A Novel: Forthcoming

             It is I who is sitting as always, facing this 60" screen playing a recording of the 2011 Australian Open. My occupation has devolved from tennis instructor to couch potato. Djokovic has just hit a backhand winner down-the-line with his legs in a half-split. Djokovic has a habit of bouncing the ball several times (around 10-15x) before each serve. He is doing this now.
             My two knees create mounds in the blanket across my lap. This notebook is resting against the cloth formed around my right thigh.
             How did I meet her? Simple. I have probably written this account five or six times. It usually starts out. "One August night..." or "This is about my relationship from Hell..."
             It was an August night in Philadelphia: approximately 8:44PM on a Thursday.
           
             I am in the middle of a throng composed of nearly three hundred people. In my proximity and to my periphery half a dozen interactions are taking place, generally consisting of the following scenarios:
             "Hi, what's your name?"
             "I'm Will. What's yours?"
             Or so it goes. I am a sponge, soaking in interrogative sentences; all the while, I wish had the nerve to introduce myself to another humanoid. It is difficult. My voice is meek and my confidence is shaky.
             All I manage is a few "hi's" to comparatively less timid individuals. I doubt they will remember me. I am a face within a crowd.
             The breeze is easy. House managers and graduate assistants stand on the railing surrounding the courtyard which is itself filled by several hundred first-year students. It is the first day of move-in.
             She is wearing a beige jacket, purple top, and a long skirt that hides her knees. The skirt obeys the laws of lift and she has to periodically guide the sides of it downward. She introduces herself as ______ , and when I do the same she practically keels forward with laughter.
             "On your transcript it must say, "Bang, John," right?" she giggles.
             "Yeah," I reply, growing uncomfortable by the second.
             "On my transcript, it says, "____ , ______ !" she exclaims.
             I give a nervous laugh. I don't get the joke until later when it is too late to appreciate it.
             This is ______ . I will recount this episode many times.