Page 66 - FATE & DESTINY

FATE & DESTINY

“Hi, Uncle,” said Sam, a short-stuff guy with a freckled face, but the shrewdest in the class. “How’s your leg?”
“Sorry, I can’t play today,” I said in a low-toned voice to avoid Namtshe overhearing me. “My leg hurts.”
“You must play,” he said.
“I can’t. It bleeds.”
“It’s our final match. You must play.”
I shook my head.
The pain augmented. So, I sneaked out for the dorm and napped, but the sudden hard knocks on my door woke
me. “Who is it?”
“Sam,” he said. “Time to go, Uncle.”
“I can’t play.”
“Please, Uncle.”
“Substitute me, please. My leg hurts.”
“Don’t worry. You will be okay.”
“How?”
“Trust me. I have an idea.”
“You sure that would work?”
“Yeah, please hurry.”
I limped on his support. The pain subsided as we hobbled down the steps. On the ground, our teammates were
warming up. Sam’s breathing quickened seeing them.
“Uncle, hurry,” he said.
“Easy, buddy,” I said. “Don’t forget my leg.”
He dragged me across the ground and fished out a bottle from his jacket pocket. “You will feel better with this.”
“What’s this?” I said. “Alcohol?”
“It’s gin-lime. You’re gonna like the taste.”
“Sorry, buddy. I don’t drink.”
“Just today,” he said, opening the lid. “It’s gonna subside your leg pain.”
“Are you sure?”
He nodded. “Try it.”
My nose crinkled in distaste. It soon warmed my face and ears. “Super strong.” I took another gulp. “And tasty.”
“Put on your boots,” he said. “Warm-up time.” He tied the laces and dragged me across the ground.
“Get me another bottle of gin, please,” I said.
“Here,” he said. “This should relieve your pain.”
Soon my head whirled. Even Sam’s face blurred before my eyes. “Let’s run,” I said.
“No running,” he said, slowing me down. “Watch out.”
I slipped on a bottle and lay flat. “Ha… ha… I am fine.” I sprang up.
“Easy, Uncle, easy.”
“Yahoo!” I exclaimed as the gin-lime further spun my head. “I am ready to play.”
The match kicked off. The players—both teammates and opponents—blurred before me. Somehow, I caught
the ball.
“Good, Uncle,” shouted Sam from behind.
I kicked the ball across the center and said, “Sam, I can’t see the ball. Everything is reeling. Direct me when the
ball comes, okay?”
“No problem, Uncle. I am right beside you.”
I staggered around the penalty box, trying to trace the ball. I couldn’t.
“Ball, Uncle!” shouted Sam.
I peeked up and down, and to the sides. “Where?”
“Up in the air! Punch it!”
I jumped and punched at it.
“Goal!” shouted the spectators.
“A goal?” I uttered, peering inside the next. “How’s that possible?”
“Damn it!” said Sam and stomped away.
Class attendance was mandatory, but I had to rest. My first-year friend, Chenga Tshering, brought me meals from
the kitchen.
He frequented the canteen for pegs. Tall and dark, he had cock-screw hair, but he was entertaining. And he
played basketball well.
“How is your leg?” he said.
“Still hurts,” I said.

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