It's 5pm, and I'm in the bleachers, watching a soccer game, my eight-year-old brother Ricky is wearing the #35 on his blue soccer jersey. It's about eight degrees and partly cloudy. I made sure to put some sunscreen on my neck, both front and back, my ears, face, legs, hands and arms. I can't stand sunburns. They hurt like hell. I'm looking at the people in the bleachers rooting their kids to score a goal. They sounded energetic. Most of the attendees in the bleachers are women. I did see some guys. My guess is that they have jobs that don't involve working overnight.
That's a good thing. I don't see a lot of guys at the games. Either they're busy with their jobs, out of state, or screwing around with other people. I watch Ricky make a few kicks without knocking someone to the ground.
"You can do it Rick!!" I shouted.
I check out this redhead sitting in the far end of the bleachers. Her hair is untied and hanging on her shoulders. Her light dress matches the color of the sky. I notice the bracelet around her ankle along with her sandals. It looks valuable and colorful. I watch her stand up, clapping, rooting for her kid to score a goal.
I turn my face away from her, focusing on Rick. He and another teammate with the #5 pass the ball to each other. Turns out that the redhead is rooting for #5 working with Ricky. I'm guessing it's either her son, brother or nephew. It didn't matter anyways. Ricky and #5 head towards the goal, planning to make the kick. Ricky passes the ball to #5, and he makes the kick... and he scored!! Both the redhead and I jumped, clapped and screamed at the boys with joy.
I hear one of the referees make a whistle blow, announcing that the game is over. Ricky's team scored three to two. He runs towards me, giving a big hug.
"Congrats Ricky!" I speak.
"You did good, that was teamwork."
Ricky breathes and responds,
"Thanks bro. It was good."
Ricky runs towards #5, giving each other a high five.
"Your son is a great player; you should be proud."
I turn towards the redhead vixen.
"Thanks." I respond.
"But he's not my son, he's my little brother."
She puts her hand on her mouth.
"I'm so sorry, I didn't mean that."
She smiles at me, and I sigh.
"Don't worry, I get that a few times. Is #5 your son?" She winks at me.
"Yes, he is and my pride and joy. Carl is a good kicker."
Ricky runs towards me with his duffel bag.
"He sure is." I speak.
Carl runs towards his mom with his duffel bag.
"Hope to see you on the next game." I speak.
She takes a few steps towards me.
"Why don't we meet at your place sometime next week?"
"That sounds good miss." I respond.
"Saturday sounds pretty good." She smiled.
"Call me Janet and Saturday's good."
"I'm Dan, see you then."
We both leave the field, entering our own cars and drove home.
Seven days go by, Ricky and I head downstairs to the living room. It's 2pm and it's a sunny day. We're both wearing jean shorts and light shirts. We watch TV for about 30 minutes till a doorbell rang. I stand up, telling Ricky not to move. I look through the window, seeing Janet and Carl. I open the door, and I smile.
"Hey there, come on in."
Janet and Carl step inside as I close the door. Ricky runs to Carl, giving high fives. They both run upstairs, into Ricky's room, closing the door. We both head to the kitchen, grabbing a couple bottles of beer. I crack the tops open, handing Janet one bottle. Her tanned skin was fresh and smooth. She's wearing a dark skirt with a light tank top.