"Take it easy Henny", I told him. "We've got it".
"We've got nothing 'til the paper's signed", he said, snapping his newspaper against his leg and looking around frantically, as he often did without reason.

It was a beautiful day, but I'm sure Henderson hadn't noticed, nor would I mention it. Sunny, warm for spring, and somehow, even in the midst of the city, there seemed to be a fresh, clean breeze.
We walked, maybe three blocks, and I was at least enjoying the break. As we turned a corner, up ahead was a small, ranch-style school off to our left with a large green field.

"Henny ...that school?", I said, confused. It was not what I expected to see in the heart of the city. I stopped, looked back, then forward again. Henderson kept walking.

"After lunch Thomas", he was saying. "We need to go over our new work on the Traylor options".

"Traylor, yes, of course", I said, retracting my attention from the school and catching up to him.

We reached the edge of the school's area. Henderson started across the lawn. He was talking options, accounts, and seemed completely abstracted from the school, the field, and the line of children now filing out of the building just a few yards ahead of us.
The kids broke into two teams. I tried to draw my attention back to Henderson, but watched as a small, blonde boy, about nine, brought out a ball, threw it into the divided center of the two teams, and blew a whistle that he quickly jammed in his front pocket as he ran to join his team-mates. All the children sprang to action, shouting, sprinting, laughing, kicking the ball across the field and back.

As Henderson and I walked closer, a goal was made; shouts and groans filled the air, followed by laughter and a continuance of play. The ball veered left, was kicked, and shot right, kicked again. I looked to Henderson to see his reaction, but he was still oblivious to the activity directly in our path.

The ball headed toward us.
"Here it comes.", I thought, "I got it! - I got it!", a small voice called in my head. I kicked it. It flew. "Good one", I thought.
The kids shouted approvingly. They kicked the ball across the center. The other team returned it.
I was on the field now. We rushed them.
"Get it! Get it!", the voice in my head called. The ball was blocked, returned, kicked again. It crossed the field and returned. I signaled the boy to my right. He ran and slid, just missing the ball.
The ball hit our goal. The other team shouted. We groaned.
As a small, brown-haired boy retrieved the ball, I surveyed my team. I stood with six small children, one man in a suit and ...and Henny, who was looking anxiously for the ball to be returned to play. I glanced downfield. Five kids, and four businessmen, all leaning over with their hands on their knees watching for the ball.

The ball was kicked.
We ran. We laughed. The sun was bright; the breeze, clean and soft.

Run. Kick. Block. Run.

The ball, the game, all was the game now. Simple. Fun.
This is life. Right here. Right now.
We were running, and shouting, 'Over here!'. We were kicking.
We were blocking; defending our goal. We kicked to their side.
They scrambled.

"Kick it!", the voice in my head shouted.
"Oh, yes! Goal! One for us! One for us!", the voice chanted in my head as I laughed out loud. I bounced, ready for action, pounding my fist in my palm.
Kick. Pass.
I glanced around. "Okay, ball's headed my way - who's open?". Henny signaled. He stood there bouncing - his paper gone - a look of delight and determination in his eyes.
I kicked to Henny. He kicked, almost to a goal. We all shouted and ran.
The ball was passsed. The guy in the suit on my side kicked.
We ran again.

Suddenly, a bell sounded in the school behind us.
Everyone stopped.
Slowly, we all turned to face the school as it called. The children started towards the building, gradually becoming less silent, laughing again, shouting, skipping, slapping hands.

I looked to Henny. He was bent over, picking up his newspaper. He snapped it on his leg. I stood there, pivoting in my spot. The others in business suits walked on, talking in low voices, carrrying their retrieved briefcases, as though they had merely walked through, just now, across an empty field.

"We need to re-look the Traylor options after lunch Thomas", Henderson hit my arm as he walked past. He stopped for a second, looked straight ahead as though dazed, then turned to me.
"You coming?", he asked.

© J. Simon