On The Court

I tremble as I do every winter as I see a nice woman putting a coin in the coffee cup I took last time I could drink something hot. My hands are burning because their cold and I feel disgusting. Like everyday. This isn't all my fault. My stupid mother kicked me out of the house when I was fifteen. She was always drunk and when she wasn't she slept. I'm not even sure she knew I existed. My father, him, took his bags and left. Mister CEO thinks he can do everything he wants because he's got a lot of money. I remember two months ago I could talk to him on the public phone and tell him about my problems. I asked him money.

"No problem dear. How much do you need?" I could still remember his disappointed voice.

"I'm on the street." I announced. I remember hearing him sigh and he mocked me with his employee.

The last thing I heard was the sound of him hanging up. I still couldn't believe it. I hung up too, tried to get some money out of some people's pockets.

"Another rough day..." I sighed after counting the money I had. "New day rough day." I thought for a while.

Winters were hard in New York, according to my friend Andy, on the street too. I kept on walking. I was getting closer to the residential districts. I knew it wasn't worth more than one or two dollars a day, but I needed to go. Winter was almost finished and I had to get in those districts to see them. The tennis courts. The only thing I wanted to see. I counted the money I acc.u.mulated in the last year. I finally had enough to buy my destiny. The membership card to those tennis paradises. I had to count on my tennis. It was the only chance I had to get off the streets. I had played since I was a kid and my stupid mother registered in a club for me. An a.d.u.l.t club. I thought I wouldn't be able to compete with those strong people that had played for the last ten, twenty years. I was six then. I got on the court, showed my best and it seemed like I had a hidden talent. I already knew how to hit the green ball and at that moment, I wasn't ready to give up. I was going to fight for the career I was promised to have. I thought, since I got on the street, that this membership card was a possible career beginner. It even had food included. It was an elite club, so a couple agents would pass by once in two months to see if there were any talents they could manage. They took many, as Andy told me. She played tennis too. She was a year older than me and had a membership card last year. Andy wasn't the best. She was fine, she knew how to hit the ball straight and had a couple volleys that could make you lose rapidly. But she hadn't been chosen. Andy never beat me. I always won against her, most often severely. There had been a couple t.h.i.g.ht matches, but she never beat me. I believed in my chances. I am going to be chosen by the agents. I had to be chosen. It wasn't simple, but I really believed in my chances. I could, and I would get remarked. The problem was that the center didn't open until April twentieth. In a bit more than three months. I could wait. I'm sixteen years old and I have more talent than most people in this tennis hole. I'll wait as long as I would have to to get in that club. I will go there to stay. It was the only hope I had left, or I would spend the rest of my life on New York's streets. And I wouldn't have enough money to survive then. I tried to stop thinking about that pressure and went in the metro to take my chance of having a bench to sleep on.