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Show b^uoA^V* S /cO)UfM6 0 -r A Bi^ / ^ 6 ^ 5" right, both hitting kill shots galore. Our timing is ..•., and our bodies an responding to the exacting instructions we give them. My headband is now soaked througn, and the sweat is starting to flow into my eyes, down my cheeks, and off my chin onto the floor I can tell Dad is tired because hn starts snatching a few seconds rest bet^-san serves by bending over and putting his forearms on his 'iT'ses. I nav=> never seen anyone else do that, but he says it helps nis ga^a a-, more power to him. Wa :;n't talk much now; each mind is completely on the game, and light co-.rente between volleys would be distracting. Tre score has advanced to twenty-eighteen for me, so neither of us i* going for the low kill, or any other shot that we might miss. Just one point makes all the difference now. We -i'aae serves endlescly. Will he never wear out? Dad is at the line, arms on his knees as he prapares to serve. Mu mind starts to wander and I snap it back to what's at hand. Come on, Alan, do-'t lose it now," I scold. You're too close tn winning. Dad rrau.hes. My fingertips tingle. It's a lob right along the left wall; difficult to return. My fingers slide along the wall, hit the ball, and fall to my side as it drives into the floor - just short r,f the front wall Twer, ty-nineteen. I w m the next volley and prepare to serve as Dad wipes his forehead with his shirt. The air is tense. If I can est this one point, t*.-? game is over I crouch. Behind me, Dad gets set. -5- |