birdie
Birdie
The birdie floated daintily and softly through the quaint summer time breeze toward me. The contrast it had with the leaves behind made the white color not hard to spot. It was moving upward now almost to the deep blue of the sky-there was a splashing coming from the pool-kids yelling as they played tag or other afternoon time killing games. I hesitated from the task at hand to look at my opponent, my best friend since third grade, Chris Bol. He had always been able to beat me at badminton, and not because of a lack of effort on my part. His house was at the top of a hill. On the road down to the bottom almost every house belonged to a relative of his. Needless to say with all his cousins around he got in a good amount of playing time. This did not enter my mind though, the only thing I was thinking of was connecting with the birdie, anywhere it went on the court would guarantee me a win. Chris had taken a dive on his last shot and was enjoying the feel of the grass beneath him. The birdie was now at the peak of its arc. I had to advert my eyes for it was directly in the sun. I could not chance the possibility of having a blind spot when I went to hit the birdie.
I glanced at Chris again, this was too easy, I thought, he was still on the ground. We had gathered an audience somehow, perhaps it was the way we played the game, in our opinions it was the only way to play, with everything we had. In the summer I spent as much time as I could at Chris’ house, it seemed to be an adventure for there was always something going on.
I tried to think back to the first time I played here but there were so many times they all seemed to blend together except for the extremes. The time we played in a hurricane, the name of it escapes me, the hurricane was not strong we just got some wind and a lot of rain but it still was exciting.
All the cousins gathered around, Tim, Nick, Erika, Elizabeth, Nate, Jen and Dan. Apparently this was a good game we were having, for we had never had such a big crowd before. Even Chris’ parents were watching me from the deck and they hated me. I thought to myself they all had come to see my victory. The time had come for the rebel prince to claim his throne, birdie dropped and my racket raised. I jumped into the air and I saw my racket raise nearing the birdie...
“Ahhhhhhhhhh!” Chris screamed. I hit the birdie with the tip of the racket and nicked it straight up into the air, heartbroken I fell to my knees. Looking up with revenge in my eyes I saw Chris standing with his arm limp by his side. There was a look of confusion on his face, he seemed to cry out, “Why won’t my arm work?” The sight of his arm hanging useless must have given a strange feeling. An arm not responding to commands derived directly from the brain has a numbing effect on the conscious thought process of the individual and those around. No one moved to comfort, all were lost in silent stares like vultures flying slow around a bloody car crash. A slow quivering started then from his left arm to engulf his whole body in a sick swaying motion. His brain must have overloaded then for he went into convulsions and fell to the ground vomiting. I heard his mother scream and a screen door slam but my eyes would not waver from the arm that was now bleeding. Everyone else still engulfed in the pleasurable horror of pain obviously did not remember the game for the birdie came down and landed right on my head. I heard no giggles or laughs.
We sat waiting in the plush lounge for over an hour before the doctor came out to tell us that Chris had dislocated his right shoulder and broken his right forearm. I think his mother cried when the doctor said he would be very lucky if he could fully use his arm again.
It was a long time before he regained use of his arm and he did not ever have full use. I never saw him pick up a racket again, but if he did I know he would not play again. He would watch me play sometimes but it was no fun for all the others I could beat without a problem.
Needless to say we never finished the game but we reached the conclusion that we were both of equal ability and none could compare, we would add jovily. We joked on the subject many times since that day, and when the winter breezes attacked the house looking out the basement windows to the snow covered court I tell myself that Chris was better for he truly was.
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