“Not bad,” Owen lied. “Butwhere’sthe action?”
Another quiz, and I was ready. “Here.” I circled the air like he just demonstrated.
“Yes! The stuff back here?” He stuck his hand out to the side, then moved it backward, like he was winding up to hit alittle yellow ball into the next dimension. “At this point, it’s unnecessary. We just need to connect with the ball and . . .push. Easy. Now you.”
Owen nodded to me and I commenced with pretending to hit a fake ball and feeling dorky.
“So close.” He frowned a little, and I felt a familiar dread creep through me at my inability to copycat. “One more, withallof your action up front.”
How could I be failing already? I tried again.
“Yes, you’re almost there,” Owen cheered like I was a baby trying to feed myself a strand of spaghetti. “Hold on a sec.”
He jogged the few steps over and came to a stop about a foot behind me, close enough that I could almostfeelhim there. “Now swing.”
I turned abruptly. Pickleball wasn’t a contact sport, but he was close enough to me that if I brought my paddle back, I’d... And the genius of his little lesson dawned on me.
“Okay, now I get it.” I chuckled. I walked forward a few steps.
“Nope.” He moved with me, like my shadow. “I’m going to haunt you right here until I see it. I’m risking bodily harm to help you get your swing right.”
In a way, it was easier to pantomime playing without him staring me down, although he was close enough for me to catch the scent of soap on his skin.
I fought against every instinct to draw my paddle back, because if I did, I’d smack him in the dick, and pushed it forward instead.
“Yes!Thereit is. Again,” he shouted, ridiculously close to my ear.
I felt a little swell of pride as I repeated the motion.
“Nice! Now let’s try it with a ball.”
Owen jogged to the ball basket next to the court and then got into position opposite me beyond the net.
“Just a little push,” he coached as he dropped the ball and hit it so it landed right in front of me.
How the ball ended up whizzing past Owen once my paddle connected with it was a mystery, because I’d even chanted “just a push, just a push” in my head as I reached for it.
“Well, you’ve got some power going for you, but you don’t need it yet.” He chuckled. “Let’s try it again, but this time,push. Everything is happening right in front of you; no need to crank it back.”
And so we continued for another ten minutes, with both sides of the court getting increasingly frustrated. I either missed the ball completely or got too excited when I sensed that I was actually going to hit it and bombed it past him.
No surprise, I was hopeless.
“All good.” Owen stalked over to me, his easygoing expression now a smidge tighter. “We’re gonna downshift for a bit. Grab a ball.”
I picked up one of the many littering my side of the court.
“I think we jumped in a little too quickly. Our focus now is going to be basic paddle and ball handling. Try this.”
In any other scenario, I would’ve taken advantage of the low-hanging fruit of him saying “ball handling,” but I was too in my head to joke around.
Owen held his paddle horizontally in front of him, dropped the ball onto it, and bounced it rhythmically, keeping his body still except for the hand holding the paddle. He made it look easy, like the ball was connected with a short elastic string, so that it smacked the exact same spot on the paddle over andover. It was the sort of drill he’d probably use for kids just figuring out their hand-eye coordination.
Still, I went along with it and managed three bounces before the ball ricocheted away from me. ClearlyIwas the kid still figuring it out.
“Again,” Owen said in a tight voice. “Keep at it.”
I sighed, grabbed another ball, and attempted to not flail. I was having even less fun than I’d imagined.
