i miss writing this.

Excerpt from Open and Closure (Chapter 5):

*Word of caution: Very long.

     I hate P.E. I really do. You do not get fitter taking P.E., nor is it particularly enjoyable. In middle school, we even had a creepy male coach that would stand by the doorway of the girls' locker room and (presumably) peek in every time the door swung open and shut, claiming to need to talk to one of the female coaches. After I went onto high school, I heard he got fired for sexually assaulting a cheerleader. Go figure. But what I remember from my semester in seventh grade is being pelted with a plastic ball, and then viciously attacked in the face with a pickle ball racket. Pickle ball is an obscene sport that involves a tennis-like layout, with wooden paddles that are somewhere between ping pong paddles and badminton rackets in size, and a plastic ball that has holes in it, like one of those baby toys that they like to chew on when they're teething.

    We were all playing pickle ball in the gym, and the girls did not really care for the sport, save for a few tennis fanatics. The guys were getting into it a bit, and I was wary of the doubles game that was occurring next to my group. Vidhya was just not that good at hitting anything, even worse than me - still isn't - and she happened to hit it a bit too far out of the 'court.' I went to go retrieve it, and on the way back, I accidentally got caught in the middle of the ominous doubles game. In a moment of frightened hesitation, the velocitified pickle ball hit me squarely on the head, while the guy that was trying to hit said ball back to the hitter jumped out to reach it and ended up smacking me in the chin with it. Of course, this not only shocked me out of my wits, it also hurt horribly. I couldn't help myself when tears sprang to my eyes out of sheer pain. The guy who had hit the ball initially doubled up in laughter, while the guy with the racket, Win, looked at me with a mix of amusement and horror. The latter mostly came from the fact that the part of my chin which he had slaughtered was now bleeding profusely. The creep coach ordered him to take me to the clinic, which I was not happy with, because I didn't want anything to do with this irresponsible jerk.

   "Hey, look, I'm really sorry. I didn't mean to hit you."

   I tried to ignore him on the way there, tears still fresh in my eyes. If I spoke, my tears would just bubble over the crevices of my eyes and all hell would break loose in front of this random white kid I didn't even know. Why did this have to happen to me, the new girl? I thought I was doing so well, not tripping in the hallways or spilling a lunch tray all over myself.

   We reached the clinic, and the nurse gasped at the amount of blood on my chin and the dabbles of blood on my shirt.

   "Goodness, what happened to you, sweetheart?"

   I couldn't bring myself to say anything; it was just too embarrassing. I felt the salt water of my tears braise the walls of my constricted throat.

   "I accidentally hit her in the face with a pickle ball racket." Way to be specific.

   "Goodness, let me take a look at you." She pulled out some gauze and dabbed at my chin, soaking up the blood. I made a face because it hurt.

   "That's attractive." My head didn't move because it was caught between the hands of the nurse, but my eyes immediately zoomed towards his half-concerned, half-disgusted, half-bemused face.

   "What did you say?"

   He seemed surprised at my first words. "I'm just saying, it looks painful."

   "No thanks to you."

   "I know." He had the audacity to grin. Horrible kid.

   "Dear, could you make a pack of ice from the mini plastic bags and the ice box over there?"

   "Of course." He walked over to the ice box, pretended to waft the non-existent scent of the ice, and looked at me. "How many cubes would you like?"

   "Whatever," I mumbled. I was in no mood to humor him. The nurse cleaned my chin wound with some nasty burning rubbing alcohol and applied a Band-Aid to the spot.

   "I'm just glad the cut wasn't deep enough to make you go to the emergency room." I felt myself go pale - the emergency room? I, who has never broken a bone, sprained an ankle, or eaten anything I should not have, needs to go to the emergency room for a stupid chin cut?

   "Would they have signed your chin band-aid?" the kid asked. I was getting exasperated.

   "Can I just get my ice pack please?"

   "Well, I said that I'm sorry. No need to be so bitter."

   "You are impossible." He handed me the ice pack cheerfully, no traces of worry or shock on his face anymore.

   "Don't bother her, Win," the nurse chastised. "You've caused her enough grief in one day."

   "It was seriously all Zach's fault. Really." He grabbed two Dum-Dums out of the cup on the nurse's desk. "Pass for class?"

   "You've still got ten minutes left in the period. I think you'll be fine." She gave me a sympathetic look before ushering us out.

   He handed me the butterscotch Dum-Dum. "I'm not a big fan of butterscotch, I hope you don't mind." I let him stay there, holding his hand out with the lollipop. I didn't feel like talking to him. "Or not." He pocketed the lollipop. "Do you not like butterscotch either?" Silence. He stopped me by grabbing my wrist. I looked at him, truly looked, for the first time. He had  this moppy sandy hair and green eyes, a fair bit taller than me with this boyish grin on his face. Long, lanky, but with this air that made him a cross between a Jane Austen male character and Holden Caulfield. A weird combination, but it worked for him.

   "I'm Win. Win Terry."

   "Pleasure to meet you." I bit my words.

   "Don't sound too pleased to meet me. I said I was sorry about the whole incident. I really am. I don't like injuring other people physically, mentally, emotionally. I'm a lover, not a fighter." He wiggled his eyebrows at me for the first time. "Do I not get a name?"

   "No, I don't want you going around telling everyone how you annihilated some Asian girl's face."

   He snorted. "I wouldn't say 'annihilated.' It's just your chin."

   "Well, you and the other boy made quite the duo."

   "Who, Zach? He's just an idiot."

   "Look, I'm not in the mood to talk. Can we enter the gym separately?"

   "Why?"

   I let out an aggravated sigh. "You know, forget it. I need to go wash out my shirt anyway."

   "Do you need help?"

   I raised my eyebrow. What the hell?

   He grinned again. "Just wondering." I headed towards the girls' locker room. "I guess I'll catch you again, Ms. C. Kim."

........

   Things with Win were always like the pickle ball that left a dent in my head - fast, shocking, and unforgettable. He never excused himself for being who he was, but apologized both casually and seriously like a pro, so much so that we hardly ever got in fights because I learned to be more forgiving, less uptight. He was very smart, very curious, very perceptive, very creative, very specific. He knew how to read my tangled-up emotions and decipher my tangled-up thoughts and provide clear-cut advice...for the most part. He did like to throw in the occasional cryptic metaphors that would have me reeling for a while. He knew what pushed my buttons and would push them just enough to have the pleasure of seeing me all riled up and yet not have me explode and terminate our friendship. In the beginning, he wasn't quite so good yet, so there were times when I would nearly end it. But in the end, he was just a sweet, lovable persona with a touch of cynicism and darkness. He was a very layered person.