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Description
The air is crisp and the wind is brisk. The sun, it sits, high upon its throne in the sky. Children can be heard playing in the background. It just seems like another refreshing afternoon in the park.

A young man walks off the tarred path toward a bench by the lake. Sitting down, he sets up his easel and organizes his paints. He’s one of those types of people that stresses the importance of organization and the keys of success.

Assured that everything is in its place, he contently smiles and picks up a brush of blue paint. Just as he was about to place the brush on the paper, someone from behind yelled, "Watch Out!!"

He didn't have enough time to turn around and see what the commotion was about, when a blurred figure charged at him. It crashed right into the back of the bench, but still happened to get hit upside his head and some how it is choking him.

“H-hey! Your arm…” he managed to grog out, before he was cut off. The arm tightened it’s grip on his neck before it loosened with him gasping.

“Wooo! What a ride!” the unknown person exclaimed as he adjusted himself into an up right position. “Whatcha doing?” he asked, taking notice of the older man on the bench.

His face scrunched up as he thought, “What am I doing?” and responded with, “I believe the question here is, ‘What are you doing?’” he flung the other guy’s arm from around his neck, then proceeded to straighten himself out.

The younger guy frowned a bit at the other man’s unpleasant behavior. “I was speed skating along the path,” he beamed, “I’m part of a roller hockey team around here… Hey, do you play? It’s a lot of fun! I’m sure there’s an adult league you can join!”

He made sure his injures weren’t too serious as he half listened to the guy in roller blades’ explanation. All he wanted to do was to paint in what little free time he has left and could care less about some punk kid. Turning around to look at the other guy, he replied, “No I don’t. I stopped playing sports in high school.”

“Why?”

“Because.”

“Because what?”

“Because I said so that’s what! And if you don’t mind I’d like to continue on with my painting,” his eyebrow twitched in annoyance, and turned back to his painting to find a blue blob of smeared paint. His eyes narrowed. It may not be where the lake was meant to be, but it could somewhat still be fixed.

Making note of the older man’s expressions, he glanced at the painting and knew he had something to do with the way it looked. Still, he wanted to get an answer out of him and was very much so determined. He started to get up, yet instantly fell right back down with a thud and winced.

Unknown to himself, he happened to grab at the other guy’s hair instead of the bench he was aiming for. Resulting in a rude protest from the older one, who clenched at his wrist for him to let go. “What hell is your problem kid!?”

There wasn’t much of a response other than an extended pause, so the oldest of the two, leaned back to see for himself. He first noticed the agony on the younger one’s face and let go of his wrist. “Hey,” he called out as he spotted the badly injured knee, actually showing slight concern.

“My knee, it just hurts like a bieh!” he finally choked out, “But you think I can still be able to play on it? The season starts in less than a month.”

“Bieh,” he thought, “It must be some kind of new thing these kids are saying now-a-days,” and shrugged at that. He got up and kneeled down to get a closer look at the knee. “I don’t know. I’m not much of a doctor to give you a straight answer, but it doesn’t look to good,” he said as he watched the other guy’s expression change into something like defeat. “Though I think right now it would be a good idea to get those blades off and call someone to come and get you.”

He nodded and proceeded to take them off with the other guy’s help of course. “My house is actually on the corner across the street from the back entrance. It’s really not far,” he answered back.

“Call home anyways. It doesn’t look like you’ll be getting far by yourself, kid.” stated the older guy and smiled at the glare the injured one shot at him.

He wasn’t too happy to be called a kid at the moment. Clearly he will be a high school senior once school starts next week. At that thought he pulled out his cell and phoned home.

Meanwhile, the other guy surveyed the resent damage done to his painting, back when his hair was pulled, and sighed. He wanted to enjoy his last opportunity to relax before work started up again. He sighed knowing that he wasn’t going to be working on a new piece anytime soon. “There goes my afternoon,” he thought to himself while packing up his belongings.

“Mom said she’s on her way home from the store,” said the younger guy standing up with the help of the bench.

“Ok, I’m about done. Just give me a minute.”

