How hard it is to hit one of those things? They float straight towards you. You’d have to be an idiot to miss it. I really don’t see what’s the big deal about this sport anyways. Who made this a sport? It seems so… lackluster. “Isn’t this so exciting!?” My mom screeches into my ear, nearly shoving me off the bleacher. “It’s a shame your father couldn’t make it, this game would have him on the edge of his seat.”
“Yeah… sure would.” It really is a shame he couldn’t make it. He’s the one who forced me here in the first place, but all of a sudden, he has “work” to do. With how empty these bleachers are, there’s space for him and his entire construction crew… And maybe even the equipment too. “Uh… what’s this sport called again?”
“It’s called badminton! How do you not know that? Me and your father watch it all the time. We’re so lucky that you left the flyers for the game out your bag, or else we would’ve missed it.”
“I don’t mean to be disrespectful, but badminton just looks like Tennis for babies.” My mother’s eyes widened, and she looked over me with a weird glint in her eye.
“Tennis for babies…? Well, I guess I’m the biggest baby you’ve ever seen!” With no warning, she latches on to me and starts squeezing the life out of me. I don’t know if it’s out of love or anger.
“Okay! Okay! It’s for adults! Let go of me!”
“Hey!” A voice from below brings my mother’s fondling to an end. “Can you stop screaming up there? Can’t you see we’re trying to play a game here?” The man yells from the court. We’re too high up to get a good look at his face, but the silence that followed afterward was enough to leave me embarrassed.
“Oh, sorry! I can get carried away at these sorts of events.”
“Don’t get too upset that you haven’t scored a single point, back when I first played, I was a disaster just like you!”
“Mom!” I’m so glad I can’t see that dude’s face right now. I can tell that he’s staring a hole straight through our heads right now. The silence is gripping my neck, and I wish it could choke me out to get me out of this situation sooner.
Why did I have to leave the flyer on the table!? I could’ve put it somewhere more practical, like the garbage, but no. “This is why I don’t tell you about these events mom. You tend to get ahead of yourself.”
“Don’t get mad at me because I know how to root for the home team. Do you want me to lie by telling him that he’s good?”
“Stop being so loud!” I scream in a failed whisper.
“Okay fine, but don’t get mad at me when he loses because of your lack of spirit. Continue!” My mother screeches, waving her hand at the Badminton player. He doesn’t move. No one on the court is moving.
Can time really freeze because of embarrassment or is that dude that angry? Shouldn’t the referee be doing something? Give him a foul, disqualification… force him to play, or whatever…? “Mom, he’s still staring.”
“I can see that honey.” He still isn’t moving. No one is moving. There’s no way time actually stopped because of how embarrassing my mom is…Well now that I think about it…
“God damn it!” He screams, chucking his racket halfway across the court. Is… that a part of the rules? It’s probably not a part of the rules. “No one ever asked you! You… crazy-ass woman!” Before my mother gets a chance to respond, he storms off the court, giving his opponent the victory.
“Crazy ass woman…. I’ve been called worse, but I give him the credit for being bold enough to yell it to a stranger.” My mother says, shrugging off the situation.
“Mom, you know how impressed I always am with your positivity, but this is why I don’t ever invite you and dad anywhere! You two never know when you’re crossing the line.”
“You’re being ridiculous! How was I crossing the line? All I did was tell him that he was a disaster on the court. Everyone could see it.”
“Just because it’s obvious doesn’t mean you say it out loud. Haven’t you ever heard of kicking someone when they’re down?”
“If someone is getting kicked while they’re down then it’s up to them to get up and defend themselves. Don’t blame me because he’s weak-willed.”
“Ugh! This is the problem with you. You rile people up and then blame them when they get angry or upset. What kind of person does that? You somehow manage to escalate a situation that doesn’t even exist.”
“Escalate! Oh, you’re being so ridiculous! I didn’t rile anybody up at all. That boy just had no self-control. I get insulted every day, and so you do, but do we ever lash out like that? Of course not. Because we’re able to control ourselves.”
“Ah-ha! So, you admit that you insulted him!”
“Wh—what!? I never insulted him, he’s just weak-willed.”
“He’s weak-willed? So, if I tell you that you’re looking a bit… husky, and you get upset, doesn’t that mean you’re weak-willed too?”
“Husky? What do you mean… husky?”
“You know what I mean by husky, and I know you can feel it too.” I’m going to lengths that I never knew I could reach in this conversation but getting my point across is my number one priority. My mother gives me a look construed with anger, but she’s trying to hide it, knowing that if she lets it out, it’ll do nothing but prove me right about everything I said.
“What. Do you mean… by… husky?” She’s giving me the stink eye. Not any stink eye. A stink eye imbued with parental energy. A stink eye that any sensible child would be wise enough to fear, but I’ve gained far too much momentum to let my nerves get to me now.
“You. Know. What. I. Mean.”
“Tell me what you mean…”
“Fat!” As if she was punched in the face, my mother flinches back, perching her lips up and shutting her eyes closed. She breathes with a heavy chest and returns to earth.
“O-oh, fat? That’s a fair… analysis to make. I should lay off those burritos. And I there was also that party last week that may have thrown me… a little off balance…” She manages to spit all of that out with an awkward chuckle.
“Your hair is looking a bit damaged too. I think you should cut it all off and start from—”
“Okay! I won’t go to any more of your sporting events! In case you haven’t noticed, everyone has already left the stadium and we’re the only ones left, just yelling at each other.”
“Nobody was here in the first place, so you could’ve fooled me—”
“Let’s just go!” My mother groans, leaving me with a good taste in my mouth. I don’t tell her what annoys her about me enough. Maybe if I speak up more often, she’ll be less of a nuisance in public. But in reality, that’ll take years of nagging her into the ground, and I’ll either be dead from talking back to her so much, or I’ll become her.
I’ll just make sure she stays home. That’s my best bet.
Hi! I post on this website for a chance to share my stories with the world. I’ve been writing for the past 6 years, learning more about creative writing to better my writing skills. My hope is to make a lot of friends here and grow as a writer. Feel free to reach out to me if you’d like.