* * *
An hour before dinner, I switched off my computer and grabbed my workout gear, with a mind to head to the gym for a quick lifting session. I was about to grab a bottle of water to mix my protein powder when something caught my eye outside.
It was Elly. She was sitting cross-legged in the middle of the tennis court, staring up into the sky.
I opened the patio door. The sky was turning a strange mix of orange and purple that evening, like a canvas of surreal art. It was magnificent to look at.
“Colombia has the best sunsets,” I said, my footsteps shuffling through the grass. She didn’t turn around.
“It’s my favorite time of day, dusk.” She rose from the floor.
We stood there a moment watching the colors blend and dim.
“Ronaldo said he’ll be looking for someone for you to have some friendly competition with.” I motioned to the court.
“Mmm.” She nodded. Not enthusiastically. But more diplomatically.
“You don’t look too excited at the prospect,” I said.
She shrugged.
I could have left it there but then an idea came to me.
“Want to play me?” I asked.
Elly’s mouth formed an “o.” “What, like now?”
“Why not? I have the advantage of your being tired, you have the advantage of my being stiff in my game. I think it’s quite fair.” Before either of us could change their mind or protest, I took the few strides necessary to the cupboard of equipment and pulled out a spare racket. It was my old racket. It even still had my name label glued on.
“Gabbi, my old friend,” I whispered with a wide grin.
“You named your tennis racket?”
“Of course. Don’t you have a name for yours?” I made my way to the opposite side of the nets.
“Stella, like the star she is.” She raised her tennis racket in the air.
I laughed. “Well, Stella the Star. Prepare to watch your wielder get beaten.” I retrieved a ball from the center.
“Beaten? By an old man? I don’t think so.” Elly took her position, grinning.
“Who are you calling ‘old man’?” I pretended to sound hurt. And with that, I threw the ball into the air and took my first swing.
Elly’s recovery was remarkable. It was hard to believe that just a couple of weeks ago she was bed-ridden, her tennis career all up in the air. Now, well, she had me destroyed.
“Come on, Mr. I-go-to-the-gym-every-day. Don’t tell me you’re already tired. Where’s your stamina?”
My mother would have dragged me off the court by my ear for the curse words that were passing through my head and being muttered from my lips. In both Spanish and English. A couple in Japanese, too.
“I just need a minute,” I huffed, bending over my right leg and holding my hands to my sides. I sounded like one of those cars I see on the streets coming from the market, held together by sellotape and prayers. With an engine that had seen better days during my father’s youth. I sounded old!
“I’m upping my cardio for the next few weeks. This is embarrassing,” I grunted.
Elly giggled. “If you ever need to get in some extra cardio, I’m always ready to kick your butt.”
I groaned and her laughter grew louder.
Before I could make any sort of comeback, my phone buzzed. I checked it.