“I really think you should go out there,” I say, watching the woman practicing tennis outside our window.
Rachel appears next to me, arms crossed. She’s not angry at me for watching. She’s angry because it’s date night, not play-tennis-with-a-stranger night.
The woman seems lonely every time she visits the court. But tonight, it’s especially apparent. She’s playing an imaginary game of tennis against an imaginary opponent.
“I think she’s losing,” I say.
Rachel rolls her eyes and stalks away.
Two minutes later when Rachel walks out, racket in hand, the woman forgets her imaginary opponent and smiles.
Rachel appears next to me, arms crossed. She’s not angry at me for watching. She’s angry because it’s date night, not play-tennis-with-a-stranger night.
The woman seems lonely every time she visits the court. But tonight, it’s especially apparent. She’s playing an imaginary game of tennis against an imaginary opponent.
“I think she’s losing,” I say.
Rachel rolls her eyes and stalks away.
Two minutes later when Rachel walks out, racket in hand, the woman forgets her imaginary opponent and smiles.
