when school begins I just get up earlier. This has been my routine since I could walk. After school, I do some of my homework outside on the swing, play basketball with all the kids in the neighborhood until we can't play anymore. Usually Silvia, my fashionista of a friend, will watch me wrestle with the dogs, and occasionally she'll dress them up. Which isn't my favorite thing to do.
Today when I was walking to school my blond haired friend was wearing a bright pink blouse that flairs at the bottom, some skinny jeans, and high heels. "Hey Sidney!" She cries in her singsonginy voice.
"What did I tell you about that." I stop walking.
"About what? To not wear pink because even though it goes good with my hair, it doesn't look nice with my complexion? Or not to wear high heels on a gym day because I'll twist my ankle and I wont be able to wear high heels for a long time.Too... never call you Sid and only Sidney?"
I roll my eyes, and cross my arms. "Yah try again."
"Fine! To always call you Sid. I know... I know... But I just like the name Sidney way better."
"Well is it your choice?" I ask.
"No," she shamefully bows her head.
Now realizing that she was faking it the whole time I say "I think you made it into that play."
"Was it that obvious that I was pretending? Was it any good? My acting I mean."
"Yes, it could feel it tug at my heart, and drag me down onto my knees." While saying it I actually get down on my knees. "That and a poster says, New play starring Silvia Fashine."
"Really?" She stands on her toes-which is amazing how she does it because I can't even stand in heels, let alone walk.
"No," I snort. She tries to punch me in the arm but I think it hurts more to her than to me. "But I'm sure they have them posted up there." I gesture to the enterance. "It been, what, two weeks?"
"Two and a half."
"Whatever." I jog the rest of the short distance to the school. Silvia ‍walking her long strides behind me.We are the exact opposites. I have dark short hair that reaches my neck. She has long blond hair that reaches the middle of her back. While I wear shorts, and tank tops. She wears dresses and skinny pants. She's tall, I'm short. I could go in all day like this, but the story will be boring. There would be no problem, no solution, no point to the story. I've already said too much. I scratch my shoulder for the thousandth time that week. This might be another sunburn on my shoulder, but it isn't red, or peeling. Usually it doesn't bother me this much anyway.
I pull my tank sleeve back up on my shoulder, and head straight to class. Math, ugh I hate it. All of these numbers and letters. I mean how do you put letters in place of numbers! They're like complete opposites! My best subject is gym, and that isn't even a subject. Last report card I got 1 C, 3 Ds, and 2 Fs. And the two Fs were in math, of course, and English Language Arts.Once I'm seated, I put my backpack under my desk, and grab my math books. PAGE: 684 is written on the board in yellow chalk. Wait to be so dramatic yet again Mrs. Phillips. Algebra, letters, and numbers. I'm not even going to spend a lot of time thinking right now because I have another 8 hours of doing so.
I share out the window. Since our own is a fairly poor town, most of the kids that aren't homeschooled, come here. Preschool, high school, and everything in between. Collage classes can be taken here, but most often not because the teachers aren't legally certified to be a teacher. Pretty confusing, right? You'd think they'd shut down the school and 'college' but the never have. Maybe that's because they know we will need even more loans from the bank because half our small population works as teachers.
"Ahem class. Eyes on me... Ok good." She stares around the room in a 'if you take your eyes off me you're dead' kind of way. " You're going to be hearing this a lot today but the start of basketball is coming up. Tryouts are tomorrow, Thursday, and Friday. If you miss them it's not my fault. I'm going to be giving as much detention as i can. So everyone misbehave please." She sips her coffee, and begins class. I'm in a daze the whole time. No listening, but not-not listening. If that makes sense.
So i know what page when she says we have homework. It's even basketball tryout week! And we have homework!!!! Ugh. I make the team every year, so i need to talk to mom about getting my physical. I don't know why i need one, I'm as healthy as can be. I walk out of math, next subject Gym. Me and Silvia have gym together. I know Silvia's going to hear another lecture from the gym teacher about not wearing high heels to the gym. Last time she had to wear some buys extra stinky shoes. She reeked for days.
I walk in the gym as Mr. Nettler gives Silvia a note. She storms out of the gym. Her high heels clicking all the way down the hallway. "High heels in gym, what is she thinking." I hear Mr. Nettler mutter.I Run to the locker room to change into my running shoes, and put a headband in my hair. I know headbands are kind of girly but my hair's to short to put in a ponytail. When i get out of the lockers, Mr. Nettler starts explaining what we are going to do. After a few laps-which i'm first at-we stretch. Mr. Nettler throws basketballs at us. I'm one of the only ones that catch it.
"Basketball." Mr. Nettler paces across the floor. "Probably the best sport one could play." he bounces the ball once. "You can do so many things with this tiny piece of rubber. Some call it a sport where you throw a round ball into a piece of fabric, called a net. Most people say it's an easy sport, one which requires no practice, and little gut. Well they're wrong. Sid, heads up!" my reflexes act, and i just barely catch the ball before it hits the ground. "How long did it take you to become this good?" i think, my parents saved up money when i was five, at six or seven they bought a hoop for me. I played until 4th grade, when i made the team. I've been in basketball ever since. I always do track too.
"I played in the park, or tried to play in the park at three. So six years." i reply.
"How often did you practice?"
"'Bout every day, from 3 to 8, and an hour or two in the morning."
"She plays about as much as she has school. And gese girl that's a lot." i pass his ball back, and pick up my own. "That's 56 hours a week. Decoda how many hours in her life?"
Deoda looks up, he's the nerdy kid in every class. "122640 hours in her life." says in a squeky voice.
"Guys, i want you to understand that's a lot! How much time in school to you spend thinking about basketball?"
"Almost every hour."
"Now that's hard work! Now, everyone by a hoop, we gonna shoot some hoops!" He throws the basketball into the hoop. "Three... two... one... GO!" We race to the six hoops spread around the gym. I go first, shooting a perfect layup. I dribble the ball to the end of the line, and practice with my left hand. Taking my eyes off the ball a watch all of the other kids struggle to even dribble it. A few kids are pretty good, they almost always make it on the team unless a new kid comes and is really good! Mr, Nettler hates new things, so when he has to learn a whole new person, and how they play. He gets overwhelmed. He breaks into a sweat, and he eyes pop out of his head. I sit in his small office and talk him down by saying how he doesn't get paid enough, and how he has to support a family. When this happens i take my lunch to his office, and sometimes Miss Getty lets me go in during math.
I tell him how i need to work on my sports career instead of homework, and math. He tells me why his wife divorced him. I give him tips on his children, and what they want. He gives me tips on how to know the opposing player, in basketball.
"If you know how they play, the game goes your way." that's always what he says. "One day," he says, "I'll bring my kids into meet you. You'll like them, they have gut." he wonder's into space, wondering about the day when his divorced wife, and children come back from Asia. and meet him, he says it's going to be a magical time, he can remember all of their favorite foods, colors and even favorite finger. I tell him things change. People change, he just would nod and continue to look up at the cealing in delight. I knew people could change on the outside, but i never really believed it to be true that they could change on the inside. Maybe they don't they just grow new fears, and dislikes.

Always and ForeverWhere stories live. Discover now