With his blades in his left hand and his arm around the older guy’s shoulder, he lead the other toward his house. He was rather in deep thought when he remembered a time when he was about 8 years old. His father took him to a high school hockey game that late November. Even though his face was cold, he couldn’t keep his eyes off the star of the show, number 23, Trevor Luis. He weaved through the players with ease, gliding on the ice effortlessly. He thought he was so cool and wanted to play hockey just like him!

The heavy silence has started to make itself known to the older guy, who happened to look over at the kid. His eyes looked upset and distant rather than the gleaming brown orbs he saw earlier, and felt bad. “I’m sure your knee will get better sooner than you think,” he matter-of-factly said in hopes in bringing the other’s spirits up.

Blinking, he said “We’ll see.”

Not the response he was looking for, he tried again. “You know,” he paused as they approached the back entrance of the park, “My father wanted me to study and become a lawyer like himself. He wanted me to make a living for myself and not get caught up in this media nonsense that athletes find themselves in.”

Surprised, he looked up at the older man. “Why did you let him? Wasn’t it something that you really wanted to do?”

“Yes, it was something that I loved doing, but there was no way I could go against him.”

They crossed the street and he was in thought again. He knew that if he couldn’t play roller hockey and hockey again, he wouldn’t know what he would do.

“Is this your house?” asked the other guy.

“Yep this is it. I can manage from here,” he said as he removed his arm from around the older guy’s neck. “You think I can have that painting?”

“This?” He asked holding up the unfinished piece in question, and handed it to him. “I guess you can have it, I was going to throw it out anyways.”

Halfway to the door he replied with a smile, “Thanks Trevor! See you next week!”

Surprised he just only nodded and gave a slight wave back while the kid entered the house.

Surely enough the young man saw the kid in front of his teacher’s desk that following week. The first bell had just rang and a bag was placed in front of him. Opening it up, he pulled out the most beautiful painting of a lake. “My, this is might not be a bad school year after all,” he said out loud acknowledging the teenager.

Description
The air is crisp and the wind is brisk. The sun, it sits, high upon its throne in the sky. Children can be heard playing in the background. It just seems like another refreshing afternoon in the park.

A young man walks off the tarred path toward a bench by the lake. Sitting down, he sets up his easel and organizes his paints. He’s one of those types of people that stresses the importance of organization and the keys of success.

Assured that everything is in its place, he contently smiles and picks up a brush of blue paint. Just as he was about to place the brush on the paper, someone from behind yelled, "Watch Out!!"

He didn't have enough time to turn around and see what the commotion was about, when a blurred figure charged at him. It crashed right into the back of the bench, but still happened to get hit upside his head and some how it is choking him.

“H-hey! Your arm…” he managed to grog out, before he was cut off. The arm tightened it’s grip on his neck before it loosened with him gasping.

“Wooo! What a ride!” the unknown person exclaimed as he adjusted himself into an up right position. “Whatcha doing?” he asked, taking notice of the older man on the bench.

His face scrunched up as he thought, “What am I doing?” and responded with, “I believe the question here is, ‘What are you doing?’” he flung the other guy’s arm from around his neck, then proceeded to straighten himself out.

The younger guy frowned a bit at the other man’s unpleasant behavior. “I was speed skating along the path,” he beamed, “I’m part of a roller hockey team around here… Hey, do you play? It’s a lot of fun! I’m sure there’s an adult league you can join!”

He made sure his injures weren’t too serious as he half listened to the guy in roller blades’ explanation. All he wanted to do was to paint in what little free time he has left and could care less about some punk kid. Turning around to look at the other guy, he replied, “No I don’t. I stopped playing sports in high school.”

“Why?”

“Because.”

“Because what?”

“Because I said so that’s what! And if you don’t mind I’d like to continue on with my painting,” his eyebrow twitched in annoyance, and turned back to his painting to find a blue blob of smeared paint. His eyes narrowed. It may not be where the lake was meant to be, but it could somewhat still be fixed.

