#leefferson

Charles Lee had played tennis since he was ten years old, always preferring it over everything that the other boys liked to do. When summer and spring rolled around, he would head to the little tot’s tennis court and school all the girls there. When fall and winter rolled around he would bundle up in a few layers of coats and scarves, go outside, and bounce a tennis ball against the wall. Or he would go inside and watch tennis videos.

Tennis was his stress reliever. When he got into high school he hid it a little more and his anger unleashed dramatically. But then once he was in college, he was at the court every day. He was undefeated by everybody, and now here he was.

He was standing on one of the most famous tennis courts of all time in the United States. The USTA Billie Jean King National Tennis Center in Queens, New York City. He felt alive as he walked in there at 5:30 in the morning. He was wearing a black muscle tee, some sweatpants with his navy blue tennis shorts under them, navy blue and black nike shoes, tall black socks, and a sweatband around his forehead. He set his bag down on the ground and pulled out his tennis racket, matching his outfit.

Charles took a deep breath and got out his container of tennis balls. He pulled one out, set the container back in the bag, and walked over to a wall. For the next hour or so he practiced, hitting the tennis ball against the wall and letting his brain slowly go numb from the repetitive sound.

But his peace was interrupted suddenly, and the air got thin. Charles whipped around and felt his heart stop.

He had gotten so far in this game, and was now a tennis champion in the United States. Charles planned on getting even farther too. He wanted to be the best in the world. But there was one other person in the United States that he had to get past, and he didn’t think he would be seeing him until Nationals.

Thomas Jefferson. A rich, pretentious fucking bitch. Some asshole who did tennis ever since he was in middle school and had a natural talent for it. Charles had admired him when growing up, but had then slowly realized that if he was going to succeed in this game, he would have to drag him into the ground. Lee stopped bouncing the tennis ball and shot the other man a glare. Jefferson smirked and walked over to the bench. He set down his water and his bag, taking off his jacket and folding it neatly. It was a dark magenta color, his signature color.

He spoke, “I didn’t think a runt of the litter tennis player like you would be up this early in the morning.” Charles rolled his eyes and walked over, crossing his arms.

“Yeah, well I didn’t think pretentious bitches like you could afford to lose so much beauty sleep.” Charles snapped.

“Um excuse you,” Jefferson scoffed, “I get plenty of beauty sleep. Have you seen this hair? These eyes? This smile?”

“Yes,” Charles sighed, “To which I say again, I didn’t know an ugly bitch like you could afford to lose beauty sleep. You’ll need all the beauty you can get so then at least you’ll look pretty when I mop the floor with your sorry ass.” Thomas huffed and took his sweats off. Charles took note of the fact that Thomas shaved his legs. That seemed odd to him for some reason, even though he shaved his legs as well. He was self conscious about them for some reason.

Thomas snapped, “Just don’t get in my way while I practice, ratchet ass thot.” Charles eyes went wide and he huffed. He was about to march over and slap the five o'clock shadow off of the southerner, but he felt the tennis ball in his hand. He couldn’t afford publicity like that, not before nationals.

Charles picked up his racket and continued practicing against the wall, trying to ignore Jefferson’s humming. But the sounds couldn’t stop interfering with each other, and Lee could feel himself losing his patience. Finally, after a few more minutes of listening to the noise around him, he snapped, “You aren’t going to win you know. We both know who’s really going to make it to the world tour.”

Thomas sighed and shook his head. “Can we both just practice in silence, and besides, White people don’t have to win and dominate at every single goddamn thing.” Lee stopped, mid hit of the tennis ball. It went past him, bouncing across the court and then rolling to a stop. Charles stared at the wall in confusion, like he had no idea what just happened within the past five minutes.

Lee slowly straightened his back and muttered, “Do you seriously think I’m white?” Thomas caught his bright pink tennis ball and smirked.

“Uh, you look pretty white to me, buddy.” He snickered, tossing it at the wall again. Charles slowly walked to the other side of the court and picked up his tennis ball.

He suddenly shouted, “I’m colombian, you fucking dumbass! God you are so fucking dense you stupid, pretentious fucking prick! How can a human being even be this retarded!” Thomas stood where he was, still practicing, and laughing his ass off. Seeing his opponent get this pissed off was his goal, and now he could start phase two of his pre game plan.

“Alright, tell you what, shorty. I’ll apologize if you beat me in a game of tennis.” Thomas bribed, catching his tennis ball once again and letting it drop to the ground. He walked over to Charles and put a hand out. “Promise.” Charles glared up at him and spit in his hand before shaking Thomas’s. Jefferson cringed and gagged dramatically.

“Promise.” Charles snapped before pulling his hand away and walking to the other end of the court with his racket. “Is that what you look like when you’re choking on your daddy’s cock, mother fucker?” Thomas rolled his eyes.

He answered politely, “I am currently single.” Charles laughed.

