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Rated: ASR · Short Story · Music · #2277016
The power of the prayer
The old lady sat in the stands, watching intently. Her head moved in rhythm as the ball flicked between the courts - left, right, left, right ... OUT! Point! She clapped.

Her grandson looked so supple as he bounced the ball, then leaned back to serve. Just like his grandpa. The love of the game had skipped a generation, none of her kids played, but her grandson was as passionate about the game as his grandpa had been before him. It was almost like watching her husband playing, the mannerisms were so alike.

It was a pity the old man and the young one hadn't gotten to know each other better. The child had been six when his grandpa had died, but the old man had given him his first tennis racquet and had introduced him to the joys of the game.

'Deuce!'

It was the seventeenth deuce. It was getting darker. The old lady looked at the sky. Was there a Bad Moon Rising? Would her grandson hold out, or was he tiring?

Suddenly, she had an inspiration. She knew how to pick his game up. She looked around her. His cousins sat at either side of her, and there were other family members occupying the rows in front and behind.

It might just work.

The power of music.

The old lady didn't do anything dramatic at first. She hummed to herself - Mijn Gebed - My Prayer. Next to her, her other grandson leaned in. He began to hum along. Then the other boy.

Slowly, others in the row took up the prayer. The singing became more powerful. The entire stadium was filled with the melody.

"One Way Wind," the old woman took time to whisper, as her grandson got the advantage, and then the game.

And the set.

But his opponent was strong, too, and the scoreboard ticked on both sides. The strains of Mijn Gebed filled the air. The old woman threw back her head and laughed. Her grandson was singing along. As he ran, as he swiped at the ball, as he reached and ducked, he was singing along.

"Game, set, and match!"

The grandson sitting next to her leaned over. "Don't get so hysterical, Nani," he admonished. "I know he won, but after all ...

It is just a game."
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