DDR Tension/Release
The musty air of the pool hall hung in thick suspension. My body pressed against the green felt of the table; I felt it tickle the part of my chest that was exposed as I lined up the shot.
Just as I brought the stick forward, I sneezed. The cue ball went spinning in a haphazard, ineffective way.
She judged its trajectory, walked over to its endpoint, and lined her stick up where it would come to rest.
The crisp sound of clacking Bakelite spheres bounced off the walls like so many invisible pool balls. She had cracked one in easy, leaving the cue ball roughly where it had just been: still in the most precarious position possible for me.
“Everything comes easy to you,” I grumble.
“It was a lucky shot,” she shrugged.
“Well you’ve had nothing but lucky shots tonight.”
She grinned at the floor, “It’s a good night,” doing a poor job of hiding what she meant. “Besides, you’re on your last ball, and I still have two to go.”
“Yeah, if I could ever—” I stopped short, guilt creeping up from my stomach as I strayed into self-pity.
Her expression changed to intrigue, like she was examining a puzzle. “Here.”
She moved closer to me, and my heart began to quicken at the thought of her hands grasping mine to demonstrate.
She instead put a hand on her hip, her face suddenly serious. “Listen to me:”
Her eyes set on mine like there was a rail between our pupils.
“You’re not going to make this shot.”
She flashed a warm smile, and then bounced a couple steps back.
I gave an amused scoff. “That’s reassuring.”
“It is! Seriously. Take your shot, just like you did before. But now, know that you’re going to miss.”
I shot her a look that could break a rack. Resigned, I pulled in air for a deep sigh. But something in me stirred, and I lined the table with my body again. My muscles set my frame in preparation. I pushed my back hand sharply forward.
In the next room, the resulting sound was drowned out by feet tapping to the rhythm of “Ievan Polka.”
—
At the Insanity Complex.
100 Skate Park Dr.
Madison, AL