Keel-hauled

I owe the captain my life.

So many people exaggerate. And mis-use the word ‘literally’.

But the captain … they literally saved my neck.

That first Tuesday night at the stadium, I was painfully over-zealous. A basketball virgin. A born-again Sporty Spice. Superlatively, exceedingly, disturbingly keen.

Excited to put on the team singlet (number 12!!); to sign the score sheet. Thrilled about the musky smells; the squeaks of new shoes on wood; the huge scoreboard hanging at one end; the shiny court … about every damn thing!

The future’s all laid out — it’s so friggin’ clear! I’m set to impress my new teammates from the get-go. We’ll be life-long friends. Hell, our grandkids will play together in sandpits, and go on to form their own (winning!) team.

But as we jostle for the ball at tip-off, the vision slips, along with the ball, and then — catastrophically — me. Some-freaking-how, both team captains miss their big orange target at that incredibly close range — letting it fall, instead, inside the scrum. I follow.

I just dive in. Headfirst. Bum over tit.

When I come to, I’m propped up in hospital wearing a neck brace. The cap’s there, with a nod and a benevolent smile.

‘Welcome back Djinn! You gave us a bit of a scare, eh.’

I attempt a chuckle, but my throat’s raw. There’s a tube coming out from my face somewhere.

‘Who, ah, won?’ I think I manage, but it’s a gravelly whisper.

They lean in, puzzled. Then their forehead clears as if I haven’t spoken.

‘It’s a season-ending injury, I’m afraid,’ they say, but they don’t sound disappointed. Not in the slightest.

Feeling the tell-tale prickle, I close my eyes. Maybe I can trap the tears that are massing up in attack formation just below the ducts. There are only so many rejections one enby can take.

‘We hope you’ll stay with us, Djinn. We badly need someone like you on the score table.  You’re really — “on the ball” — ‘scuse the pun. We’ll refund your court fees for this season, but you’ll still be a really important member of the team. And then as soon as you get the all-clear … back off the bench!’

I crack one eyelid a bit. They’re not ditching me?

‘Oh, and do you mind if I add you to the group chat? We usually have a social meetup each Friday after work … be great if you can join, once you’re … you know, out of here …’

I try to nod, but the collar’s impeding that. I think they can tell it’s a yes from my one-eyed smile.

‘Hey, cap, if Djinn’s not out by then, why don’t we have the next one here?’

My other eye pops open in surprise — and so that I can see who else spoke.

It’s … Karli? I think? I’m never good with names — or faces, for that matter — but I’d noticed them, because they’re really friendly, and because they have interesting hair. Locs. You know, when the hair’s in little matted clumps.

‘We could! Depending on visitor limits. But they don’t keep people in long these days.’

‘How you feeling, Djinn?’ Karli asks now, coming closer and offering me their hand.

I’m shy, but I take it in mine. Life’s been a helluva lot lately, and I can really use a little human comfort about now. When my tears prickle again, it’s in a good way.

‘We got ya,’ they whisper. ‘’S okay.’

Just then, a masc-presenting staffer bustles in, uncovering my toes with zero preamble, and grabbing them with cold hands that make me squirm. ‘You’re one lucky lady,’ they say, whistling for effect. My queer team-mates bristle at the gendered language, coming hard on top of the consent incursion, but bite their tongues. We’re used to it, unfortunately — and we need to pick our battles. Educating everyone, all the time? Way too tiring.

‘If your friend here hadn’t acted so quick, you’d be in a wheelchair for sure. The scans all look good, but you’ve still had a nasty bump. We want to keep an eye on you overnight, okay?’ It’s a script straight off TV, and they bustle out again, never once looking me in the face. It was clearly a rhetorical question, whether I wanted to stay — and even more clearly, this hospital’s way understaffed.

‘Cunt,’ growls Karli, and we all smile.

Might be I’ve finally found my people. Life won’t ever be plain-sailing, but you know what? That’s okay.

.

This 750 word story was written based on the prompt ‘Loyal’ from Deadlines for Writers’ 12 Short Stories in 12 months challenge. Join me?

How does it work? 12 Short Stories