Everyman—Chapter 7 (Patreon)

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Tucking the clipboard under his arm, coach Martinez approached the gathered players. His gait was long and steady, and unselfconsciously confident. Standing a short distance away, his piercing green eyes swept the boys.

“Why did you lose?”

In an even tone, he directed the question at the B-team.

The group of athletes seemed both awkward and wronged. The answer was obvious, wasn’t it? The other players were stronger and more skilled—losing was a foregone conclusion.

When nobody answered, coach Martinez glanced at the B-team’s captain, a boy of native East-Indian descent.

“Hassan, do you know how to guard?”

No sarcasm could be detected in his voice, but none-the-less, the fellow in question was visibly embarrassed.

Forcing himself to meet the coach’s gaze, Hassan nodded.

“Yes, sir.”

He sounded cautious, knowing he did something wrong, but hadn’t caught on to what exactly it was.

When he heard the boy’s answer, coach Martinez shook his head.

“No, you don’t. I know you’re right-handed, but you can’t always guard the ball the same way. You need to adapt to the situation.”

Suddenly, he held out his hand to Silver. This year’s star player immediately caught on, tossing him the ball.

In turn, the coach handed the ball to Hassan.

“Hold the ball like you usually do.”

The boy did and, driving with his leg and shoulder, coach Martinez easily stole it from him, using as little force as possible.

It was a demonstration of skill, not strength, so despite him being twice Hassan’s size, the boy couldn’t help being convinced.

While this went on, Giovanni exchanged glances with Bison. Noticing him standing off to the side, his ex-team mate wagged his eyebrows at him.

Giovanni simply smiled. He knew what Bison was trying to communicate—he wanted to know his opinion about the new number eight, the person who replaced him.

However, that was no longer his business. Right now, what he wanted more than anything else was to go home and eat something.

Giovanni waited patiently as coach Martinez went from player to player, correcting the most blatant mistakes. If time wasn’t limited, the man would continue until the sun went down. Fortunately, that wasn’t the case.

After writing a few things on his clipboard, the coach gave the signal.

“Dismissed.”

The moment the word left his mouth, boys scattered in all directions, like a stone tossed into a flock of pigeons. Given they were only thirteen, few were dedicated enough to stay after hours.

Taking little notice of those around him, coach Martinez chewed on his pen, re-reading what he’d written. He turned and headed toward the locker-rooms, located underneath the bleachers.

Sighing, Giovanni, as well as a handful of others, followed after him.

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Their little group of six waited outside the lockers. This was a usual routine for them. Sometimes, a few of the more dedicated players had questions after practice. However, most often, students would inform the coach about having to miss practice for some reason or the other.

“Silver.”

From the other side of the door, coach Martinez’ voice came. Apparently, the A-team captain already had an appointment.

Not making eye-contact with Giovanni, Silver opened the door and went in.

The Romani boy leaned his back against the wall with Bison next to him. The big lad was just accompanying him—he was in residence, so he didn’t have to worry about missing the bus.

Bison looked like he wanted to say something, but instead, his eyes darted to the other two present. The look on his face was like seeing a pair of annoying flies.

Giovanni suppressed a smile. The ‘gentle giant’ stereotype definitely didn’t apply to Bison. The guy was famously disagreeable, getting in trouble multiple times over bullying and similar accusations. It was a wonder he wasn’t kicked out yet, given Trivandrum’s obsession over reputation.

He thought it had something to do with Bison’s football skills—the sport’s importance to the school mirrored that of academics.

However, Giovanni still found him quite likable, mainly for his straight-forwardness.

The big lad exhaled through his nose, hooking his thumbs in his waistband. Swallowing whatever he wanted to say, he seemingly resolved to wait until after Giovanni and the coach’s talk concluded.

The silence in the hallway was awkward. Fortunately, it wasn’t long before Silver opened and closed the door, and walked off without sparing the others a glance.

Coach Martinez’ voice sounded through the thin layer of wood, causing a muscle in Giovanni’s face to twitch.

“We’ll speak tomorrow, Johnson. It’s already late. Gerrit, you’re next.”

