Luke wandered through Central Park, the horse-drawn carriages ferrying canoodling couples passing by every so often. He found himself by the zoo and idly watched the animals, most of whom were sleeping in the shade, much to the displeasure of the children trying to rouse them into activity.
He left the park and continued walking south, eventually finding himself in the Village as evening descended. It was Saturday night and the streets were bustling. He walked by countless restaurants with tiny patios that crowded the sidewalk, just feet from the bags of garbage that piled up endlessly in the city. Sweat dripped down the small of his back and wet the band of his cap.
The funky lamps that lit Washington Square Park buzzed with insects as he passed. NYU students and a wide variety of other people lounged about—talking, walking dogs, playing cards. A trio of men with a guitar sang Spanish melodies that he couldn’t understand but liked the sound of anyway.
He stopped by the chess tables, which sat underneath signs advising against any sort of betting. Luke grinned as he noticed money changing hands near one table. Although for all he knew, it was a drug deal.
The U.S. Open was the last Grand Slam of the season, starting the week before Labor Day and continuing for two weeks, the last gasp of summer. As usual, the humidity in the city was overpowering, day and night. As Luke waited for the 7 train back to Flushing, sweat dripped down his face and his shirt stuck to him. The subway platform was a good ten degrees hotter than the street above and felt like an oven.
Rats scurried back and forth on the track, and a busker played a guitar and sang about lost love. Luke wished he didn’t understand the lyrics and wandered farther down the platform, away from the music, regretting his decision not to take a cab. He didn’t need the reminder of what he’d lost. He’d never told Jesse and hadn’t really admitted it to himself, but if Luke was being honest, he knew the truth.
He knew he loved Jesse.
The train arrived and the doors opened with a blast of frigid air that felt like heaven. Luke chose a seat and pulled his cap a little lower on his head. He wasn’t in the mood for any giggling schoolgirls to ask for his autograph. He had to rest up for his first-round match, playing whoever had gotten through qualifying in his portion of the draw. The lower-ranked players weren’t automatically able to play in the tournament and had to compete in qualifying rounds first.
As the train rattled its way towards Queens, Luke’s mind inevitably returned to the subject he’d been trying to avoid. He couldn’t stop thinking of Jesse, couldn’t stop missing him. He’d spent the morning at the Met trying to lose himself in art and history, but it was no use. It seemed like everything these days made him think of Jesse.
He sometimes pulled up Jesse’s number on his cell phone, looked at the digits and ran his finger over the call button. But he never pushed it.
At his hotel, Luke ignored his messages and stretched out on the bed, the air conditioning cranked up. He wasn’t sure where Jesse was staying, but he liked to think that he was just a floor or two away. That Jesse was thinking of him, too.
“Jesus!” Luke shook his head. Next he’d be writing poems in his diary or composing sappy love songs. He popped a sleeping pill and got into bed, willing his mind to turn off.
Instead, he dreamt of running with Jesse on the beach, sand flying behind them, the water cool on their feet. He tripped, stumbling to the sand. He kept trying to get up, but his leg didn’t quite work. He seemed to be in a perpetual loop, unable to rise and still not sitting comfortably. When a noise in the hall woke him, Luke lay awake, unsettled.
The next morning he felt sluggish and continually a step behind. He still pulled out an easy victory against the young qualifier, years of experience coming into play as he went through the motions.
On his way through the players’ lounge, Stein Koehler greeted him with a smile and a gleam in his eyes that put Luke immediately on edge.
“Great match today, Luke.”
“Thanks,” Luke said, a fake smile pasted on his face.
“Your next match should be…interesting.” With another smile, Koehler was gone, his hangers-on in his wake.
Outside in the main lobby, a huge board listed all the players in the draw and kept track of how the tournament progressed. Luke had been so preoccupied that he hadn’t checked who his second-round opponent would be. He scanned the board quickly, finding his own name in a few seconds. In another second, his stomach plunged. He knew the name of his next opponent very well.