I never liked playing sports, and whenever I wanted to, I was terrible at it. I canât run for a long time because my stamina is less than that of an average person. During our PT periods, all I did was just stay out of the game and roam around the ground. Nothing to do. Sometimes I would be walking around the field with my classmates who werenât good at sports either, and the other times my friends would tag along with me.
Most of the time it would be me watching other boys playing football and even if I wanted to do batting in cricket, till my chance would come to bat, the period would get over. Eventually, I gave up on cricket too. Again, it wasnât like I was a good player anyway.
I donât know what grade it was, I am assuming it was before my sixth grade. The period got over, and I sat under the shade of a tree looking at my classmates leaving. I was the only one who stayed back and soon after my bench partner, who was a goalkeeper, came and sat close to me. He was sweaty and exhausted. He was taking loud breaths, and I always thought of him to be as an excellent player. He was taller than me, not significantly but was more manly in a stereotypical world. We didnât sit together because we were friends, it was only because our class teacher told us to do.
There was something about him that would make me feel like I would do anything for him. If you ask me what it was, I still wouldnât know. He had asked me to write his notes, and for some reason, I was never hesitant. I, for sure, would not write notes for anyone if someone would ask me now. But there was something about him that would make me write it for him. I remember wishing to gain his full attention, but it seemed to feel unlikely.
I was always intrigued by the goalkeeperâs gloves. He removed it and I picked it up. I looked at it in a way that it was somehow cool, which of course I donât seem to feel now. Though I wanted to wear it, I didnât. Some people donât like to share what they own sometimes, and for me, itâs my earphones. I guessed maybe it was his gloves.
I gave it back to him. For a brief moment, we didnât talk. He suddenly held my hand and pulled me in closer. An electric feeling rushed through my body as if someone had tickled me. He doesnât let go, I donât flinch or take my hand back.
He softly tells me, âYour hands give me a feeling of calmness.â
He left the school that year, he never tried to contact me, I never tried to contact him either. Though I attempted to find him on social media but failed at it. I sometimes wonder why he said that to me.
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