Millie Noe has tennis elbow.
And that’s weird, because, she hasn’t held onto a racket, since she was a kid. Even then, she did not play the formal game, with love this and love that. She batted the ball against the backboard or else bounced it over the net to her girlfriend. It was steamy out there on the tar. And it was no fun chasing after the ball. Especially when, just as she would be closing in on it, it would slip under the chain link fence. And then of course, it would roll to a stop, an inch beyond her reach. Naturally, she would stretch out on her stomach and try with all of her might to lure it back. But, if she did manage to brush it with the tip of her racket, she would inevitably push it further out. Once that happened, the only way to retrieve the damn thing, was to go all the way to a corner of the court and out the gate.
And it was just as excruciating for her to be standing on the black, lava, watching the same tennis ball retrieval operation, of her partner.
That is why she and her friend did not try to hit it just inside the white line, in the far corner of each other’s court. As Millie would gently tap the lime-green ball, she would think, “Please God, do not let her miss it. I do not want to have to kill her.”
Tennis was just not her game.
I suppose that one of these days, I. me, Millie Noe, should go to the doctor and have this elbow, that screams bloody murder, just because I squeeze shampoo into my palm, looked at.
But, doctors are so annoying.
I know, I know. I am being insensitive. They took a vow after all, to save lives. And they work very, very, hard to get that degree. But, does that give them the right to put a person on a scale?
He was five. He had freckles and he liked to climb trees.
I was five. I didn’t have any freckles. And I liked to climb trees too.
He was going to be a fireman and I was leaning towards becoming an astronaut.
We both liked boys and we were planning to marry and raise thirteen of them.
His name was Danny.
No. Not you, Danny.
And Danny was REALLY funny.
He was the first and only mime I have ever known. He could hold a nonexistent needle in one hand and no thread in the other and pull that invisible string through that imaginary teeny-tiny hole in that needle and then stick the sharp end of that fake thing into the outside of one nostril and then pull it through his nose and then out the other side of his other nostril. Then he would take what you could almost see in each hand and he’d pull it back and forth and back and forth and those nostrils of his would flare out one at a time, following whatever direction he pulled that nothing in.