Robert Lopez - Good People

I tried not to think of my friend during the match. I knew he’d be fine, more or less. I’d given him a certain freedom of movement, so he could attend to function and need, eat food, drink water, relieve himself, et cetera.

There was no way he could do himself in, I don’t think, not that he ever indicated an interest in doing so.

We’d never discussed the nuances of defenestration.

I had him chained to a radiator and reminded him that if he tried anything, he probably wouldn’t live to regret it, but his sister would.

I think I kissed him on the lips after I said this.

I thought it an effective maneuver.

I sometimes wear a headband around my head, but this day I tied myself up in a black bandanna. Years ago people would talk about that black bandanna, how it, along with my imposing figure, could intimidate anyone in the world.

The second set was back and forth. The games were all well contested and several lasted a great long while. I believe three of them featured multiple deuces, one lasting until a ninth such deuce, which mercifully ended when I struck a service winner that handcuffed my friend’s sister and rendered her helpless.

There were any number of long rallies that concluded with someone doing something spectacular, an impossible get, a well disguised drop shot, et cetera.

The crowd would explode whenever something like this occurred.

To be fair, it seemed as if the crowd leaned toward my friend’s sister in terms of support. This was probably due to the size differential, as most root for the underdog. She is no more than 5′ 2″, maybe 110 pounds if she’s retaining water.

She’d prompt the loudest ovations, which were either spurned on or accentuated by her joyful exultations.

Whenever she did something dramatic, she’d yell, Come on.

I never speak while on court, as I find such behavior coarse and vulgar.

I can’t say I recognized anyone in the crowd, which continued to gather as the match went on. You’d think I’d have seen someone I knew, as I’d spent any number of hours at my window, looking out and down at my neighbors.

I’d recently purchased binoculars so I could see even more, so I could look into the windows of the surrounding buildings. So far I haven’t seen anything worth noting.

I haven’t learned a damned thing.

I did notice that the courts emptied of other players as our match went on. Most of these players took a seat and looked on in awe, I’m sure.

I took this second set 7–5 and everyone had to settle in for a long afternoon.

During the changeover, my opponent called for the trainer. Apparently, she was complaining of a sore shoulder. I overheard her saying something about a rotator cuff, but I suggested it could be a torn labrum. I told her I’d once suffered a torn labrum. I said, More often than not it requires surgery.

I told her if she decided to retire that it would count as a loss. I said, I’m sure your brother will be proud either way.

I’m not above gamesmanship.

By this time I could feel the heat and the effect it was having on my body. I had bouts of dizziness every few minutes. I had to change my shirt for the fifth time. I ate a banana. I drank coconut water. I liked to have died.

I admonished one of the ball boys for not properly holding the umbrella over me, as the lower part of my left leg was in the sun and felt as if it were baking.

My friend’s sister started taking something off her first serve on account of her shoulder problem and I was able to take advantage of this. I stepped into her first serve repeatedly and gained the advantage on most points from here on out.

I wear a bandanna to absorb sweat so that it won’t get into my eyes. Many players favor headbands and wristbands for this, but I’ve never worn any kind of band on the court.

I took the third set, but she came back in the fourth.

We were approaching the fifth hour of play.

I couldn’t feel my hands. My calves burned.

My friend’s sister has great stamina and didn’t exhibit any difficulties. There is something almost superhuman about her.

I didn’t allow myself to think about sleeping with her, what that experience would be like, as we were playing. Maybe once or twice my thoughts drifted to her ample bosom or I got distracted as her skirt flared in the wind, which was kicking up and becoming more of a factor as play went on.

I started taking more time between points. I pretended to get distracted by birds and planes and people moving about in my field of vision. I’d step off the service line, pretend I didn’t like a ball toss, call for time in the middle of her serve, et cetera.

We’d decided there was to be no fifth set tiebreaker, which was probably a mistake, but one we were both eager to make.

The fifth set could only be described as epic.

Match play was suspended at 24 all on account of darkness.

By this time the crowd had dwindled. People had to go home and eat dinner, talk among themselves, live their own lives.

I could describe the various games, extraordinary points, long rallies, but most of it is a blur, to be true.

I do remember one perfect topspin lob and my friend’s sister’s running it down and hitting a perfect between-the-legs cross-court winner.

At this point we were the only two remaining at the courts, out there in the gloaming, and I dropped my racket and applauded.

We agreed to resume play tomorrow.

I’m certain after a night of rest I can prevail.

So, when I told my friend I was about to sleep with his sister, it wasn’t exactly true, but it could very well happen tomorrow.

Telling him to sit tight was good advice, though.

I was at mine own window. How you can tell it’s mine own is that’s me looking out of it.

Everything looked the same, the people and dogs and whatnot.

It had started to rain and was coming down sideways.

I didn’t know where my friend’s sister was spending the night. But I was sure she was going over the match in her mind, replaying the points, agonizing over particular decisions, when to come to net and when not to, for instance. She’d try to devise a winning strategy for tomorrow, and I was doing likewise.

No one was thinking about her brother or the stakes or the nuances of defenestration.

I couldn’t see into anyone’s window, as I’d misplaced the binoculars recently, but I’m sure everyone was huddled together at home, discussing the extraordinary feats they’d witnessed that day and what was still to come.

I considered calling my friend to tell him that everything was still to be decided, that his sister was doing him proud, that there was still hope for him, but I decided against it.

My friend’s sister is a great player and it’s a privilege to stand across the net from her.

I’m glad it’s turning out this way. That everything is still to be decided.

We are the only two playing.

THERE’S MORE THAN ONE REASON I tied you to that bedpost.

If you recall, it’d been raining. That’s first and foremost.

Also, the bathroom and how you were always in there cleaning it.

I can’t count how many times I found you hunched over the tub, your hair up in that bandanna, listening to the stereo loud and scrubbing away to the rhythm of the music.

I can’t tell you the toll this took on me.

There’s so much I can’t tell you.

I needn’t remind you that neither of us was in good health nor spirits at the time. I think I was sleeping sixteen hours a day and you were up to a quart of gin.