Kick To The Heart

“Heeeey, dummy!” a voice calls out.

“Oh no, oh no, no, no…” a short boy in a blue cap whispers, looking for somewhere to hide.

“I know you’re around here somewhere~!” the other boy calls out tauntingly.

The blue cap boy quickly runs into the boy’s bathroom. There’s a hole in the wall behind the sink. Most kids wouldn’t be able to fit here, but this boy is very short. He squiggles into the hole, just out of sight. Nobody would see him at first glance. The other boy barges into the boy’s bathroom, looking back and forwards.

“Grrrr, when I find you, James… I swear! I’m going to rip your intestines out and wrap you up in a big sticky ball! Nobody will even recognize you when I’m done with you!” the other boy yells.

James remains hidden in the hole in the wall. The other boy checks every stall, but sees no sign of the short boy. The school bell rings and the bully gives up to head to class. Still, though, James remains hidden in the wall for a short time longer.

“One of these days,” a short boy wearing a blue baseball cap says to no one in particular. “One of these days, I’ll become a star. I just know it!”

Despite the baseball cap, it would appear the boy is playing soccer. His name is James. James Botherson. He’s just been eliminated from the soccer team trial meet without having been given a chance to show off his talents.

James groans in annoyance. He kicks his soccer ball and it flies, hits the side of his house, and bounces back. The window of the house opens slowly. From inside, his mom peers out.

“Hey, we’ve talked about this. No kicking the side of the house! If you keep doing that, I’m going to confiscate your soccer ball!” the mom warns, glaring in warning.

“Sorry. I’m just… Frustrated…” James says with a heavy sigh.

“I know you are. I’m sorry the team didn’t want you, but kicking the house won’t change anything,” the mom says, lifting one palm to the sky pointlessly, thinking she’s expressing something.

“It’s just not fair! I’ve been practicing for years! Why can’t I be on the team?!” James whines and stomps his foot.

“Maybe next year they will let you on the team. You haven’t even had your growth spurt yet…”

“Which means I can easily weasel around the other players and steal the ball! I’m PERFECT for the team! Why can’t they see?!” James cries out in frustration, squeezing his eyes as tightly shut as his fists.

“They can’t see you because you’re too short,” the mom jokes with a chuckle. “You haven’t grown since you were 9. And you’re 15 now…”

“I knooooow,” James whines and rolls his eyes.

“Maybe there’s something wrong with you. Maybe you should have eaten more vegetables,” the mother suggests, again with the palm to the sky motion.

“Well, too late now!” James says and runs a few laps around the front yard with his arms out to the sides.

“You use all your energy running around and not on growing taller,” the mom adds, still watching her son.

“One of these days… I tell you…” James says, finally settling down.

“Sure, maybe,” the mom says, clicking her tongue. “Come inside and get some food.”

“Okaaaaay, fine…” James says, grabbing his soccer ball and coming inside.

“I made ham and cheese sandwiches, your favorite,” the mom says, setting a plate with a sandwich down on the table.

“Nuh-uh! My favorite is chicken nuggets!” James says with a huff.

“That’s not a sandwich,” the mom points out without hesitating.

“It could be!” James argues, grabbing his sandwich.

“Did you wash your hands?” the mom asks, glancing at James’ tiny little hands as he brings the sandwich to his mouth.

“No…” James says through a mouthful of sandwich.

“Young man…” the mom says in a warning tone of voice.

“I’m already touching it! It’s too late, now!” James argues, touching his sandwich further.

“If you ever get a girlfriend, I sure hope you learn your manners and etiquette by then,” the mom comments, rolling her eyes.

“I’ll likely never get a girlfriend. Girls like tall boys. Tall boys with muscles. What do I have? An adorable face,” James argues, rocking slightly back and forwards in his chair. “But, you know, maybe it would be fun to have a girlfriend.”

“There’s got to be at least one girl out there who will love you. If not now, then maybe when you’re an adult. You’ve got PLENTY of time. Don’t sweat it!” the mom says and flashes a quick toothy grin at her son.

“Once I become a soccer star, the girls will come flooding in, I guess,” James says with a shrug.

“Sure,” the mom says, not fully believing this.

James has finished his lunch. He’s now sitting in his bedroom. In front of him is his soccer ball. He rolls it a little forwards and rolls it back, sighing longingly.

The other boys his age are likely out playing sports in the junior leagues. Him? He’s at home. Unwanted. All alone. James takes his cap off and throws it angrily. Ker-tack!

“It’s NOT fair!” James whines, starting to cry.

“You better not be throwing stuff again, mister!” the mom calls out, having heard the sound of the hat hitting the wall.

“I wanna play soccer!” James cries out, thrashing wildly on his bed. “What am I supposed to do with my life if I’m not on the team?!”

“Have you considered cleaning your room?” the mom calls out, hands on her hips even though James cannot see her.

“It’s not even that dirty!” James argues, rolling his eyes.

“Because you shoved everything under your bed?” the mom asks, knowing her son too well.

“No…” James says, glancing at the trash that’s starting to become too much to hide under the bed.

“You sure?” the mom asks, opening the door.

The mom steps into the room. Immediately, the pile of junk under the bed gives way and tumbles into sight like an avalanche. The mom crosses her arms and taps her foot. James just chuckles nervously.

“Clean up,” the mom prompts, waving a hand at the mess.

“Awwww man…” James whines, melting into his bed briefly.

James reluctantly puts his soccer ball down. He gets to work cleaning up the mess. The mom watches for a bit and then leaves. James continues cleaning even though he’d much rather be outside playing soccer.

James fell asleep while cleaning his room. A small amount of work was done, but the room is still a bit cluttered. James wakes up awhile later with a red hand print on his cheek. He takes one look at the mess still on the floor and groans in annoyance.

“I didn’t get anything done!” James wails, lifting his eyes to the ceiling in despair.

There’s still some time to go play soccer… James wanders to his bedroom window. He stares out at the grassy field not far from his house. James grabs his soccer ball and abandons the remaining mess in his room.

“I’m going out to the field, mom! I’ll be back for dinner!” James calls out, speaking rather quickly.

“Did you clean your room?!” the mom asks, hands on her hips.

“Yes,” James lies, grinning.

“Okay, come back by sundown,” the mom says, choosing to believe her son despite her doubts.

“Okay! I’m just going to the field. I won’t be too far,” James says, referring to a stretch of grass not far away from the house.

“I’m not worried,” the mom says, slightly pleased that he won’t be kicking his soccer ball into the side of the house.

“Yaaaaaaaaay!” James cries out and runs outside with his soccer ball.

“He’ll grow up one of these days… I hope…” the mom says with a groan after James leaves.

“IMMA LIVE FOREVER WHOOOOOOOO!” James whoops, dashing across the street and almost getting hit by a car.

“WATCH IT, KID!” the driver yells, honking his horn.

“Can’t! I got places to be!” James calls back, almost accidentally launching his favorite cap off of his head.

James successfully reaches the grassy field. Nobody else is out here at the moment. Maybe they knew James was coming and left early. He’s not bothered by this. It just means more room to play!