On a hot summer day in New York City. The wall stands tall. In a park that is all fenced in. Concrete with yellow lines that connect to the wall. A blue rubber ball, the size of a baseball. The sound of it ricocheting of the wall and slap of a palm. The shuffling of feet on concrete. The sky so blue. I miss you handball.
On any given weekend, I would leave my house and walk down White Plains Road. I would get to Kips Bay Boys & Girls Club and make a right, which leads me to Stevenson Track. Normally you will see the New York Emperor’s Stickball League playing on Stickball Blvd. While entertaining, my focus was on the handball courts.
Often I would meet my cousin to play in single or in doubles. I was never a fan of paddle ball. I liked handball and how physical it was. No Paddle, No Gloves, just palm on ball. The ball would sting the hand, but I would always have the urge to hit that thing harder. I had to be accurate because I hate losing. By the end of the day, I had a very swollen hand. So swollen, that I could not put my ring on for the rest of the day
I miss it. The competition. The social activity of meeting other players who may be better or even worse. Not sure when I will play next. I may have to set a day for some time in the very never future.