“Not surprised,” He teased before hitting the tennis ball and sending it to Thomas’ side at almost lightning speed. Jefferson reacted quickly, hitting it back in almost a perfect hit. They went back and forth like this, suddenly in full focus at the game and their banter ending in silence. Lee was thankful he got the last word before their game started. But now he had to beat him through action, not through word. Charles understood this well, and made sure to hit Jefferson withe everything he had,

Jefferson on the other hand had a different strategy. He went easy on Charles, only giving half of what he could really do. But he still gave enough effort that Lee wasn’t beating him. He saw that Charles was loosening up, letting his guard down at seeing how easy Jefferson was to go against. And right when the perfect moment came, Jefferson striked.

He slammed the racket against the ball, sending it flying in a perfect hit, Charles didn’t have enough time to hit it and it missed, ruining the shot. Thomas got one point. He was winning. Charles growled, feeling his anger rise and his blood boil. Jefferson did this over and over until him and Lee were in a tie. The next point would be given to the winner of the game, and Lee was playing like his life depended on it.

Jefferson hit the ball, not even a striking move. He was still going through the easy part of his strategy, not even working a lot to beat Charles at this point in time. But somehow, Lee didn’t hit it in time. It didn’t hit the racket, just by a few inches. Lee’s eyes widened as he hit the ground, skinning his arm on the rough hard black top of the tennis court. Jefferson drooped and put his hands on his knees, panting with exhaustion laced in every breath.

Thomas managed to get out, “Damn! You’re pretty good for some white, trash talking, troll huh! I’m surprised you even l-lasted that long!” Lee was on his hands and knees, staring at the ground beneath him in disbelief, there was a bit of blood on the ground where his arm had skid across it. He could feel the stinging sensation on his arm, and knew that he would need to get it bandaged and disinfected later. He could hear his opponent, the winner, talking and laughing to himself about his win.

It struck Lee very subtly, but somehow not subtle at all, that he lost. He had just lost a match against Thomas Jefferson, his arch rival. And if he lost this match because he got angry and stupid, who was to say the same thing wouldn’t happen next time? Charles felt that feeling, That god awful feeling that you got when everything crashed and burned and flooded and died.

His brain went haywire, seeming to turn into a hurricane of racing thoughts. His heart ached, and fear and hopelessness seemed to start drifting into his veins and his lungs. His bones felt weak. His body was sore. Charles felt a sob escaped him as he slowly got off the ground and stood up, holding his arm in pain.

Thomas’ ears picked up the sob like a mother to her young. He frowned at the sight of his opponent and rushed over after grabbing a towel from his bag. Charles was numb and out of mind, not even paying attention to the man in front of him. Thomas began dabbing at the blood, wiping it away with the towel. Charles felt hot tears roll down his cheek and drip silently to the ground. He sobbed again, blinking and letting more tears fall.

“Hey, come on, it’s okay. You sensitive to pain or something like that?” Thomas asked softly, using the clean end of the towel to wipe Lee’s tears away. Charles didn’t answer and just sobbed harder. His thoughts only seemed to go by faster, clouding any sense of proper thought structure he had. His hands were shaking so much and he felt like he was going to collapse. Charles suddenly couldn’t remember the last time he lost a match….

He had never lost a match before... With anybody... 

Charles felt like he couldn’t breath. Thomas asked quietly, “Are you having a panic attack? Can I use your phone to call somebody close to you?” He led Charles to the bench and sat him down, carefully walking to the opponent’s bag. Lee could only hear the ringing in his ears and his heart beating, but Thomas’ voice was there too, soft and sweet to his ears. Jefferson found Lee’s phone in Lee’s bag only for there to be a password. He sighed and walked back over to Lee. he sat next to him and faced him.

“I’m gonna stay here until you’re okay, alright? You may be my enemy after today, but right now you’re a human being. A colombian human being who kicks ass at tennis and might just win the nationals in a few days. You were so amazing on the court, dude. You listening?” Thomas smiled, moving a few strands of Lee’s hair from his eyes. Slowly but surely, Charles was starting to breath normally again and he could feel his numbness going away. The shards of glass were starting to piece back together in his head, and he could feel his thought slowing down. His heart was being sewed back up, but it would surely be broken again some other day and in a much easier way. His bones got strong again, and the soreness faded away.

Charles mumbled, “Thank you.” Thomas smiled and ruffled his hair.

“It’s alright… I’m Thomas, I think we got off on the wrong side of the court.”

“I’m… I’m Charles. We d-definitely got off on the wrong side of the court.”

Jefferson stood up and picked up a pen from his bag. He took Lee’s hand and scribbled his number on Lee’s wrist and explained, “If you ever feel shitty like this again, call me okay?” He packed up his things and walked to the door, panting a little still from the game. Charles watched Thomas go, nodding a little as he left.

Lee looked around and then at the phone number on his hand. There was a little heart there too, small and cute. Lee blushed and covered his face with both hands.