Number Seven

Once the boys had left that morning, I sucked it up and swallowed another cup of yogurt for breakfast. My skill set is improving. After one week I am now capable of shutting off the gag reflex. Improvements.

Carrie picked me up to hunt for post-season gear late that morning. But for some reason T.J. Max had no Cards merchandise. T.J. Max was clearly broken. I bought a pair of jeans anyway, which was about two years overdue.

Back at the Big House, Carrie and I got some work done, which included Carrie falling asleep over her pilot’s manual for her written test next week.

Anyway, while sone crucial game-age was going down in Phoenix later that night as the Birds on the Bat yanked a symbolic tug-of-war against Pittsburgh, winning their game in Cincinnati, I took a drive with Mom, Linnea, and two teammates to a little Christian school in Collinsville, Illinois for another volleyball match. Well, five, really.

Mom and I waited in the car for awhile after the girls had gone inside to warm up. It was another mild September evening as the sun was just starting its set in the west. Awhile later, Mom and I walked inside. One of the volleyball ball moms was on her phone near the door and pointed at me as I walked by.

“Are you not playing tonight?”

I hope not. “Oh, no, that’s my sister.”

After the first loss, I joined Mom at the score keeper’s table. They might have lost, but Linnea-Irish was good enough to draw attention from a coach on the opposing team, and to receive a few shout-outs from parents who didn’t know her.

“NICE JOB, NUMBER SEVEN!”

After the second match and loss – they were playing some serious competition – the line judge walked over to me and said.

“Are you Number Seven’s sister?”

“Only difference is,” Mom answered, “this one is going to be – well, do you mind?”

I shrugged. “I don’t care.”

“She’s going to be 30 soon, and the other one is almost 17.”

Best to start not caring about your age – ever. Anyway, the line judge had never even met Linnea. Sort of spooky considering that none of us girls think we look that much alike.

“Oh MY!” she clapped a hand over her mouth, speechless. “You could be on a split screen in a TV show. You know, where they have the same actor dressed up like two different people?”

But more importantly – Linnea-Irish won a game in a muggy gym in western Illinois, and so did the Cardinals in 100 degrees Arizona.