Making note of the older man’s expressions, he glanced at the painting and knew he had something to do with the way it looked. Still, he wanted to get an answer out of him and was very much so determined. He started to get up, yet instantly fell right back down with a thud and winced.

Unknown to himself, he happened to grab at the other guy’s hair instead of the bench he was aiming for. Resulting in a rude protest from the older one, who clenched at his wrist for him to let go. “What hell is your problem kid!?”

There wasn’t much of a response other than an extended pause, so the oldest of the two, leaned back to see for himself. He first noticed the agony on the younger one’s face and let go of his wrist. “Hey,” he called out as he spotted the badly injured knee, actually showing slight concern.

“My knee, it just hurts like a bieh!” he finally choked out, “But you think I can still be able to play on it? The season starts in less than a month.”

“Bieh,” he thought, “It must be some kind of new thing these kids are saying now-a-days,” and shrugged at that. He got up and kneeled down to get a closer look at the knee. “I don’t know. I’m not much of a doctor to give you a straight answer, but it doesn’t look to good,” he said as he watched the other guy’s expression change into something like defeat. “Though I think right now it would be a good idea to get those blades off and call someone to come and get you.”

He nodded and proceeded to take them off with the other guy’s help of course. “My house is actually on the corner across the street from the back entrance. It’s really not far,” he answered back.

“Call home anyways. It doesn’t look like you’ll be getting far by yourself, kid.” stated the older guy and smiled at the glare the injured one shot at him.

He wasn’t too happy to be called a kid at the moment. Clearly he will be a high school senior once school starts next week. At that thought he pulled out his cell and phoned home.

Meanwhile, the other guy surveyed the resent damage done to his painting, back when his hair was pulled, and sighed. He wanted to enjoy his last opportunity to relax before work started up again. He sighed knowing that he wasn’t going to be working on a new piece anytime soon. “There goes my afternoon,” he thought to himself while packing up his belongings.

“Mom said she’s on her way home from the store,” said the younger guy standing up with the help of the bench.

“Ok, I’m about done. Just give me a minute.”

With his blades in his left hand and his arm around the older guy’s shoulder, he lead the other toward his house. He was rather in deep thought when he remembered a time when he was about 8 years old. His father took him to a high school hockey game that late November. Even though his face was cold, he couldn’t keep his eyes off the star of the show, number 23, Trevor Luis. He weaved through the players with ease, gliding on the ice effortlessly. He thought he was so cool and wanted to play hockey just like him!

The heavy silence has started to make itself known to the older guy, who happened to look over at the kid. His eyes looked upset and distant rather than the gleaming brown orbs he saw earlier, and felt bad. “I’m sure your knee will get better sooner than you think,” he matter-of-factly said in hopes in bringing the other’s spirits up.

Blinking, he said “We’ll see.”

Not the response he was looking for, he tried again. “You know,” he paused as they approached the back entrance of the park, “My father wanted me to study and become a lawyer like himself. He wanted me to make a living for myself and not get caught up in this media nonsense that athletes find themselves in.”

Surprised, he looked up at the older man. “Why did you let him? Wasn’t it something that you really wanted to do?”

“Yes, it was something that I loved doing, but there was no way I could go against him.”

They crossed the street and he was in thought again. He knew that if he couldn’t play roller hockey and hockey again, he wouldn’t know what he would do.

“Is this your house?” asked the other guy.

“Yep this is it. I can manage from here,” he said as he removed his arm from around the older guy’s neck. “You think I can have that painting?”

“This?” He asked holding up the unfinished piece in question, and handed it to him. “I guess you can have it, I was going to throw it out anyways.”

Halfway to the door he replied with a smile, “Thanks Trevor! See you next week!”

Surprised he just only nodded and gave a slight wave back while the kid entered the house.

Surely enough the young man saw the kid in front of his teacher’s desk that following week. The first bell had just rang and a bag was placed in front of him. Opening it up, he pulled out the most beautiful painting of a lake. “My, this is might not be a bad school year after all,” he said out loud acknowledging the teenager.