Keep The LIne

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The wind blew strands of hair in front of her eyes causing her concentration to slip. Instead of stepping for the ball, she hesitated for a millisecond before sprinting left to run after the fast-paced, down-the-line backhand shot. The hesitancy cost her. It was match point of the semi finals in the biggest tennis tournament of her life.

“Drats.” her voice, loud and throaty, could be heard two rows into the stands. The ball sprayed off to the left, bouncing off the official’s chair when she shanked it. Trotting to the net, she shook her opponent’s hand, forced a smile and received the compliment from her opponent; “Great job.” The words did nothing to soothe her loss.

Drats was right. Did she have what it took to be a top pro tennis player? Who was she kidding? Her coach would be furious. She didn’t dare look in his direction as she slung her racquet and towel into her tennis bag. Snatching up the rest of her belongings from the player’s bench, she fought tears of disappointment. She wanted out of there, off this court, out of this stadium and out of this town.

Dread mixed with guilt crept into her being, then settled deep in the pit of her stomach where it swelled and grew like over-cooked pasta. A tongue-lashing from her coach wasn’t what she wanted after losing in the semis. She didn’t need to be reminded how many people had sacrificed their money, time and emotion for her. All so she could lose the tournament. She couldn’t face him right now. With downward cast eyes, she hurried off the court, ignoring his voice as she left.

She avoided him further still when she lingered in the locker room twenty minutes after she had showered and changed. Finding a bench in the corner of the back of the room she sat, curled her knees up, wrapped her arms around her legs, buried her face into her knee caps and cried.

Even at fourteen, playing in a world class women’s event, she knew she’d ride through this horrible moment, face her coach, and emerge a stronger player. She knew the drill. “Better get it over with,” she thought before she wiped the salty tears from her cheeks...After all, every day, fifty percent of the players who play tennis, lose their tennis matches. The next tournament, she meant to be in the other half. She would be the one to tell her opponent, “Great Job!”