Elise Ch. 04

"Elise," Chapter 4 -- no sex

Sandy

Friday finally came. I spent part of the day alternating between feeling like a kid about to go on a shopping spree in a candy store, and like a dirty old man about to prey on an innocent teenage girl. Each time I got to feeling like the latter, I consoled myself that, were I fortunate enough to have a relationship with Elise, whatever might happen would never possibly be anything in which she didn't freely consent to participate.

I love to walk, and it was a short distance to Zirconia High, perhaps a mile or a little more. So I took off in plenty of time to be in my seat for the match that was to start at 4pm. The opponent was a larger school from a neighboring town, and I figured the home squad was probably in for a battle.

Zirconia gym (the "Home of the Zephyrs," as a big red banner at one end proudly proclaimed), was a modern facility, befitting a school that served mostly upper- and upper-middle-class kids. I had been to a couple of basketball games there, so I already knew the lay of the land. The middle sections of the bleachers were pulled out on one side, and I found a seat low enough to observe a player closely, but high enough to see all the action. The gathering of fans was rather sparse, and I figured most of them were probably parents or other family members of girls on either team.

When I entered the gym, I had been given a folded sheet of paper that served as a game program. Elise Madrigal was number 25 in the program, and after she and the rest of her teammates removed their warmups just prior to the beginning of the match, I had my first chance to give her a look.

I liked what I saw from the very beginning. Elise was indeed a "tall drink of water," as they used to put it back in the day. She appeared to be about half legs; thin, but not too thin, and finely and attractively toned and muscular. Her face, arms, and legs were a healthy light tan, appropriate for someone fair-complexioned like her, but who had had a lot of outside activity.

Elise's entire appearance could be described as coltish. She moved with an easy grace, all seriousness, her unblemished face not betraying a lot of emotion at all. Her mouth was thin, her jaw squared; she had a high forehead, with her dirty blonde hair all swept back into a short ponytail. Her entire body was proportional; nothing looked the wrong size. Her breasts, what I could make out, appeared to be modest in size, which was good; she would not have looked right if she had been top-heavy. As is the case with seemingly all women and budding young girls, I was sure she had an opinion of the size and shape of her breasts. It would be interesting if I had the chance to find out how she felt about them.

All told, she would never be seen as a "classic beauty," but both her appearance and her mannerisms were as attractive as hell. She was -- interesting, for lack of a better word. Her form somehow drew my eyes back to her every time I looked away for whatever reason. Even so, looking at the other girls, who all seemed to be nearly as tall or taller than her, it was easy to see how she could be lost in a crowd if she wasn't the object of the viewer's attention.

The match began, and it was clear it would be competitive. There were some outstanding hits and saves on both sides as the girls moved quickly within their respective areas, yelling support to one another as they did. I quickly got into it. I love sports, mostly because I always thought it dramatically personified the physical, mental, and emotional aspects of competition and human endeavor, and those were as noticeable here as they would have been at a college or Olympic competition.

It didn't take me long to realize that Elise was not the most talented player on the court, nor the speediest, nor the highest jumper. But one thing was certain: no one was going to out-hustle her. Her aggressiveness in leaping and diving for loose balls belied her calm nature at other times, and it was a good thing she wore elbow and knee pads, as it seemed she spent half her time sliding across the floor trying to dig out an opponent's shot to save the point for her team. And no one on either team could surpass her skills as a blocker. I saw her go up and successfully challenge any number of attempted kills by an opponent.

The match went back and forth. Zirconia won the first set but dropped the next two, then with a thrilling rally that had the sparse crowd on its feet, finally won the fourth set, forcing a fifth and deciding set. All through this, Elise hustled like a woman possessed, displaying a seemingly boundless reservoir of energy. Her obvious desire to excel and win was easy for me to root for.

Early on in the last set, it looked like the Zephyrs were going to be right in that one until the end, too. However, a tall brunette, who appeared to be their opponent's best server throughout the match, saved her best for last, winning about eight straight service points in the middle of the set to break it open. Shortly after, Zirconia lost the set and the match. Tired and disappointed, Elise and her teammates found enough left in the tank to congratulate the victorious visitors, before shuffling off to the locker room.

