Racquetball flickers

Flickers

The ball bounces and I vanish.  Conscious awareness of my body ceases: when i reappear I am across the room reaching to make contact with ball. 

Whap.

Relaxed now, I watch my partner track the ball.  His head turns and he begins to move towards where he thinks it will end up.   Bouncing on the balls of my feet I wait.  I’m clear headed, aware of the contact of my feet with the floor.  I ride each small hop, testing weight of the racket in my hand.  I’m aware of the strength of my grip, every muscle in my legs, the set of my back.   Concentrate. I hear him make contact. It’s my turn to anticipate the path of the blue ball. 

Whap.

I blink out of existence.  My legs push forward, my arm swings, my mind whirls to fast for me to keep up with - trying to make predictions and calculations.  I’m in black out.

Whap.

The wall is suddenly rushing towards me and I turn to take the impact on the back of my shoulder while I orient myself.  My eyes instantly search for the ball, my grip relaxing on the racket for a brief minute.  As quickly as possible, I push off the wall and head toward the middle of the court, watching my opponent’s movements.  His racket comes up lazily and taps the ball. I’d better start running.

Whap.

Silence.  Eagerness.  Determination.  Hope.

Whap.

I snap back into a world of white walls with impact marks on them.  The ball is arching over head and I hold my breath.  Silently, I urge it towards the back wall – anticipating the satisfaction of seeing it make contact. The ceiling gets in the way and my careful plan is shattered;  I stop bouncing as the ball changes it's trajectory and streaks towards the floor, half an inch from the wall.  My shoulder drop, my racquet lowers, and I grunt. Dang it.

Reset.