As a kid, I was rapt in tennis. I’d watch it on TV, follow the games in the media, yearned to play on the court, but the only court my parents would allow me to attend was of the legal variety. They pushed me to eschew sports in favour of study. I graduated high school with honours. Read law at University. I had the brains and discipline, but my heart was never in it. Half way through my degree, when my parents died, I gave up study altogether.
Grief stricken and unfocused, I applied for position after position in administration but was unsuccessful. Eventually, I found part time work tending bar. Social life consisted of after work drinks in other bars. It was fun at first. When I met Carol, I saw an outgoing person who could hold her own. We fell into a relationship that was akin to love. Her second, my first. Everything was fine on the surface, but one night she drank too much, blacked out and decided enough was enough. As she sobered, Carol wanted me to do the same, but I refused. So, while she picked herself up and moved on from me, I wallowed in self pity, had no goals or dreams. I felt empty, as though my life had lost it’s savour.
One morning, I woke up to the fact that I no longer wanted to live that lifestyle and changed jobs accordingly. I found work at a recycling plant where I sorted other people’s waste. After which, I would go home, eat dinner have a couple of beers, then fall asleep on the couch.
When the landlord wanted to sell the apartment, I moved into a smaller, cheaper, flat situated on the other side of town and ten minute’s walk from the train station.
Not long after moving in, I took a different route to the station and discovered a tree laden park. I heard the familiar pock, pock, pock of tennis balls echoing in the valley below and a fog inside me began to lift. As I neared the sound it stopped but my feet continued. I hurried down winding paths, past benches and secret nooks, half-walking, half-running until I found the tennis courts.
A woman carrying a racket and overnight bag came towards me, then passed without a second glance. I went to the tall, wired fence and stood there watching as another couple took up position on the court opposite each other. Then one pulled out a tennis ball and launched it into the air. Such grace and beauty in those fluid movements. It was as though time stood still and I was back again as a child, engrossed in the hypnotic back and forth of a ball flying across a net. Her opponent gave me a look and I realised I’d been staring too long. A man approached and asked if I needed something.
I shook my head and said, “I just moved into the area and didn’t know this place was here.”
He handed me a flyer that gave information about the courts, the club and teachers. I thanked him and went on my way.
When I finished work that evening, instead of heading straight to the bottle shop on the way home, I decided to go revisit the tennis courts. The gates to the courts were locked, but there was a large brick wall on one side of the court which had an open space behind it. I decided that would be my practice area until I could afford lessons.
Every day after work, and late in the evening on weekends, with my second-hand racket and cheap tennis balls, I was able to practice until the natural light faded and the security guards began patrolling the area.
I got talking to one of the guards. We’d ask after each other’s well being. He’d sit and watch me smash the ball against the wall for a while. During Daylight saving hours, in the spring and summer months, finding a place to play was becoming difficult. I had to wait until everyone else had gone home.
I didn’t notice, but I was getting fitter, stronger, faster. The guard suggested that I take up lessons. I followed his suggestion and did just that.
Once a week, in between teaching fifth graders, Bobby gave me instructions. Corrected the way I held the racket. Corrected my footwork. Basically, Bobby fixed all the mistakes I’d accumulated from being self-taught.
Opportunities grew exponentially. Bobby introduced me to another coach who said she saw potential in me. Darla pushed me to my limit and suggested that I join a club. From there I played singles matches and won small victories against school leavers and other club members. There were nay sayers who said, I’d never make it any further up the ladder. But I won local competitions and went on to win state championships, a thing that should have been impossible at my age having started playing so late in life.
It was coming up to my 30th birthday, the National singles championships were within my grasp. I played and won the tournament, I felt happy that I’d won but as I left the press conference, looked around for Darla but she was nowhere to be seen. I felt a sense of loneliness and longing. Wanting someone there to share my victory, perhaps a deeper connection. I'd felt moments of it wih Darla but...she wasn't interested in me.
Strangers and staff congratualted me on my way through the hotel lobby, in the lift. I entered my room to a cheer of "Surprise!"
Club members, friends and relatives were crammed into the tiny space. The song, "Happy Birthday" rang out. Darla sprang into my arms through the crowd and said," I love you." Then she kissed me. It was a moment I'll never forget.
I was 30 and knew that it was love.
