Aspirations of a Ball Girl

This year was her final chance to be invited. Addie knew it. She wanted to be a Junior Champion. For that to happen, she had to impress the summer camp staff. She had to perform superiorly better than others in an environment chock full of drills, matches, stiff competition and all the etceteras associated with stiff competition. After summer camp, maybe she becomes a ball girl. Become a ball girl, she wishfully thought, she becomes a Junior Champion. The administrators of the local summer tennis camp were gearing up for their annual Junior Championship Open and Great Tennis Tournament. The recommendations were in. Addie, one of a select few, was chosen to be a ball girl at the Great Tennis Tournament. 

If her fortunes turned out to be even better, she would be asked to compete in the Junior Championship Open. To reach the Junior Open, ball kids have to be perfect. Not an easy task, since most haven’t fetched a ball since they were single digits in age. Addie knew she had to have a flawless outing as a ball girl at the Great Tennis Tournament. Flawless. She knew mastering the art of being a ball kid was not a criterion to be a tennis player. She knew it was a way for administrators to weed out the great ones, while encouraging the good ones to pay more attention to detail, to focus, and most importantly, to be great. The Junior Champion will receive more than prestige and bragging rights, this player will also receive a World Ranking. Addie was chosen to be a ball girl for three consecutive years without a showing in the Junior Championship Open. There would be no fourth.

With the bedpost rattling against the wall while she slept, Addie’s feet were evidently still awake. Grunts and groans followed the backhand stroke. Huffs and puffs accompanied the forehand. In the face of what seemed like sheer rebellion to the violent contortions her body embraced, a bright pink-lipped smile stained her face. Her eyes opened. The thumping in her chest began to settle. Addie was awake now. Calm now. Her legs folded Indian-style on top of the bed. Addie thought good thoughts. She wanted to share them with the world. She wanted to share them with her siblings who were now also awake, equipped with scowls and wrinkled foreheads. Although her five siblings shared the same bed, they did not whatsoever want to share this moment. They never do. They just want to go back to bed. 

Clad in avocado green giddy ups sprinkled with pastel yellow tulips in full bloom, she graciously spoke to the sports reporter. The commentator poured over her athletic prowess, complimented her extraordinary court awareness, and wondered aloud if there was any tennis player better than the young lady in front of him. The serenades were endless. Her responses came packaged in artful concoctions of eloquent banter and preadolescent snorts and nervous laughter. She posed for a European photographer at the behest of some royal family. She signed a couple of autographs. She picked up a magazine with an image of her on the cover standing upright with a racket by her side, appearing guiltless yet curiously sensual, reminiscent of the David statue. She stared at the magazine cover quite some time, tickled at what her life had become. She smirked. She glanced upward. She thought about the hardships her expensive maid was probably going through while trying to discipline her unruly siblings, who happened to live in her mansion. She smirked again. Addie was a superstar. An enormous glob of singed yellow arose that dawn, melting away dreams, as usual, mysteriously forcing the pupils to see once more. Addie’s and ten other crust-cornered eyes witnessed the unearthing of a brand new day.    

Word spread quickly that the Great Tennis Player was taking the court this morning. Addie knew she had to make an impression. She knew this was her last chance to be invited. The drills, no problem. She threw and ran and cut and swung. Her talent, unparalleled. She volleyed like no other. Her courtside reliability, her rolls, her feeds, unmatched. She was always alert. Always. And she wasted no opportunity showing off her supreme agility in any tennis situation. Her footwork, peerless. Her speed like lightning. The administrators noticed. 

The Match everyone anticipated was about to begin. Addie bore the honor of ball girl and happily trotted to the courtside base at the Grandstand. Addie was focused and alert, fully committed to ensuring a smooth match. She fetched a ball. She fetched another one. After a drop shot ended the match, there was a break. Sitting courtside of the Grandstand, with the Great Tennis Player seated behind her, Addie waved to her mother and friend in the stands, beaming full of pride, full of the knowledge that her abilities extracted her family from the trenches of poverty. Full of the knowledge that she was now a junior champion. She attained the mansion, took care of her family, gained the respect of her colleagues, renowned around the globe, well-endowed with finances, the best tennis player alive, better than the Great Tennis Player. She stood up. No matter what ranking she was given, she was number one, ready and willing to prove it to anyone. Anyone. She smiled, glancing at the sickle of sunlight that fleeced her elbow. And then she fell backwards, square on her bottom. The opponent of the Great Tennis Player ran over to Addie after a wild serve, only to find the young girl making a beeline to the restroom, leaving her post in a cloud of dust. A replacement quickly substituted. A light tint of charcoal subdued the sky. The looming cumulus swallowed the yellow glob.

Addie chucked her sneakers to the bathroom floor and peeled off her sports bra, revealing a purple mark under her chest. She never experienced pain like the pain of an unexpected speeding projectile driven into flesh and muscle and bone and nerves and fragile psyche. While she sat on the tile floor of the lavatory, her drenched eyes stared at nothing in particular. She stared the way one stares after they wake up from a gripping dream they no longer remember, quietly shaking their head wishing they never dreamed it in the first place but still trying to recall something, anything. Anything. Her mind vacated any hope of a junior championship. Any thought of wealth. Instead, it explored frustration, doubt, anger and a whole bunch of quit. Her mother and friend entered the restroom. Addie, on the ground, did not notice them. She didn’t want to notice them. She blew her last chance. Words of encouragement befell on deaf ears like falling timber in a forest void of humans. What she wanted was to cry some more because her ribs hurt like hell. What she wanted was to never feel this stymieing pain ever, ever again. An indescribable pain. A beyond physical pain. 

The young lady snapped out of her daze when the Great Tennis Player bustled into the area. The bathroom’s newest visitor was antsy, energetic. Not energetic like spunky. No. Energetic like a football player after he scores a touchdown. She was consumed by an adrenaline-fueled restlessness only a competitor knows. The woman was talking to herself. She earned numerous scars from incidents on and off the court. She faced many hardships, obstacles, made many mistakes, to attain her stature in the profession, and in life. But none of that mattered at this point. She cursed and moaned and bit her lip and cursed some more, not noticing the convening of three ladies at the far end of the stall. Addie watched the Great Tennis Player like a student watching their teacher. The player shoved her arm into a handbag of cotton balls. She lifted her shirt. A large gash rifled across her abdomen, embellished with trickles of dark crimson. With her right hand, she applied the alcohol-soaked gauzes to her wound and screamed an agonizing shrill. Then, she cursed again. She smiled a devilish smile while looking at herself in the bathroom mirror. Holding the racket tightly in her left hand, she abruptly galloped to the court. 

Addie wiped the tears from her face. As she sat on the bathroom tile, next to her sneakers, she thought about heading back to the Grandstand, humiliated and hurt yet full of purpose. But she had her reservations about doing that, hence the thumb twiddling, the head nodding and the fact that she was still in the bathroom. The charcoal in the sky started to fade out, spilling tons of light blue into the sky. Sunlight reemerged with its glorious rays. Dejection wrapped around her face. Glum dressed her demeanor with a sense of earnest perspective hanging onto her coattails. While getting up to thank her mother, Addie didn’t realize she re-laced her sneakers, a thought that crossed her mind when she zipped past the Great Tennis Player.

[This story was submitted to Reedsy #ReedsyMoments contest #282]