A Soccer Ball:
Ken reread the letter he had received last night for the third time. His request to have his records reexamined for the fourth time had been rejected. He was behind the flower shop in the alleyway, so he kicked the large metal dumpster in frustration. It was so early on a Saturday morning that Ken heard no other sounds except the dull echo of the dumpster.
He wadded up the letter from the J-League disciplinary committee and threw it in the dumpster. He confessed to himself he wasn't surprised. He shouldn't have expected anything except the brusque, formal refusal he got.
After all, unless Kase was willing to go in front of them and confess what he had done, Ken had no chance. Unfortunately, Kase was now dead at Ken's own hand. He clenched his fists and thought about how much hatred he now held in his heart towards the man who had claimed to be his best friend.
It wasn't fair that Kase ruined his life out of petty jealousy. Ken wondered if all close friendships were doomed to sour and rot. He shook these thoughts off and grabbed a net bag that held seven black and white soccer balls.
He paused, shaking off the flash of white, hot anger that shot through his stomach. All that was left was a dull, dark ache; a longing for something he loved dearly. He would trade anything to play professional sports again. He took a deep breath, hoisted the net bag over his shoulder, and walked towards the practice park.
He arrived, seeing that all twelve of the children he coached were already running around the park. Akira, Ken's star goalie, spotted Ken and ran towards him. The other eleven followed.
"Hey, Hidaka-san! You're late," Akira shouted through puffs of heavy breathing.
"Are you okay, Hidaka-san?" Hitoshi asked, equally winded. Ken looked up to the gray autumn sky and scowled.
"It looks like rain," Ken said. He slung the net bag on the damp, browning grass. He sighed, he wasn't in the right frame of mind for this today. He prayed the sky would mercifully pour down rain, but no such luck.
"Aw... it won't," Akira insisted.
"Fine. Run some drills," Ken said, dumping out the soccer balls on the ground. The nine-year-olds all groaned. "Come on, guys, don't give me a hard time today. I don't feel good."
All the children gave him petulant glares. They gathered up the soccer balls and started running them up and down the field. Ken took a seat on a wooden bench that had chipped, smoky colored paint. He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees while he kept a careful eye on the children.
His mind drifted off, his eyes only registered the blurring black and white swirls of the soccer balls, after a while.
"Hidaka-san?" Ken started and looked behind him.
"Hello, Yamaguchi-san," Ken greeted Akira's mother.
"You look very troubled," she said, sitting beside him.
"I'm fine. I just had some bad news in the mail," Ken said.
"Well, I hope it isn't too serious. Akira and the others would be devastated if you couldn't coach them any more," Yamaguchi said, giving Ken a bright smile. "They really depend on you."
"I know. That's why I showed up rather than cancel. They do need me," Ken said.
"Well then... why not really be here instead of sulking on a bench? You may as well have cancelled for all you're doing now. Coaching requires you to be out there directing them and correcting their mistakes," Yamaguchi chided Ken gently.
"You're right. I'm sorry. I shouldn't be here unless my heart is in this," Ken agreed. He took a deep breath and rose off the bench. He wasn't sure if his heart was in coaching today, but he knew going back the flower shop to brood wouldn't get him closer to the one thing he desperately missed: soccer.
He jogged out to the middle of the field and gathered them around. It wasn't long before he had the children organized in a six-against-six game while he acted as their referee. The kids all lost their scowls and grew jovial when Ken actually joined them. It was infectious. Ken's mind got drawn into the game. Halfway through the game, Ken doubled over and laughed when Hitoshi skidded in a muddy spot face first.
"Don't laugh at me, Hidaka-san," the child wailed as he hopped up. The other children laughed. Ken walked over to the kid and ruffled his hair.
"Please forgive me. I did need a laugh today. Thanks for cheering me up," Ken said. Hitoshi beamed and crossed his arms proudly.
"I did a good thing," Hitoshi gloated over to Akira. The goalie shook his head.
"Yeah, but at least my mom isn't going to yell at me for getting all dirty," Akira said.
"I'd think she'd be use to it by now," Ken teased. It started to sprinkle little droplets from the sky. The children all groaned giving noise to Ken's disappointment. "Let's meet tomorrow afternoon."
They all bid Ken hasty goodbyes and left him standing alone in the drab, drenched soccer field. He quickly grabbed up the net bag and tossed six balls in it. The seventh and last one was across the field. He took a couple of quick steps and kicked it far down the field towards the other goal.
It swished against the net in a confusing grayish blur and thunked to the ground. Black and white had sorted themselves out and rested side-by-side in pentagram patterns on the spherical surface once again. He grabbed up the bag with the other six balls and jogged back to the flower shop before the slate colored clouds poured down more rain.
To be continued.