I climbed down from the bleachers and went to stand a short distance off the path from the locker room to the gym entrance. I was hoping Elise would be alone, which would make it easy to strike up a brief conversation with her. That was my only goal for this first go-round.

I've never had problems initiating conversations with strangers. Not that I've ever been the life of the party, but I learned early from my parents not to place people on pedestals. I honestly believe that I am not any less worthy than anyone else. Everyone has issues and imperfections of one kind or another; none is necessarily better or worse, only different. So I've always approached others with a mindset of us being equals from the outset of any interaction.

After perhaps 20 minutes, Elise emerged from the locker room, carrying a large duffel bag in one hand. I noticed that she had an adorable dusting of very light freckles on her upper cheeks, a detail that I hadn't seen from a distance. I love freckles on a woman, although I'm aware many of them are very insecure about them and try to cover them up as best they can. Beth hadn't had them, although she had other marks and imperfections on her body, each and every one of which I came to know and love intimately.

Elise's nose and mouth were perfectly suited to the rest of her, small and unobtrusive. Her eyes were an extremely attractive mix of hazel and light green, and I had to concentrate to keep from staring too long at those or any other of her features. The last thing I wanted was to be considered a creep by this girl, particularly before I introduced myself to her.

She was in what I assumed were her school clothes, and the way she was dressed immediately got my attention. Her clothing was unlike anything I had seen on any of the other girls leaving the gym. She had on a classic white blouse and a fashionable dark red skirt, cut just above her knees. It honestly looked more like a private school uniform, than something a public school girl, even a well-heeled one, would be wearing. She had a style about her that appealed to someone of a past generation like me, and I realized she wasn't even trying, it just seemed to come naturally with her look and what she was wearing. I again felt somehow drawn to her. I knew at that moment she was different from any other girl I was likely to see there that day.

When she was close to passing my position, I stepped to her and introduced myself. "Elise, isn't it?"

She looked at me a little guardedly. "Yes, sir. Do I know you?"

***************

Elise

I'm so used to walking out of the gym after games or practices, alone, head down, just thinking and reflecting in my own little world, that the mention of my name by anyone, especially a male voice, startled me.

I looked up and saw a middle-aged guy approaching me. Well, maybe a bit older than middle-aged. Maybe about my height or a bit taller, he had an open, friendly face, a nicely shaped goatee, and some gray mixed in with his brown hair. He seemed very confident, and the fact that he seemed so welcoming, and made eye contact so easily, caused me to relax a bit. "Yes sir. Do I know you?"

"No -- not yet at least. I'm Sandy. Just a retired guy who likes to go out and watch interesting sporting events on my spare time."

He continued, "And I must say, I enjoyed the match today, as well as your performance in it. All except the outcome, that is."

I relaxed a bit more, but I could feel myself frown. "We should have won. I think we were better than them."

As we started walking slowly toward the door, he responded "I won't argue with that. With a couple of extra breaks, you might well have won. But regardless of that, and even though you lost, the thing I loved was that you girls gave your absolute maximum effort, left it all on the court. And you, girl, were flying around, hustling even more than anyone else out there. I thoroughly enjoyed watching your max effort on display."

I could feel myself blushing a bit at that. I don't often receive compliments, and I was still trying to teach myself how to accept them with grace. "Thank you, Mr. -- pardon me, but what did you say your name was?"

"My actual name is Trevor Sandifer, but everyone calls me 'Sandy', and I'd like it if you would, too."

I smiled and said, "OK Sandy. I can do that. Do you often come to our games? I don't think I've ever seen you at one."

"No, this is the first one. I just moved here last year, and only realized it was volleyball season earlier this week." We approached the front of the school, and I realized we had passed the parking lot on the way, so I guessed he was walking as well, rather than driving. At least I hoped so, hoped that he wasn't one of those stalkers or predators I always read about. Not that I was overly concerned -- I thought I could take care of myself. He added "But you can be sure I'll be back for more games. You guys really put on a good show today."

As we turned down the sidewalk going away from the school, I realized I was weary, not only from the exertion of a long, tense game, but from the fact that we'd just lost in what was to me a very dispiriting fashion. I responded, "We didn't play as well as we could today. That's what's so disappointing. I know we can play better... that I can play better. I am such a perfectionist, and so competitive. I just simply want to win everything I try, and it eats at me a little when I can't."

