A Match With No Winner

She was spinning with the world of the dance floor until she collides with an object. Correction, a person. And just like that, her freedom is put to a standstill. “Oh sorry,” tumbles out of her mouth before she can see the person in front of her. The bar is dark, and the dance floor between her table and more drinks is quite the journey. She tucks her hair behind her ear, stumbling upon a set of familiar green eyes. “I didn’t see you there.”

“It’s alright,” he says, the sound of surprise colouring his voice. There’s a moment, a live wire fuelled by the dim lights and too loud music. A pause before the inevitable she can feel coming. “Oh, hi.”

“Hi.” Despite the volume, the world quiets down like a movie scene, where the movement fades into mere background noise. People shift, the path of bodies creating a bubble just for them. Another moment passes. “It was nice to see—” she starts, until he leans in, close to her ear.

“How have you been?” he whisper-yells above the music. When he pulls away, she swears the tips of his ears are tinged pink. It must be the lights.

She follows his lead, answering his question. “Pretty good, how about you?”

He pauses again, as if he’s contemplating his next remark. When he gets close, he asks, “Do you want to go somewhere quieter?”

“Uhh, okay. Just give me a minute,” she replies, pointing her thumb back to a group of her friends.

He nods, pointing to the patio door to say he’s going that way. The two part, going in opposite directions, but her eyes take a moment to follow him. To prepare. To think.

When she gets back to her friends, there’s a series of questioning looks around the table. A brunette, Keisha, sits the closest to her. “Who was that?” she yells. “We saw you stop! And you don’t have drinks!”

“I ran into someone.” Her voice is quiet in the din, yet they all nod. On the other side of the circle, Jess pulls her onto a chair. “I’m gonna go outside and talk to him.”

“But who is he?” Jess asks, her voice soft in her ear.

“Someone I used to know. From soccer.”

“Is it who I think it is?”

All she has to do is nod.

“Okay girl,” says Keisha. “We’ll be right here when you get back.”

“Minus me, I’m gonna go get the drinks,” adds Jess, who stands with her. “But you got this. Whatever it is.”

“Thanks,” escapes her lips as she sets her sights on the door, and whatever waits beyond it. Every step makes the blood in her veins pump a little harder. The patio is sparsely populated, with people dotting the edges of the area. There are wooden pergolas for shade, although they’re not needed against the dying sun and the sky bleeding into twilight. At first, she doesn’t see his familiar head of short brown hair and a sliver of panic slides down her spine. Not again? But he’s there, tucked off to the side. Standing against the building, hands in his pockets, staring out at the skyline. “Hey.”

“Hey there,” he says with a soft smile. “I thought it would be better to be able to hear each other.” The words she thinks she hears, hidden beneath? Hearing each other without having to be so close together. Without having to feel the other’s breath on their neck with every word. “So you’ve been pretty good?”

“Yeah,” she replies, even though she feels less sure now. “What about you?”

“I think I’ve been pretty good too. Although I haven’t seen you around recently.”

Her mind flashes with words she won’t say: there’s a reason for that. That was by design. “I haven’t been playing soccer much lately” is the answer she chooses instead.

“Your brother says you just play somewhere else now.” The traitor, she thinks. I’ll have to have to wring his neck next time I see him.

“Have you been playing a lot of soccer?”

“Yeah, enough,” he answers, an easy smile tracing itself onto his features. “But I have missed playing against you.”

“Oh yeah? And here I thought it was my brother you enjoyed playing against.”

“We still play,” he reminds her. “But it’s not the same. He doesn’t respond well to my jokes.”

A chuckle escapes her lips. “You mean without pushing you into the field?”

“Exactly that,” he laughs, his thumb running along his jaw. “I think I still might have a bruise from the last joke I made.”

“Maybe you deserved it,” she adds, watching a flicker of an expression pass along his face. Indecipherable but present.

“Maybe I did,” he concedes, “Not all of my jokes are funny.” There’s another moment like the one inside, filled with a tense something left unnamed. It never used to be like this, the thought crosses his mind. The conversation never used to go this way. “Can I ask you a question?”

He catches the split second of hesitation before she replies. “Sure. What is it?”

Now it’s him who hesitates. “Did you leave because of me?”

“Leave soccer? The time just didn’t work for me anymore.”

“Bennett says you still play on the same night.”

“So? The game is at a different time.”

“But if it’s just a different hour, it’s still basically the same.”

“Why does that matter? Did you really want to chat with me out here to ask about why we don’t play together anymore?” There’s something in the hazel of her eyes that look like fire and water, swooshing together in a war of their own creation. Is it pain? Discomfort?

The word ‘play’ rings through his head. The careless tone, as if it was only ever that. Could he really have been that stupid? Or was she just that hurt? The questions swirl around his brain and he loses his nerve. “I was wondering why I never see you anymore.” Memories flash through his mind, more than just soccer games. Family gatherings, hanging out at random places with her and her brother. Yet now she’s almost never there, and when she is, she’s full of watchful eyes on the other side of the room. “And I just wanted to know how you are.”

She softens ever so slightly. “I’m pretty good,” she says. “It was nice to see you.”

She’s gone before he can say anything else, and all she leaves behind are questions. What happened between this time and the last?