Page 147 of Carrie Soto Is Back

It glides, slowly, above us. I watch it as gravity brings it back toward the ground. I move two steps to the right, one step back. I hedge my footing, staying on my toes, ready to run whenever it lands. My left knee feels like steel grinding against steel. The pain rings through me, reverberating, absorbing into every part of my body.

I do not care.

The ball descends toward the court. I have to decide whether to hit it before the bounce or get it on the rise. I cycle through my options, all my shots. And then, instead of choosing, I just let my arms fly.

I take it out of the air, quick—send it careening back. Nicki starts running.

I might beat her today. If that ball is in and she misses it, I can beat her today.

But that will not change the fact that she isincomparable.Andshe will win another Slam in ’96. And then probably another, if she goes easier on her ankle.

And what am I going to do? Keep coming back to try to take it from her? Keep holding on for dear life to what I should have let go of long ago? Is that what I want my life to be? Trying to deny what Nicki Chan is?

Where is the beauty in that?

My shot arches toward her, over the net. Nicki’s running deep. The ball goes past her. She’s not going to get it.

I can feel myself winning this thing and then letting go of it all. Letting her take the rest from here on out. I am ready for that. I am ready to give it to her. To let her have it. Finally.

But as I watch, the ball lands one centimeter past the baseline.

The linesman calls it out.

I can’t quite believe what I’m seeing. Nicki screams into the sky, both arms outstretched. The crowd is up on their feet, cheering.

I just lost the tiebreak. I just lost the match.

I can barely catch my breath.

I don’t slam down my racket. I don’t scream. I don’t bury my face in my hands. I just look at Bowe.

Nicki Chan has won the US Open.

I lost. The match and my record, twice in one year.

I wait for the skies to open up and shame to rain down on me. I wait for my belly to split in half. For the grief to overtake me. But…it doesn’t come.

Bowe is smiling. And Gwen has her arms out, waiting to give me a hug. Ali is clapping wildly, even though I lost.

And the thing I don’t understand is that I still feel that hum. That hum in my bones. That sense of weightlessness and groundedness. That sense that the day is mine. That I can do anything.

Nicki Chan looks at me. And I smile at her.

I am no longer the greatest tennis player in the world.

For the first time in my life, I can be…something else.

One Year Later

CHAN VS. CORTEZ

1996 US Open

Final

It’s5–4in the deciding set. If Nicki breaks Cortez’s serve on this last game, she will set a new record.

I am sitting in the players’ box. Bowe is next to me. Nicki’s parents are on the other side of us. Her new girlfriend, whocannot stand me,is sitting with a tight smile on her face in the corner.

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