“Too bad it’s not hotter outside,” I overheard one woman whisper to another. Shethoughtshe had whispered it. “Shirts would be off.”
However, there was a bright spot. Paul and his friends were enjoying the game, and he was getting many pats on the back, his friends calling him cool and telling him that this was the best birthday they had ever been to.
I hoped it stayed that way.
The game was getting rougher, and true to his word, it wasn’t Brando starting it. Santiago wanted to finish it, even if that meant crushing his opponent. I could tell by the firm countenance of his face.
I had seen professionals up close, playing like this—when we had been in León, Spain to catch a game between Italy and Spain—and I had noticed that when they played, no matter when, they played to win. Athletes rarely lost the sharp edge when spurred to perform. Even retired ones.
On a particularly loud crack between Brando and Santiago’s two colliding bodies, I couldn’t stand to sit and watch any longer. At this point, Brando had a blossoming purple bruise along his cheekbone, and Santiago had a busted lip.
Inside, the air was warm, and my nose and hands started to defrost. The sun was bright, but it was no match for winter. It was a fireplace too far away to reach the chilled corridors.
Before I made myself a plate of whatever Violet had set out, I decided to make a pit stop at the bathroom. The mingled sounds of women’s voices carrying from the hall stopped me.
Actually, it was the mention of Brando’s name that prevented me from going any further.
I stood in the hallway, since it seemed like the group was waiting for someone to come out of the bathroom while they had a little chitchat.
“I didn’t think it was possible, but that man is finer than ever.”
“How did she get so lucky?”
“Remember in school? She was weird, always staring up at the sky or daydreaming. Violet was her only friend.”
“Shecandance though. I have a cousin who lives in New York. We went to see her at the ballet.”
I almost took a bow.
A second or two of lull came. Perhaps the group was staring at her for saying something nice about me.
“If weird is what he likes, I would have stared up at the sky and daydreamed too. When I did, it was usually about him.”
“You and everyone else.”
Light laughter.
“But he was never interested.” Sigh. “We were too young for him. The older ones had a better chance. He was selective.”
“He married the star gazer.”
“Go figure.”
“She is beautiful.” The same woman who had complimented my skills as a dancer made this comment. “And my cousin is a big ballet buff, goes for anything artsy, and he says her legs are magic. I think so too.”
Perhaps we could be friends, since I only had the one. I almost laughed.
Then I realized that my penchant for staring up at the sky and talking to myself was exactly why they were talking about me in the first place.
I was used to it though. It didn’t bother me. Never did. After I had been out in such an expansive world for so long, though, hearing it took me back in time. I was still peculiar—still liked to star gaze, get lost in daydreams from time to time. It had become such an integral part of me that it took strangers who had once known me to remind me of it.
“I’ll give you that. Beautiful, if that’s what your cousin meant by magic. But she’s not all there up top. Penny used to say that she had sky for brains—nothing but air. Especially after her brother died.”
Silence followed that statement. Then I heard water running, a door opened a second or two later, and the group rounded the corner, finding me standing there.
I heard the intake of breath from one woman, but I didn’t bother looking. To prove their point, I had craned my neck up, pretending to star gaze at the popcorn ceiling.
Violet needed to get that shit fixed.
