The Sun, The Moon, and Their Stars

44 : Bounce

Kimberly

I drop my arms to my sides. "How does it work again?" I ask Benjie.

"You just hit a ball," he says, taking one of his tennis rackets out of the bag, "and smash it back after it bounces." He demonstrates how, with a swing of his hand. "Then, do it again and again." And he makes it look so easy to do.

He came around a while ago in head-to-toe Nikes and with a sports bag on his shoulder. He said we're going to the public high school, to hit the wall at the back of the basketball court.

I hurriedly changed into my sweatpants, a t-shirt, and wore my shoes. Then I stuffed my knitted bag with another shirt, my umbrella, fan, hair tie, keys, and a bottle of water. We asked my brother to come along, but he said he'd rather take a nap.

The school seemed deserted when we walked in and directly headed over to the court.

Unlike in our school, this gym is smaller, but airier with open areas on its sides and above the bleachers.

We set aside our things on the nearest seats. I removed my glasses and tied my hair. Then we did some basic stretching first.

He now takes out another racket and hands it to me.

"Woah! This is a bit heavy."

"Sorry. They're all we got," he says. "But you'll get used to it later."

He shows me the proper way of swinging it, and I already feel the weight pressing on my wrist.

He shows the other way using two hands. I copy and repeat the motion. It feels a bit better, though I'm pretty sure that I look ridiculous.

He starts going back to the bleachers. "Maybe we should stick to your backhand for now," he says when he passes by me.

He's opening what looks like a can of Pringles. But when he pops the cover, tennis balls come out. He takes two, throws one at me, and walks back to my other side.

We're facing the wall, meters away from each other. And he's dribbling the ball with his racket.

I turn to him first. "Hey, ground rules," I say. "You know I'm not physically fit or sporty. If I move funnily, please don't laugh."

He stops dribbling. "If you see me laughing. It won't be 'cause I find it funny, but 'cause it's cute."

"If I roll my eyes at you," I point the racket at him. It seriously feels heavy, even with my dominant hand. "It means you said something cheesy," I add.

"Noted, KP," he nods and smiles.

I raise my left hand and let go of the ball. It bounces up, and I hit it right to the wall. Then it goes back to my left side, and I miss it. So, I run after it and do it again.

I hit it back this time.

I pause. "Am I doing it right?"

"Your stroke is just right. And it's more on releasing the tension. But keep your form in mind."

He picks up a ball, hits it harder, and runs after to hit it again. He's so concentrated on crashing either the ball or the wall.

He also looks dejected. His eyes are weary and a little dark. I noticed them the second I opened the gate earlier. And it makes me sad too, that I want to cry right now because it hurts. It pains me to see him down. And it hurts, even more, knowing that it's because of me.

I blink back my tears and just focus on the wall. I breathe out and drop the ball. Then as tight as I can, and as hard as I could, I swing the racket forward to smash it against the concrete grey wall.