10 Things I hate About Her (10 Things #1)

18. Two Can Play Chess

I shifted the ball between my feet, cleats brushing the dew off strands of lime green grass. It was a few minutes past six in the morning. The fog thickened every hundred metres. Dad's bulky figure waited in the net, his breath, smoky puffs on the wind. Powerful lamps illuminated the sides of the field. A quiet lull encircled the high school, broken occasionally by the dull steps of one or two joggers. Empty bleachers rose up on either side of the green expanse, a haunting memory of our loss the day prior. The darkness that tainted the lost match and the end of the season seeped into my heart. My fingers rubbed the waterproof material of my pants, its hem shifted above the ankle and the cold nipped bare skin. Dad motioned to the top- left. He wasn't much of a talker, but we bonded over soccer and good food. I liked that about him. I also admired the intensity in which he worked and studied and hoped to be like him. Some day, I wanted to be able to provide for my own family as well as he did.

I nudged the ball forward, each foot fall crushing the earth. I flipped the ball into the air, and then shot it into the net where dad had directed. It spun fast and he caught with an, 'oomph'.

"Nice, now center- left." He tossed the ball for me to shoot again.

I caught it on my abdomen and dribbled towards the goal. The ball swept back and forth, and I aimed a bit lower this time, and a smidge to the left.

He stopped it. "Good." He waved his hand to the side. "Three- quarter right, high."

I nodded and received his pass. After toying with the ball for some time, I charged forward and launched the ball at the target. Dad jumped to catch it and rolled into summersault before getting to his feet. He grinned and raised a thumbs up. "The old man's still got it," he said.

"Show off," I muttered.

He walked over and offered me a bottle of water. The conversation from last night had been too one-sided and I hadn't steeled myself for battle. I took the ball from him and used it as a stool, my legs sprawled out on the prickly grass. He crouched next to me, not wanting to get his pants wet in an embarrassing spot. We sat in silence and I drained a bottle of water, the chilled liquid sloshing down my throat. "Dad?" I said.

"Yes?"

"Can we talk about Naomi for a moment?"

A dark look crossed his aged features. "What about her?"

"Why can't I be... with her?" The sentence took a lot out of me. And I felt my eyes tear up at the mere understanding of how fragile my position was. I was approaching him as the one in the wrong. He could destroy me with a single word. Saying what I felt out loud felt wrong, and I rubbed a dull ache out of my chest.

Dad said, "I told you yesterday. It's unnatural. Each gender has the tool that is needed for reproduction. A penis and a penis, or a vagina and a vagina won't get you the same result as a penis and a vagina. You're pretty good at science so you should get where I'm going."

I replied, "But we don't enter relationships solely for the sake of reproduction. I think intimacy, love, passion, whatever you call it is more than sex. It's more than what we've come to known it as. It's more than physical relations and the idea of a perfect family. Can't there be two people that love each other plain and simple? A love that transcends our bodies and time."

He sighed. "Val, two people can love each other, but it has to be the right sort of love."

"And how do we know the right kind of love?"

"It is what's written in the Bible."

I bit my lower lip and glared at the ground which hadn't done anything wrong. But I sure as hell couldn't glare at my dad. "I don't see why that's the case. And the Bible was written by man, not by God, so there may be a fair amount of bias within."