Standing there speechlessly, Giovanni watched a red-haired boy open the door, ducking into the room with a lowered head. His baby-ish facial features and pale skin was recognizably Batavian.

Eventually, he shrugged his shoulders. It wasn’t like he wanted this meeting. Laying a hand on Bison’s shoulder, he walked down the hallway.

When the two were outside, the big fellow turned his head, looking at him.

“Coach won’t let you leave.”

He sounded certain.

Giovanni huffed.

“I made up my mind. It’s not like he can force me to play.”

His tone was casual. Maybe, if it were another seventh-grader, they’d be intimidated into staying, but he wasn’t so easily rattled.

Bison looked away, turning silent. After a dozen-or-so-seconds, he posed a question.

“Do you hate football?”

His gaze swept the fields absentmindedly, clearly in thought.

Giovanni didn’t know what he was thinking, but he shook his head none-the-less.

“I didn’t quit because of that. I already told you.”

He was somewhat helpless.

“I just…”

He started before stopping, unsure of his own feelings.

While the initiation was definitely unpleasant, he tapped out before it got really bad. Also, it didn’t cause much trouble, aside from making his team and seniors unhappy.

Giovanni pursed his lips, mulling over his next words.

“…I’m not much of a team player, I guess.”

Toward the end, his voice lowered. He felt a little bad for disappointing Bison, but he wouldn’t change his mind.

They walked toward the bus stop in silence, the atmosphere turning melancholic. The two of them rarely interacted outside football and their friend groups didn’t overlap, so it was unlikely they’d remain close, as before.

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Three-o-clock came and went before Giovanni returned home. Traffic wasn’t bad this time of day, but the bus drove slowly and there were many stops on the way. Surprisingly, it was quite packed. Given how Trivandrum was stuffed full of rich kids, one would imagine more private transportation.

Opening and closing the door, Giovanni headed for the fridge. Last night’s dinner was a couple of burritos, of which a few remained. He intentionally made too much, wanting to save himself the effort of cooking today.

Pulling out a wooden chair, he sat at the dinner-table. The room was dark, with only a single open kitchen window providing some light. Giovanni took a bite of his food, not bothering to heat it, and chewed slowly.

For a time, he stared into nothingness, soaking in silence. There was a hint of a frown on his face, so slight it was almost imperceptible.

‘This isn’t how I imagined my second life.’

The thought bubbled to the front of his mind. However, he himself wasn’t exactly sure about what he wanted. His regrets were mild and mainly included studying too much. This time, he didn’t live that way, so the desire could already be considered satisfied.

‘…but, what’s next for me?’

He looked around the empty, dark house. It was quiet as a graveyard. Maybe he wasn’t sure what he wanted, but he knew it wasn’t this.

Sometimes, when he was alone, with nothing occupying his thoughts, his mind would turn to his passing. He remembered it well, or rather, he remembered the sensation of it. Not how he died, although that too. Rather, he remembered being, well… dead.

It was like becoming a stone, sinking to the bottom of the ocean. Above, the light grew dimmer until the rippling surface was no longer visible. From all sides, darkness pressed in like a million gallons of water.

Deeper he went, deeper and deeper, until he felt himself touching the bottom. The surface was like the softest sand, supporting his self, compressed into a single grain by the inescapable pressure.

He hadn’t a clue how long he spent there. His awareness was limited, but he remembered feeling… comfortable, like laying underneath a pile of blankets in winter.

Similarly, he remembered his rebirth. It was the same, but in reverse. Inexplicably, like a bubble, he rose from the bottom, returning once again to the surface. The pressure lessened gradually and the light grew more intense until it was blinding.

Then, the surface parted and there he was—alive, in the body of a three-year-old kid.

Giovanni lifted his hands to his face. They were pale and bloodless, like a corpse.

Even though he returned to life, death was never far. That door was always there, an open portal, leading to darkness. During times like these, he felt the pull more strongly than usual.

Sighing, he stood and pushed in his chair. Maybe he’d return one day, but not today. Besides, he still had homework to do.

As he turned and walked up the stairs, the shadows in the room flickered, like a TV between signals. It was only a moment before things returned to normal, like nothing ever happened.

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