My girlfriend and I carried the boxes up the stairs. Finally, she was moving in! On her last run from the car to my apartment I heard numerous footsteps click-clacking in the hallway. Whether her dogs could stay too? Not a problem. I was going to spend most of my time at work anyway. And they looked cute enough.
The girl rolled her eyes when she saw me hesitate. Overwhelmed by all the options in front of me - Smurf blue, deep purple, poison green - I needed some time to make a choice. She was visibly annoyed when I asked her about some flavor I had never seen before, and looked at her watch in objection. Sure, there was a line, but ice cream girl seemed livid that her customer took longer than she thought necessary. I apologized, walked out, and reluctantly consumed the so-manieth chocolate ice cream I had in my life.
I was having breakfast in some hotel somewhere in the world -I can’t remember where; after so many years every tournament felt the same- while the 4-times world champion joined me at the table. The guy was ecstatic. ‘I’ve done it, LJ! Twice! In one week!’ he cried out. ‘Can you believe it!?’
I walked up to the buffet and wondered what Amr Shabana could possibly be so happy about. Had he won two World Series events in one week? Impossible, time-wise. Had he earned two business class upgrades in the last 7 days? The man probably flew business anyway. Had he gotten two good draws recently? Irrelevant. Any draw was ‘good’ to him.
It must have been early November when I was an injured athlete awaiting surgery. The surgeon had told me his earliest availability to operate on me was a few weeks from then. It was a long time to wait. Those weeks would mean the difference between making the national championships, or missing out. A shot at one more title, or not. I felt I had no choice. The guy was the best doctor in the world for the surgery I needed and I wasn’t going to settle for someone lesser skilled hacking away in my ankle joint.
I look around and see that nobody is watching. When everybody’s staring at their computer screen I sneak down the stairs of the grey office building. I’ve hidden my trainers in a washroom in the basement that holds a shower and a few lockers. Nobody uses this facility. I quickly put on my gear and run up the stairs. I need to reach the revolving door. Preferably without being seen.