A Clean Toss

I slipped out through the apartment gates and jogged down the road until I reached a community indoor gym. The polished hardwood court was wide and quiet. Sitting on the sideline floor was an empty rolled-up sweatband and a tiny bright green table tennis ball near a metal wire basket. I placed the sweatband on the varnished floor to serve as my foul line. Holding the lightweight celluloid ball with both hands, I squared my shoulders, locked my eyes onto the basket rim above the floorboard, and flicked my wrists in a crisp arc. The ball swished smoothly through the wire frame with a gentle plastic clatter. A very clean shot.