Week 2

The kids were back in school after what seemed like an endless summer of "she hit me" and "Jack won't let me watch my show" and "I'm bored" fights and whines. Somehow, the player managed to make it through July and August, more or less mentally intact with the help from a steady supply of good wine. Still, the first week of school brought on new hassles and stresses including several calls from the nurse about the boy's diabetes. Tuesday his blood sugar level was low and Wednesday he forgot his insulin kit on the bus. The player was not a morning person and none of this helped.


Of course, while the children were in school there were still all of the rest of the regular chores and duties that come with being home during the day like food shopping, laundry, and toilet cleaning. The yard had to be raked and the grass cut and there were those cracks in the driveway that needed patching before the winter set in. Then there was his paying job. Not quite full time but still thirty hours a week with a one-hour commute each way. Sitting in front of two computer screens, taking calls and changing codes and making billing corrections five days a week for eighteen years was, simply put, a pain in the ass.

The player had a good life and he knew it and tried not to complain. All of this shit was just modern day living and he had finally come to understand all that by now. He also knew that everybody else had to deal with their own, never ending pile of crap too. But he could deal with all of it because he could look forward to his Friday night tennis match. For two-and-a-half hours each week he could clear his head, break a hard sweat and focus on one thing and one thing only; trying to win a couple of sets of doubles.

He was not a great player. Never played in high school and didn't even join his club until they had their third child and he was forty-two years old. It was his sophmore year in college when he took a gym class - tennis 101 or something like that  that he discovered that he liked the sport. It was not an easy game but there was something rather satisfying about the sound of the ball coming off the strings when it was hit just right and that pleased him. It also didn't hurt to see that the best looking, private school girls all played and were pretty good at it too. Having money, he realized, can do that.

Now he was one of the older players at the club. He gave up playing singles years ago and now only played doubles. There were a couple of other guys in his group that were even older, pushing sixty. Peter had an artificial hip but that did not stop his serve-and-volley game. How the hell he managed to get to the net again and again with acrylic bone cement and glue jammed into his hip socket always amazed the player.  But most of the other guys were younger, not even forty yet for Christ sake. So he watched what he ate and did sit-ups and lifted weights in his garage trying to motivate himself to keep up with the group he had recruited over the past ten years.

Every Friday night it was a dog fight just to try and win a set. The tennis courts were a joke compared to the other clubs. No air conditioning, bad lighting and leaking skylights that caused small puddles to form near the baseline when it rained. But it was their club and it was cheap and they had been playing there together on Friday nights for more than ten years and they made it work. Besides, there was a bar next door and when they were done they would all pile into the benches at the oversized tables in the corner and laugh and joke and try not to think about how late it was getting before they had to go home to the shit that they all knew life would throw at them in upcoming week.

This Friday was no different and the player was struggling with his game. He served well enough. Better than usual, in fact, getting the ball down the middle on his first serve and even coming in behind it occasionally. The first set was close and he and his partner had their chances but eventually lost 6-4. They changed partners and the second set was over in less that half-an-hour as they managed to win only two games. The player stuck with his partner for the third and final set and things seemed to be in control. Leading 4-2, the player knew that if they could just win that fifth game Dan and Dave would realize the set was basically over. But Dave kept his head together and refused to fall for the player's old trick of standing in on his serve, hoping he would double-fault. Dan's one-handed backhand came alive and then it was all over in less than ten minutes as the player and his partner lost the last four games and the set 6-4.

Three sets; three losses. It would be another long week for the player. More shopping, more laundry, more shuttling the kids to karate and music lessons and more dog shit in the yard to scoop up. It was a good life and the player knew it. He also knew that Friday night was only six days away.