A Different Descendant: Freshman Year 1

Chapter 11

Chapter 11
    “I’m sorry,” I said in a whisper.
    As those words left my mouth, his eyes widened. He swallowed his saliva nervously. It wasn’t anything he was expecting.
    “For what exactly Henry?” he asked.
He was pretending to be lost about what was going on. It was so clear on his face that he knew what was happening. He was indeed terrible at hiding his facial expressions. Especially when taken by surprise.
    “You don’t have to pretend. I heard you talking over the phone,” I began.
    “I’ve been thinking, and I realized. I haven’t exactly been the best person to you. I’ve been nothing more but an annoyance--”
    “Henry it’s totally fine,” he said cutting me off.
    “No it’s not. You’ve been doing a lot for all of us. You always want to make sure that we are all okay. But I’ve been nothing more but an annoyance. An ass, you name it. And I’m really sorry. These last three years, I’ve done nothing but making bonding hard for you. But I want to make up for it. And I want to be better. Whether I like it or not, as long as mom loves you, you will still be my dad. And--”
    Just before I could say another word, he hurried over to where I stood and held me tightly in a warm embrace.
    His body was shivering, but not with cold. I heard him sniffle twice. He was crying.
     “You have no idea how long I’ve waited for this day,” he whispered.
    He was squeezing me, but I didn’t resist him. Not that I couldn’t. I just didn’t want to. I just let him do as he pleased. He had been waiting for a day like this for a long time. He deserved this and so much more.
    Looking to the side, I noticed the pre-game formalities going on. We definitely would not want to miss tip off.
    “The game’s starting,” I said softly.
    “Oh right,” he said as he let go.
    Wiping the tears off his face, he said;
    “I wasn’t crying,”
    “Of course you weren’t,” I said, rolling my eyes playfully.
    Just as the tip off was about to happen, we hopped onto the couch like kids about to watch the final episode of a series that has been going on for a while.
    As we watched the game, an idea popped into my head.
    “Hey dad, I have an idea. You’re usually free for most of your Saturdays, what do you say we hang out, just the two of us”.
    “Yeah, it’s a great idea,” he said with a big smile on his face.
     Just as I was about to speak, I noticed my favorite player about to perform one of his classic skills. One he made himself. I also loved him because we both had the same name. His first name is my middle name and it’s an ancient Iyes word except his didn’t carry an accent on the letter ‘U’ in Luwa.
   His ‘Luwa’ stands for; Man(as in, Human) of Valor, while mine stands for Spirit of Valor.’
    “Oh, here it comes!” I exclaimed, fixating my eyes to the screen.
    I felt the agitation build up inside of me. He didn’t perform that skill very often. It was always so exciting whenever he did it.
    “He’ll miss,” said dad, killing my anticipatory excitement.
    “Kill-joy much? What makes you think he’ll miss?” I asked.
    “He already made a mistake with his footing. Just watch,” dad said without looking away from the screen.
I doubted what he said. He never messed up that skill.
    “Ooh tough break for him. For the first time ever, he missed his classic signature move.”
    My mouth fell open unconsciously on seeing my basketball idol miss. I was more surprised that Mr. Gudjohnsen predicted it.
    “How did you know?” I asked. I was bummed out by the fact that he missed. But I was more curious about how my dad knew he would miss.
    “I told you, his footing was off.”
    He predicted that his move would fail. But that wasn’t all. He also predicted loads of things that happened during the game. Misses, unexpected baskets, failed skills and more.
    I was almost convinced that he watched the game, but I reminded myself that when the game was going on, he was too busy to watch as he couldn’t even pick calls earlier the previous day.
    The team I supported won. But what bugged me was how he was able to predict what happened. Then I had a thought.
    ‘He seems to have a rather analytical eye. He can help me a ton.’
    I remember watching a fictional series about basketball where one of the players delivers fast and accurate passes by hitting the ball with tremendous force. I knew it would be virtually impossible to perform this move, but I came up with a backdoor to that move. I had no idea how to go about it, but Yokai already brought someone to help me. He was there all this time but I had not opened my eyes.
     That night before I went to bed, I told him we were going to have our father son time at the basketball court closest to our street and he agreed.
    *******
     That morning, I brushed my teeth, washed my face and hair and put on a pair of black shorts, a grey T-shirt that fitted me slightly, showing off little of my physique. When I was sure that the girls were downstairs for breakfast, I grabbed my ball from my closet and headed out of my room.
    I met dad waiting for me in front of his room. He wore a pair of grey joggers and a grey T-shirt that fitted him perfectly showing off his muscular physique. He also carried a gym bag on his right shoulder
‘I had no idea he was this ripped,’ I said to myself.
    “You ready?” he asked.
    “Yeah.”
As we walked down the stairs, I looked through my messages.
‘Freya already texted me at six this morning,’ I sighed.
    “Good morning,” I greeted and headed for the door with Mr. Gudjonsen.
    “And where are you two going?” mom asked, stopping us in our tracks.
    “We’re going to play basketball,” I replied, turning to look at her.
    “And when will you do homework?” she asked again.
    “When I get back,” I answered.
    “No, you have to eat, then do homework, then you can do whatever you want with your Saturday”, she added.
    ‘She can’t be serious.’
    “But I always go jogging on Saturdays. Way before I do homework,” I said, giving her a friendly reminder of how I use my Saturdays.
    “Yes, but you usually wake up very early and back by breakfast.”
    “Mom,” I whined.
    “Breakfast, homework, then basketball,” she said, placing her hand on her hips to say; “That’s final.”
    “Same goes for you Eric.”   
“I don’t have homework,” he said playfully.
    “Haha, Breakfast now.”
We couldn’t do anything but follow what she said.