Their Days of Nights

43 : Jealous

Kimberly

I've already finished half of the coffee in my thermal mug, but the match hasn't started yet. I'm fueled by caffeine this afternoon. Although I went to bed early this morning, I hardly had any sleep at all.

I lied to Benjie last night, and I felt bad about it. So, it kept me awake, thinking and wondering.

It had nothing to do with Perks. I just got hit by this awful feeling when I realized that I don't share this thing that matters a lot to him. I never even made the tiniest bit of trying to know more about the sport that he enjoys the most. But another girl can relate.

I knew that he meant it when he said it's enough that I'm here, but I didn't feel enough. And I didn't tell him last night, or early this morning, in fear that I might disrupt his concentration for today. He needed the headspace to focus. I also knew that my white lie didn't work.

I haven't personally talked to him since he took me home around two a.m. I only texted him a while ago when I arrived in this court. I said I'm with his dad. And Benjie replied with a smiley.

This is a different court from last night. This one's bigger. It has three-level bleachers on two sides and larger windows running throughout the higher portion of the walls.

There are close to twenty people inside now. Two men approach Benjie's dad, and they sit down to my left. He introduces me to them as his son's girlfriend. And I give them a smile that even for my standards is tentatively friendly but absolutely shy.

I silently appreciate his gesture for acknowledging my presence. I went out once with my father. Then we saw someone he knew from somewhere. And he treated me like a ghost.

On the opposite side of the court, a balding man climbs an elevated chair by the side of the net.

Benjie comes out from a door near the bleachers. He's in all-black Nikes. He drops his things next to the chair left of the umpire and takes out his tennis racket. He presses his fingers on the strings and looks around.

He turns to my direction, spots me, and waves. I wave back, and he smiles.

The other player walks by and settles his stuff to the right of the umpire.

I check the time on my phone. Five-thirty.

"How long does a typical tennis match last?" I ask Benjie's dad.

"It depends," he says with a chuckle. "An hour or so for something like this."

I nod and take a sip from my coffee.

The two players are in front of the umpire. Benjie nods at the other guy.

He's up against someone a little shorter. But even from this distance, I can tell that this guy is built for playing sports. And he also gives off the vibes of someone in their early thirties.

"Do you know his opponent? I mean, if he's good?" I ask Benjie's dad.

"Not that much. He's not one of the best players around here. That, I know."

"So, what's Benjie's chances of winning here?"

"He has better chances."

Of course, he'd say that. Of course, he'd root for his own.

Another person is talking to the umpire. She reminds me of our PE teacher in high school. Then she crouches as she talks to two boys.

The boys run to each end of the court. The players do so too.

The court falls silent. I think they're finally starting.

The other player has the ball. Benjie squats near the corner of the opposite end of his side. The first shot is sent, and he returns it with his forehand. The ball lands on the other side of the net. The other guy hits it, but it passes the line on Benjie's side. The kid near that area chases after the ball.