"You know, Elise -- that's a lovely name, by the way --," I dipped my head slightly in recognition, "I know you just met me, and I don't know how much stock you'll put in what I say, but I think that sometimes, and particularly after a close game like that, one that could have gone either way, we often don't give the other team enough credit."

"Huh," I responded. Coming from me, it sounded almost like a snort.

"No, really. Let me explain. You're naturally going to focus on your and your team's performance, mostly because that's the only part of it you can control. And there's nothing wrong with that. In fact, coaches are the worst of all at that."

I guffawed at that. "Tell me about it. Coach Nicholson rides us hard after every loss. I think sometimes it's a bit TOO hard for some of my teammates. But it doesn't bother me much, because honestly, no matter how hard Coach judges me, she can't be any harder on me than I am on myself. I'm my own harshest critic -- always have been since I can remember."

Sandy countered, "And Elise, there's nothing wrong with that -- as long as your expectations of yourself aren't too unreasonable. If they are, you're just setting yourself up to fall short of them all the time, and you'll always be disappointed, and you'll start to feel bad about yourself, where it's not really deserved. You get that?"

I'd heard this a few times from counselors, and had tried to keep this in mind, mostly without success, I was afraid. "Yes sir, I do. But it's very hard sometimes for me to not have those expectations. I have a lot of ability -- I know I do -- and I want to make the most of what I've been given, know what I'm sayin'?"

"Of course, dear. And you're absolutely right in trying to reach your potential whenever you can. But you're also only human. All of us need to give ourselves a break every once in a while. We're never going to win every time. Part of maturity is learning how to gracefully accept the times that, despite our absolute best efforts, we fall a little short."

I considered this for a few seconds. Somehow, when this older man said it, it was a little more believable than when my counselors said it. Maybe I thought they were saying it because they were supposed to, or their manuals told them it was the right thing to say. But something about the way Sandy said it led me to believe that maybe he'd learned it from his own experience.

He went on. "Like today. Zirconia wasn't the only team on the court today. There was another talented team out there as well. A team with girls as big and as athletic as yours. And their play -- something you can't control -- had an awful lot to do with the fact they won. You can't forget that. Sometimes you just gotta give the opposition some props, and just move on to your next challenge."

I sighed heavily, trying to release some stress. "You're right, of course. But it's just so f--... so effing hard to remember that, when you try so hard, compete like I do, but are disappointed in the end." At that point, I had to admit I was feeling a little sorry for myself.

He seemed to quickly pick up on that, and he seemed to have the right words for the occasion. "I guess, young lady, another thing to remember is to keep in perspective just how important in the scheme of things a loss like today's is. I'm certainly not saying it was nothing, but -- it was an early-season match, not even a conference opponent. It's not as important as, say, doing well in all your classes, getting in the right college, getting a good job you'll enjoy, marrying the right guy, heck, just being a good person -- any of those kinds of things, now is it?"

I couldn't help but chuckle at that. "Of course that's true, sir -- er, Sandy."

During this time, we had walked three or four blocks, and suddenly as we crossed a street, Sandy stopped and turned to face me.

"Well, Miss Elise, here's where I get off. That," as he pointed to his left, "is my way home. So I'll say it's been very nice making your acquaintance, dear. I'm definitely coming to some more games, and I hope to be able to talk to you some more then. I've found it very interesting." He held out his hand to me.

I smiled and accepted his hand for a brief shake, saying "It has been for me, too. You've given me a couple of things to think about. I'll be seeing you around, Sandy."

"OK, that's a deal. You take care, sweetie." And with that he put his hand up in a small good-bye gesture, turned, and headed for home. I thought I needed to add something, so when he'd walked a few feet, I called, "And Sandy?"

He turned back, eyes raised in curiosity.

I mustered up all the confidence I could manage in my voice, telling him, "We're going to win for you next time."

He smiled broadly, gave me a big thumbs-up, and turned back around to continue on his way. I started again toward home, still considering the whole idea of keeping things in their proper perspective, not getting so bent out of shape about something that was going to be pretty insignificant in my life as a whole. I thought about that the rest of the way home.