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The bright, green tennis ball hit the old, cracked driveway with a gentle thump. Then it flew back up into the air and was casually caught with one hand by a boy about ten years old. As soon as he caught it, he sent it hurling back towards the driveway. His uncombed short brown hair, cool blue eyes, old white T-shirt, faded blue jeans, and worn out tennis shoes seemed to blend in with the house, cars, grass, and trees surrounding him. Nothing called particular attention to this child except the steady rhythmic thump of the tennis ball against the driveway.
He continued the bouncing pattern he had established. The exact spot of the driveway where the tennis ball hit did not matter to him very much. As long as he could keep catching it with every bounce, he was satisfied. After about a minute or so, the tennis ball hit one of the cracks in the driveway and took an odd bounce. It hit a park car behind him, then rolled off the driveway, down the grassy hill in the backyard, and into a mud puddle.
The boy ran after it but by the time he got there it was too late. He wrinkled his nose even though as if the stench of the mud puddle was beyond tolerance and delicately grabbed the tennis ball with the thumb and pinky. Then he shoved the tennis ball into the tall grass and began wiping it off vigorously. He stopped to take a look and see if it was clean than began wiping it off again.
This he did several times until it actually looked decent. Returning to the same spot on the driveway, he began bouncing the tennis ball again as if nothing had happened.
The first time he bounced it, the tennis ball left a large imprint of water with traces of mud. The second imprint contained less water and far less mud. After doing this a dozen times, the imprint was hardly noticeable.
Sighing loudly, he gave up the idea of bouncing the tennis ball around and threw it up into the air as high as he could. It soared into the air, horizontally as well as vertically, and then came crashing back down to the ground below. The boy tried to run to the place where he thought it would land, but the tennis hit the upper branches of a tall tree and got lost in a nearby shrubbery.
Getting down on his hands and knees, he crawled under the shrubbery and held out his hand as far as he could reach. He clutches the tennis ball firmly with his hand and slowly pulled it back out of the shrubbery. When he stood up again, he noticed his blue jeans were covered with mud at the knees. He brushed them off to the best of his ability but it did not seem to do much good.
Looking first at the mud covered tennis ball, then at his mud covered jeans, he decided that was enough for him. He put the tennis ball back in the garage and returned to the house.
Copyright 2000, Steve Lucky
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