Robert Lopez - Good People

Surely I’ve done other things since coming to my window, but I can’t remember what. I must’ve eaten and slept and performed tasks and maintained personal hygiene, attended to function and need — in other words, the tedious litany of daily disturbance.

But other than my window, what I specifically remember is being out there on the tennis court.

There were other people playing at the same time, but they were none of mine. They were inscrutable or unscrupulous.

I was out on the court with my friend’s sister, the one whose brother I had hung up on earlier, the one I was about to sleep with, whose backhand slice was devastating, whose first serve was unimaginable.

Anyone watching was thusly dazzled.

I am a sight to see out there on the court, a man of my size, moving like that, covering the entire playing surface, sideline to sideline, net to baseline.

I’ve always been tremendous, standing up at 6′ 8″ and weighing down at 280.

Should I finally throw myself out the window, imagine the sight of it, let alone the sound.

The stakes were agreed upon beforehand. Should she win, I was to leave her alone forever, never to darken her doorstep, write, call, or otherwise contact her while everyone was still alive and upright.

Should I win, she’d have to sleep with me.

I think I had a strange look on my face when I first proposed this because she had a strange look on her face after I said it.

Still, she agreed.

She probably had no choice as I was threatening the life of her brother at the time.

I told her I had him confined at an undisclosed location. At first she didn’t believe me. She thought I was bluffing.

I have your brother, I said.

She said, What do you mean you have him?

I have your brother, I said, that’s exactly what I mean.

Where do you have him?

I have him confined at an undisclosed location.

I don’t believe you, she said. You’re bluffing, she said.

This is when I showed her a Polaroid of her brother tied up and gagged at the undisclosed location. I propped up a copy of that day’s newspaper on his chest to prove this was actually happening and I meant business.

I saw someone do this in a movie once.

In the movie they didn’t leave a telephone for the hostage to answer. This is how what I’ve done is better than the movie.

I’m not exactly sure how it’s better but I know that it is.

I told my friend not to get any big ideas about calling the cops. I told him if he called the cops I’d have to do unspeakable things to his sister.

This is how they talk in the movies, so I figured I should do likewise.

He knew I meant business. Still, he said I should reconsider. I told him I thought this all the way through, that I knew what I was doing.

The sister said again, I can’t believe this.

I said, What can’t you believe?

She said, This, what it is you’re doing.

I said, It’s a regular day for real people. Nothing more.

The sister said, I don’t know what that means.

I said, No one does.

I told her it was something to do, a reason to live. I told her everyone needed a new way of life and this was the beginning of it. I talked about purpose, something to look forward to, goals and dreams. I talked about what I’d seen from my window, how I couldn’t imagine any of it. I talked about defenestration, said it might not be the right answer, but it was indeed an answer. She said, But I don’t understand the question. I told her, You and me both.

I knew the sister was a great tennis player, which was part of the thrill, to play someone on that level, to challenge myself like this with something at stake.

I’d seen her play years before. I think this is when my plan started to come together, watching her toy with those overmatched teenaged opponents. The skirts she wore back then, that ponytail bouncing behind her, as playful as a little dog.

But this plan never took shape until recently. Back then it was an idea, a best guess, something akin to fantasy, one that I’d never realize, in all likelihood.

I guess things changed after I realized that life was everyday tedious and who cared anymore.

Part of the deal was I’d release her brother either way, after the match, regardless of the outcome.

Still, she might’ve felt a certain pressure to throw the match if she cared at all about her brother.

I didn’t discourage this.

I may’ve even said, I hope this works out, for your brother’s sake.

To make it more cinematic, I had to tune up her brother a little. It’s more effective if the Polaroid indicates the hostage has been beaten.

I took no pleasure in beating my friend like that.

I told him this. I told him, I take no pleasure in having to beat you like this. I told him I had no choice.

He took the beating like a man, I’ll say that much for him.

The match started early in the morning, before the sun could get vindictive, before the rain could go sideways and the wind, as well.

The weather promised to be an issue all day. They were calling for temperatures in the mid-90s come early afternoon, with the possibility of thunderstorms.

We warmed up together, as tennis players do, starting with mini for a few minutes, then to the baseline for ground strokes. Then she came to the net for volleys and overheads, then I did, then we served into both courts, both deuce and ad.

I could tell she was focused.

There was a buzz as the crowd gathered. Apparently, word had gotten out.

I was a legend by the time I turned fourteen, so it’s no surprise. By then I was already the biggest and strongest in our neighborhood and could serve upward of 140 miles per hour.

I was on the lookout for a film crew, as I’d heard that a famous documentary filmmaker had gotten wind of this.

But that was years ago, I think. I hadn’t played since the injury, since my friend low-bridged me during a friendly game of touch football.

I did think of this as I tuned him up earlier. I may’ve even said this out loud. As I broke his jaw, I may’ve said, Remember the friendly game of touch football in the park.

He said he was sorry, but I didn’t believe him. He said it was part of the game, that he didn’t mean it, that it wasn’t illegal.

I spun the racket and said, Up or down? My friend’s sister waited a split second and said, Up, and when the racket fell to the court, the logo was indeed pointing up.

I prepared to return her serve and situated myself a solid foot behind the baseline, with my legs straddling the sideline. I knew she tended to go out wide on the deuce court, so I started to lean that way as she tossed the ball high in the air.

Her toss was elegant, like the way a ballerina would serve.

Graceful arm extended skyward, ball rolling off long fingers as though she was inviting it into the air not two feet above her head.

She blasted one down the T, which I managed to get a racket on. The ball floated deep enough into her court for me to have a chance in this first point, but her next shot pinned me in the backhand corner and she followed behind it for an easy put-away.

She won the first game at love and had a smirk on her face as we changed ends.

I responded in kind and held serve and then she held serve and this went on for eight games, until I broke for a 5–4 lead.

For some reason, I tightened up at this point, double-faulted twice during my service game, and was broken right back.

She took the tiebreaker.

We were playing a best of five sets, so I wasn’t worried. I figured I’d let her win the first set to get her hopes up, get her overconfident.

Shortly after this first set, my chest began to hurt and my limbs tingled. I lost feeling in my right foot, which had been broken by my friend during a friendly game of touch football.