April, 29th

Margaret:

It's Friday and after much hesitation I make myself attend a volleyball game. I've hardly come since January; my shoulder took weeks to heal completely and after my mother died I simply don't have the energy. Bessy stopped coming altogether. She struggles to make ends meet and physical exercise is not a priority.

I let out a sigh that empties my lungs. I'm sitting on a dressing room bench, the locker open before me, my belongings in sight. I'm dressed in my volleyball clothes and I look almost like the St. Anne's middle hitter and blocker I once was, though I have changed so much I'm surprised my clothes took no notice and still fit.

I now know what it feels like to lose one's mother (losing a limb can't be too different), and what it is like to get involved with really nasty people and lie to a Police detective.

I have experienced being in a romantic relationship and being proposed marriage. What it is like when the one who kissed and held me left me cold, and more recently, what it is like to experience an inner maelstrom for someone who can't stand the sight of me.

I now know what it feels like to reject and lose affection but I still don't know how it feels like to earn and accept it, to make it grow within myself.

The best thing I can say about myself these days is that I'm a good liar. The detective hasn't contacted me again.

I feel so lonely.

I get out the dressing room, up the stairs and through the dimly lit corridor to the volleyball court. Mr. West will come again in a couple of weeks and he and I will work to make my father get out the house.

Mr. West sometimes includes a stop in Cádiz (something to do with his own businesses) and he takes time to visit Frederick. I decide I'll send something for my niece, who in just a few weeks may make her appearance.

There's a small square window on the corridor close to the basketball court's door. The lights on the court are on and the difference in lighting makes it almost like a black window. I glance lazily inside and I notice Mr. Thornton playing tonight.

I slower my pace to a stop and return, my eyes glued to that little window. There are about ten people playing basketball, including three women, and they look as if they've been playing for a while. Mr. Thornton's tall and lean body dribbles and spins fast among the other players, and jumps high to dunk the ball in the basket farther from my window. His legs are long and muscular, his shirt is glued to his broad chest, his dark hair is dripping with sweat.

The shrill sound of a whistle makes the game stop and the players relax. One of the female players talks to Mr. Thornton and he looks back at her with a smile and replies, I see his lips moving. Most players move to one side of the court, where they pick up plastic bottles or towels. Mr. Thornton drinks some water from his bottle, and then he throws back his head and squirts some over his face.

My God. My eyes dilate, my mouth feels dry, my heartbeat pounds in my ears. Oh my God.

He is so... beautiful and so... so manly. I'm at a loss for words but for one question: how could I ever not appreciate this man before my eyes?

He looks my way and though I'm sure he can't see me (the corridor's light is too low and there's a net before the window), that's all I need. I turn on my heels and go back to the dressing room. Twenty minutes later I'm back at home, and tell my father the game was suspended and the other exercise rooms were full.

We watch TV together for about half an hour and then we retire to our respective bedrooms. I actually feel blushing when I close the door behind me. My God.