Page 45 of His Last Shot

What's the Picture Of?

Johnny

Three years since the breakup

E ight thousand seven hundred and sixty hours.

Three hundred and sixty-five days.

Fifty-two weeks.

Twelve months.

Winter.

Spring.

Summer.

Fall.

Another year gone.

Without Rachel.

“Okay, so do you see the mistake you made there?” I ask my student, Brandon, standing in my garage, holding a pool cue, studying the table.

“I think so.”

“Alright. What happened?”

“Too much right English?” He turns with a quizzical expression.

“Exactly. And what was the result?”

“Well, the cue ball curved more than it should have.”

“Good. What else?”

“Which caused me to hit the six ball too much to the left, missing the pocket, which, in turn, didn’t set up my next shot.”

I slap him on the back. “Exactly! You’re getting it.”

“Slowly,” he says with exasperation.

“It just feels that way. You have come a long way. Now, set up the shot and try again.”

Brandon isn’t my only student. After everything, I needed something to get my mind off of the absolute crap show that is my life.

So I started offering pool lessons out of my garage.

Teaching the game at Dexter’s to my team ignited a spark in me.

There’s nothing better than watching students learn and grow as players. It’s amazing.

Rachel was the one who lit this match. It was that day in the bar, when I was supposed to be teaching her, and the so-called lesson ended with her perched on the table and me kissing her.

I’d love to tell her. If only she knew.

On the day of her graduation, I knew I was taking a risk going to watch her walk across that stage. But nothing was going to stop me from going. The amount of pride I felt was unlike anything I have ever experienced.

But I paid the price. While on the job the next day, I walked out, and my truck was destroyed. Tires slashed, windows busted. It was total destruction. A small note rested on the driver’s seat among the broken glass.

Next time, it will be your family.

But I had to know for sure if they were truly safe.

Scott wasn’t with me, so with panic rising in my chest, I immediately called him. I needed to know if everyone was okay. I told him about the truck and then invited myself over for dinner. Thankfully, they were fine .

I wasn’t. I’m still not.

Brandon arranges the table so that he can attempt the shot again, shaking me from the memory. “Oh, yeah, before I forget,” he says, raising his finger. He reaches into his back pocket. “Micah told me to give this to you.”

Dangling from his index finger, swaying back and forth, is an eight ball keychain. I freeze. “Micah?”

“Yeah. Didn’t I tell you? Micah and I went to high school together. He was the one that told me about you.”

Ten thousand questions are swirling around in my mind. “I haven’t spoken to Micah in three years. How did he know I was offering lessons?”

“You know how it is.” He shrugs. “Mutual friends and all that. He heard it through the grapevine. Said you were the best.”

All I can do is stare at the keychain suspended from his finger. “Here.” He nudges it toward me, encouraging me to take the gift I wasn’t expecting.

It’s from Rachel. It has to be.

With a tight smile, I take it from him and notice immediately that it has a peephole on the underside of the ball. I squint my left eye shut and raise the keychain to peer inside, my hand trembling the whole way.

The small micro picture, with its blurred edges, is of Rachel and me on my swing. She’s on my lap, and her head is resting on my shoulder with my hands on her legs. Both of us grinning from ear to ear at the camera.

I remember this day, the memories of it flood my brain in vivid detail. I had a picnic at my house with my family, Micah and Shelby, plus the OBGs. Jake took the picture.

It was the day Rachel and I said ‘I love you’ for the first time.

“What’s the picture of?” Brandon asks, breaking me from the memory.

I lower the keychain and shove it in my pocket. “It’s from Dexter’s. A cool shot of a rack of pool balls,” I lie.

Brandon leaves when his lesson is over, both of us satisfied with his progress. When I crawl into bed, I stare at the picture until I fall asleep, whispering ‘I love you’ to her in my dreams.