He was bad but he was special.  Sometimes I think about the choices we make and how it connects us to where we are now and who we have become.  The choices are not always the best or right ones but hopefully when we veer off the path something or someone will bring us back.  I wish I could have done that for Jack.
I was 13 years old and hitting with high school players at tennis tournament training.  I had a big forehand and was considered a powerful player.  The coaches deemed it best for my development to train with the older players since tennis in Connecticut wasn’t the strongest.  I felt weird sometimes when I beat some of the older kids who then would make cutting comments.  My brother also trained and shielded me from some of this until he dislocated his shoulder and couldn’t practice anymore. Then Jack, a 17 year old, took on this older brother role. 
Jack.  How can I describe him?  His body was ripped and he knew it.  He changed his shirt at least once on court to show all the girls that he worked on his body.  He had trained at a tennis academy in Florida for two years and invested a lot of time into fitness and weightlifting, but now he was back in New Canaan.  I had not seen a live person look that good—only in magazines. 
When Jack offered to drive me home from practice so my older sister wouldn’t have to pick me up me, my mom adamantly said no.  Jack started paying a lot of attention to me for some reason.  Often I was dropped off an hour before my private lesson and Jack would leave the gym to see me.  I was doing Spanish homework and he offered his assistance.  I did worse on the assignments that he helped with even though he was in high school, yet I liked that he tried to help.  He always asked about my schoolwork and told me it was great that I was “smart and good at tennis.” 
Clinic was starting.  The pros arranged who was assigned to the top positions all the way down the six courts based on yesterday’ performance.  “I should always be on the highest court,” Jack professed.  Yep he was.  He was on the highest court with three solid players.  Those boys were determined to take Jack down.  “He thinks he’s the sh__.  He’s not doing as well as he used to.  I think the gap between us is narrowing now that he’s back in school and can’t hit for six hours a day anymore,” said the tall boy.  During the warm up, the boys on the other side hit as hard as they could.  The ball made a loud popping noise as it hit their Luxilon polyester strings echoing in the court.  The clinic began and so did the stress.  Jack’s opponent wailed on the ball and he retrieved and blocked.  The pro yelled to Jack, “Run!  Get there!  Hit it back deeeeeep!”  Jack did and the other boy slammed his racquet and muttered something under his breath.
When I made me way up to his court, Jack lost points only to me.  He made sure I won enough points to stay on his court and one of the other boys had to move down.  When the pro said losers move down, the boy complained, “Lexi should, not me.”  Jack said, “Hey Lex, you did good.  Don’t listen to them.  Just laugh and look confident.”  He really seemed to know how to handle every situation.  Jack dominated on the court.  He was beautiful to watch.  His strokes were flawless and he moved with ease.  He was not challenged, so during a water break a pro jumped out to hit a little with him.  We all knew he was the best.  No one messed with him.  When we had a hiatus in practice, sometimes our conversations focused on partying even though our ideas of parties couldn’t have been further from each other.  I quietly let him tell me his ideas.  He talked about smoking pot and how fun it was.  “Pot gets rid of the stress, you know?”  I asked, “What stress?”  He laughed, “Stress from everything… tennis, parents, life.”  He told me where in the woods he smoked with friends and how they carved seats from tree trunks and set up small brush fires to keep warm in the winter.  He said he had a lot of money because he was selling pot to rich kids at the high school, but assured me that he wanted to be a famous tennis pro just like I did and this was just for now, you know?
He was an advocate for me with the coaches and even suggested tactical things I needed to work on.  He would hit with me before clinic if a court was available.  He gave me mental advice on how to get through being the top seed in a tournament versus being an underdog.  He laughed and told me how he would stall if the momentum shifted in a match.  His advice?  “Go to the bathroom, Lexi, or tie your shoes, or change your racquet, or fein an injury.” Jack had lots of ideas.  That’s why I was surprised when he told me he was struggling with school in the classroom now that he wasn’t doing online schooling.  Jack felt stupid at the high school.  Then Jack was always at the tennis facility.  I had a special teacher’s grading day but he should have been at the high school.  He said he was kicked out of school for dealing but they had it all wrong.  He was just connecting some rich kids with what they needed.  I asked him why he did this.  He said, “I need money for a car and tennis isn’t working out for me now.  I’m having fun smoking, you know?”  I didn’t know because I had just turned 14 years old but I nodded anyway.
That summer I played tournaments in Europe and across the country.  I stayed in Florida to train and was barely home in Connecticut.  Fall came and I was looking forward to seeing Jack.  Jack had gotten taller but ironically seemed smaller.  His frame was skinny with no bulging muscles in his abs or pecs or arms.   His face looked gaunt but he smiled when he saw me.  “Lexiiiiiiii!!!!!  I missed you,” and he picked me up.  I felt heavy and tall next to him.  I said, “You look so thin!”  Jack quietly told me he took some drugs that he enjoyed and then took more.  His body kind of felt sick if he didn’t take drugs.  He said, “The drugs don’t make me feel great anymore but I kinda crave them.  I’m not addicted or anything, you know?  I can stop if I want to.”
Jack started feeling sick a lot.  He never missed practice last season and this season he was missing several a week.  After tennis, my friend, Maddie, and I made him his favorite cookies and rode our bikes to deliver them.  His mother had the house dark and she seemed agitated that we came to their home.  Reluctantly she called Jack to come to the door.  Uncharacteristically, he screamed at her.  He seemed strange and was not really coherent.  He was almost angry that we were there.  He couldn’t hold a conversation and then I realized it was a mistake to have come.  We politely said goodbye but then fled to our bikes.  Jack did not seem like Jack. 
I didn’t see Jack for a month.  Then the pros were talking about how Jack had overdosed on heroine and it was becoming an epidemic.  I wondered why no one had reached out when he was absent from tennis.  I wish I could have put him back on the right path.  I wish he hadn’t made some of those choices.  When I do think of Jack, I think of 17 year old Jack with his ripped body and confident manner and gentle soul.  He made me feel special.  I wish I could have done the same for him.