Memories
Disclaimer: I do not own Prince of Tennis or any of its associated characters. But I really, honestly, wish I did.
Warnings: None. General reflective fiction.
A/N: Just something that I came up with while thinking about past friends and friendships. Also heavily influenced by my mother and her high school graduation.
A quick note: the format enables you to decide which PoT boy you want as the main character and in deciding that, you get to pick which team is the main.
For all friends, past, present and future. May you all lead long and happy lives.
Memories...
He sat, alone, on that park bench that he had once sat upon with his friends. His comrades, his teammates, his confidants. His /friends/.
That was the word he hugged to himself fiercely. They had once had each other. They had once depended on each other and only had each other to lean on as they fought towards the top. Towards National glory. Towards victory.
They were all gone now, only he was left. He raised one hand, mottled and slightly shriveled with age, which shook as he brushed the once artlessly arranged hair, now white and wispy from the years.
He sat back and just watched the sun. Watched the clouds. He watched everything, and he watched nothing. The years seemed to have flown by without him noticing. It had been too long since he had last seen his friends and he missed them.
Not only that; he also missed his rivals, he missed his family and most of all, he missed the excitement and thrill of standing on a tennis court and pouring all of your heart and soul into that one vital game that would bring glory to your team.
One shaking hand reached into his pocket where he still kept that picture. It was faded and creased but he could still make out the smiling faces. One finger gently traced each face before moving on towards the next.
They were so young, they had been so young. So full of life, so full of determination. Their lives had once revolved around tennis and for many, for most, graduation just meant moving up into the world but it had still meant tennis.
The weekly reunions for some friendly games became monthly then finally yearly. Then they vanished all together. Everyone was busy with real life and never really met up. That was one of the most regrettable things he had to face. He often asked himself why he couldn't have picked up the phone more often and called them. Why he couldn't have sent a couple of extra invitations to casual parties. Why he couldn't have just dropped by their place to give a simple greeting.
He regretted it.
Now only he remained. Only he remembered. Only he cared.
Glory. Victory. Friendship. Teamwork. Trust. Determination.
Those were the words that had once driven them to the top and beyond. Those were the words that had once driven them to their limits and higher. That had once driven them up and up and up to succeed and to become who they eventually became.
They had entered all types of professions; from authors and journalists, to bookshop owners and politicians. A couple of his acquaintances even went into professional tennis.
His younger self had once reflected, on a whim, that life was full of surprises, full of twists and turns and full of meaning. But it failed to seize him at this moment.
All he could remember were the arms around his shoulders and the comradeship shared and the laps that were run. The weights that were lifted and the trophies that were as well. All he could think about were the time spent laughing and talking in the change rooms, the lunches shared and the games played against each other. The utterly exhilarating feeling of standing on a court; not for yourself, but for your team, not for your own glory, but for theirs.
A quiet laugh was heard, voices chattered and another familiar one called his name. His eyes blinked slowly as he looked up and realized that he must have fallen asleep with the birds chirping cheerfully around him.
The laughter and voices didn't stop. His eyes widened in amazement as he saw them all, back at the age he remembered them so well in and clad in the tennis uniform that he still kept carefully folded in a chest. They smiled and beckoned to him.
'Come and join us!' They seemed to call as one picked up his racquet and handed it to him handle first. 'It's been too long!'
With tears gathering, his eyes traveled from one familiar face to another and he took the racquet and gripped it tight. It felt as perfect as it always did. Looking down, he noted with some surprise that he was just as young as they were and dressed in the uniform that he loved so much. Memories floated and spiraled around him and everything faded to just the glorious present.
However, he couldn't help but look back, back towards where he thought he had been before. He saw an old man sitting in a chair by a familiar park. The man clutched a photo in his hands and his eyes were closed, his chest rising and falling gently with each breath he took.
'Come! We've waited so long!'
Unsure as to why the old man seemed familiar, he shook his head and picked up the ball that had rolled to a stop by his feet.
'I'm coming!'
On a sunny summer's day, in a park somewhere, an old faded photo with crease marks floated gently in the wind. The hand that had once held it was loosely folded in the owner's lap. His chin touched his chest; a chest which didn't move.
The photo, seized by the careless wind, landed in the pond and sank without a bubble.
Nearby, laughter and maybe even the distant 'thwack' of a tennis ball being hit could be heard if you listened carefully enough.
A silent whisper that was voiced and the gentle words which may have just been the wind:
'We've missed you…'
Fin.
A stab at general and perhaps angst?
Please review and tell me how you think this went. Thanks for reading!
