Sunday, November 27, 2011

At Dusk in a Park nearby

It was nearly dusk and the dark-suited businessman was busy with a phone call. He was on his way somewhere important it seemed, briefcase swinging from his free hand, the other pressing the phone to his ear. He was walking through a park near the center of town.

HH and a group of friends were playing soccer nearby, shooting wildly at the goal, the improvised boundaries of which were rapidly disappearing in the waning light. Another kick went wide and the ball sailed off through the trees and leaves marking a path that would inevitably intersect with the businessman’s.

He didn’t acknowledge the ball. I didn’t think he even saw it, so wrapped up in his conversation as he was. But as the ball closed in, he turned to face the boys and swung his leg, the side of his foot connecting solidly with the ball and sending it, and with it himself, cleanly back into play.