Call Me Isabelle

 "Call me Ishmael.” Kai’s teacher asked the class why this was one of the most important lines in literature. He knew that it was one of those lines that came off like fireworks. It went off with a bang. Left you wanting more. Promising lots of sparkly stuff later.

    But what if it had read, ‘Call me Isabelle,’ he thought to himself. Would it have had an even bigger impact? Nah…People wouldn’t have accepted it back then. Shoot, they didn’t accept it now. He sighed and tried to focus on Ms. Leah. Her voice sounded as if it were in the far-off distance. The way things sounded when he was underwater. He loved the sea.

    Finally, the bell rang. But it only meant that he had to go to his next place of drudgery. His father was an ex-tennis pro. His dream was for Ian to follow in his footsteps. Kai's dream was slowly stirring a fragrant soup in a deep pot over an open flame. Something his father called women’s work. If Kai pointed out that some of the greatest chefs in history were men, his father just grunted. “That’s ok for them. But we are real men. Physical men.”

    Kai reluctantly pulled his racket out of the bag. Placing it slowly on the bench. First zipping it completely, then folding the handles over so they wouldn’t drape to the ground. Then pushing it to the far right.

    “Come on,” Ben yelled across the net. “Are you ever going to be ready?”

    Kai jumped to the side as a ball zinged past him, almost hitting him on his waist. He knew the power of Ben’s swings and let out a breath at his narrow escape. He guessed there was no getting out of it. For the next two hours, he would have to endure the torture.

    Once more, he slowly bent down, picking the ball up and placing it in his pocket along with the other spares. He stepped up to the line, looked at his opponent, and took a deep breath. Again, with that sensation that he was somehow removed from his body and in slow motion, he leaned back, tossed the ball, and managed to connect somehow.

    Ben raced forward with lightning speed, his long legs stretching out. His arm extended as far as he could reach, turned, and slammed the ball to the far left. Kai was left standing there. He could hear his father’s voice shouting in his head. “It’s all about your recovery position! Without that, you’ll just hit your shot and wait in that exact same position for the next ball. Now your opponent has complete control over where they want to move you. Are you going to let them control you that way?”

    Kai wished he was in control of his life. If he were, he certainly wouldn’t be here. Instead, he just stepped back, then leaned forward. ‘Knees over toes’, the voice reminded him. He bounced slowly, up and down, left to right. He knew Ben liked to play to an opponent’s weakness, usually their backhand. So, he recovered slightly further to his backhand side. ‘Anticipate the next move,’ the voice reminded. 

    He wiped the sweat from his forehead and tried to relax his tightening muscles. This time he was right. Ben shot one to his left side, but he was ready. He leaned forward, stepped with his left foot, then his right, his shoulders pulling back as he had been taught, then following through. It zinged back, low over the net and to Ben’s backhand. 

     But Ben had not anticipated, thinking the shot was a sure thing. He was too late, having to pivot from the right to the left. precious seconds lost. Those few seconds allowed the ball to whiz past him. Perhaps he didn’t have the voice. The constant nagging voice.

     It was Kai's shot this time, but again he felt as if he were in slow motion. His timing was off, and he lobbed one straight to Ben who easily shot it to the far side of the court. Ben tried to run to the other side, stumbled over his own feet. The shot whizzed past him. He bent over, both hands on the sides of his head. His chest heaving with the effort. He didn't know if he was busting from the lack of oxygen or the shame. 'Focus! It’s all about balance,” the voice nagged.

     He got into position. Knowing that if he did not find his balance, he would have no control when trying to return the volley. So, he went through the drill, balancing on both legs with slightly more weight on the back one. Knowing that this would allow him to more easily transfer that balance from the back leg to the front. ‘It’s all about your power and control!’

    Before it was about tactical awareness. Now it’s about power and control. It was too much. He felt dizzy and swayed slightly back and forth. Cooking was more from the heart. No one needed to tell him what move to make. Or what spice he needed to use. Instinctively, he just knew. But this he needed to think about. He shook his head side to side and shrugged his shoulders. This time the voice was his own. Focus!

He took a deep breath, found his balance, and stared his opponent in the eye.

He shook his head, like he had seen a pitcher once do. He shuffled his feet. He shrugged his shoulders. And again, he stared at Ben straight in the eye. Not blinking, not moving.

Ben nervously gave a little tick of his head. Ian knew he had him. For tennis was a game of the mind, not the heart. And Ben didn't have a father like his, one whose voice, no matter how much he hated it, was constantly in his mind. Constantly nagging him to do better. To do as he was guided to do.

So, Kai stepped back, evaluated his tactic. Examined his opponent. Found his balance. At that precise moment, an unexpected gust of wind whirled across the court. Leaves flew in random patterns. Ian's hair fell into his eyes, but he appreciated the coolness on his forehead. He wiped his hair back, then tossed the ball into that gusty wind, added his own spin to the already whirling mass and slammed it straight at Ben.

The ball hit then ground but bounced the opposite direction. Making it difficult for Ben to choose which way to turn. Unfortunately, he leapt the wrong way. And in that one fortuitous moment, Kai won. For there is no tie in tennis.