She came here habitually. It wasn’t out of real need, and when she was halfway done with her boba she blinks and snaps to attention. The tennis court had a tinge older look to it. Paint was a milder tone due to time and the surface under her shoes wouldn’t be eating away at the soles anytime soon. She scuffles to the nearest bin and tosses her drink—iced down, clear—and pretends that she was meant to be here all along. It was embarrassing to see the students flood into the court. A few looked at her but it was more that she existed rather than was someone who didn’t belong. These students, she doesn’t recognize. It would be sad if there was someone among them she did know but no longer by appearance. People change and that’s a fact. She takes the thought with grace. Reflection came with little angst when she was used to life’s rhythm. She walks out the colored fence gate with mixed feelings. The tennis court calls out to her. But she doesn’t know how to play, not yet, but these feelings are perpetual. …Maybe next time.