Building #9

The greatest tennis player that ever lived.
The Hebrew Day School never saw a fifth grader move this fast.
Evan Bloom is fast. Thin. Record holder of the 50 yard dash, but no one can return my serve.
It came to me in a dream.
I used to dream of buildings rising, all around me.
Every time I had them counted they’d collapse in a blink — rise up again, but somewhere different.
Lining up my serve:
I bounce the ball three times — 
Look at the exact spot I wanted my ball to go.
I bounce my ball three more times —
Look up at the exact spot I don’t want my ball to go, but Evan Bloom (who had the best Bar Mitzvah theme ever, Raiders of the Lost Arc, complete with rolling boulder that chased you onto the dance floor just in time for the Hora) would expect my ball to go.
My form, my release…


And what would Evan Bloom, do?
(Theme song to Indian Jones) Da, da, da, daaaaaa. Da, da MISS!


I beat my friends, my teachers, my father.

Ok, my son. Now I’m going to teach you a thing or two about tennis. Even with my wooden racket which you are so nice to make fun of.

I serve.

Ugh! Oh, fuck! My knee.

Yes, poor you, and the water in your knee.
Day of the championships.
Last game.
Last set.
Last point in a 5 set tie breaker, advantage Lisa Pendleton.
The queen of promiscuity.
The dame of demented behavior.
The slut of 7th — oh, hell she was perfect!
Rumors of Marc Goldberg’s pants, her mouth, and a ripe peach tore through the high school bleachers — mostly because I put spread them.
Her awkward tennis elbow, that flimsy frame, those toothpick legs, Lisa!!!

I wanted that moment alone with the apple, peach, pineapple, who gives a shit! I wanted that! I was going through changes! I had pimples on my face, brown dots appeared on my penis, hair on my balls, a retainer gave me headaches, squared glasses made red marks on my nose, they took Jell-O pudding pops off the market — why?!?

Lisa, I love you!

Bounce three times.
Look to the spot I want it to go.
Bounce three times.
The spot I don’t want it to go.


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