2026-04-16, 08:44 AM - Word count:
Sitting in the limited space left by his two seatmates, Joe finally understood why people on TV always seemed to talk about airplane food in a lightly derogatory tone, often leaving it as the butt of some sort of joke that didn’t quite land with him. Of course, he could deduce that it wasn’t good, but trying it for himself made it clearer. It’s not like it tasted terrible or anything. It was just sort of uninteresting, and had something in common with those convenience store meals that the foreign tourists seemed to love, only drier. Bland was the word that came to mind. Still, he was happy to get something into his stomach, as the prices in the airport meant that Joe hadn’t eaten in quite a while. Chewing on a piece of rubbery chicken, it dawned on him that he would probably have to learn to cook for himself sooner or later.
Shortly after boarding the flight, Joe had begun to feel rather grateful that he was seated towards the aisle. Although he had to withdraw his body a little each time a member of the staff or another passenger was passing by, it at least meant that he did not feel entirely claustrophobic. Not to mention that it offered Joe the opportunity to turn away from his seatmates ever so slightly. Initially it had seemed like a good thing that the American guy to his right was rather talkative, even if he himself was not exactly well-versed in English, for the excitement of everything that was going on had brought with it a feeling of adventurousness that also made him wish to improve his linguistic capabilities. If nothing else, then just by listening. Before long, however, he found himself trying his best to telepathically thank his friends back home for having reminded him to download a bunch of videos and music from YouTube before boarding the plane, as the American was much too thrilled to detail his recent Pattaya-exploits to the Turkish guy sitting by the window. By no means oblivious to the things that sometimes transpired between tourists and local women, typically from the poorer parts of the country, the way in which this farang talked about women who could just as well have been his classmates or friends, not to mention his little sister, was frankly uncomfortable. Unfortunately, the Turk was too polite to ever cut in and end the unfortunate monologue, and Joe felt he may well have lost his mind come the layover in Istanbul, had he not been able to plug his ears with a pair of earbuds.
Now enveloped mostly in the relative quiet of the music he'd decided on, only occasionally interrupted by the farang’s overenthusiastic voice, Joe closed his eyes and slowly began to wander off into the recent memories of that last day of school.
After saying goodbye to everyone, Joe had gotten on the bus back to what he’d always referred to as his father’s stall. As so often before, he found Tok with slightly flushed cheeks and a glass of whiskey and soda on a small table next to the stall, where he was laughing with the people who ran the other stalls around; the sausage guy, the coconut couple, the noodle lady, and Tok would all be swarming around a couple of plastic tables as friends came and went, and often urged by the momentary absence of customers. Tok had often wondered about why they had all chosen that particular location. There was a 7/Eleven right behind them. Wasn’t that meaningless competition? Or were they all, stalls, 7/Eleven, and the next-door restaurant, conglomerating here because it was just the place to be? A part of him couldn’t help but suspect that the real reason was that this was the most convenient place for them to drink. They had what they each sold to snack on, sure, but the shop behind them offered an even larger selection, and, more importantly, a variety of alcohol.
Tok laughingly greeted Joe as he approached, proudly proclaiming that his boy was now a professional footballer, with his peers all appearing to be greatly interested. Joe wasn’t quite sure how much they actually cared, but he appreciated the smiles on their faces, whether caused by drink, the general good vibe among long acquainted friends, or if it was perhaps really in his honour. After chatting for a dozen-or-so minutes, he excused himself. After all, there was somewhere he was dying to pay a visit.
When he showed up at the court, a bunch of kids and teens greeted Joe with a cheer, no doubt orchestrated by his old pal Sem, who went to greet Joe properly outside of the court. He urged Joe in ahead of himself, and only a few words were spoken before they’d joined the ongoing game, which mostly consisted of a plethora of young people chasing around whoever had the ball and trying to drive it up the pitch should they manage to gain possession. Little care was given to positions, formal rules, tactics, and some of the players likely were unaware as to whose team they were even supposed to be on. It was chaotic, sometimes loud as the kids would scream with excitement, but Joe had always loved how the tight green net pretending to play the role of roof over the court provided a feeling that the court was of a different world. One where they were not melting under the sun. One where there was no difference between rich and poor, or about whether you were a star student at school or had been working since you could barely call yourself a teen. One where all were welcome, and where doing intricate little tricks and passes were all you could offer to raise the green net above. Details of how Joe had been running circles around a big chasing pack on that last evening on the court in Sathorn turned to colourful, mushy clouds as he drifted into the world of dreams.
Joe stayed in a dreamlike state for days after that. Something he had never before experienced. He thought it might be the air, or maybe it was that thing he’d heard about. Jet-lag or some such. Whatever it was, it stayed that way throughout his being checked into the new home that had been arranged for him by his new employer. As he entered the training grounds for his very first session, after having already greeted his teammates, he had yet to reconnect with reality. It had him a little worried, for what if he wouldn’t have the usual feel for the ball. He felt sluggish, and he had no idea just how good his new teammates, who also doubled in a sense as a type of future rivals, were, here at Victoria Falls Eagles. What if he could not even compete, utterly out of it as he felt?
Shortly after boarding the flight, Joe had begun to feel rather grateful that he was seated towards the aisle. Although he had to withdraw his body a little each time a member of the staff or another passenger was passing by, it at least meant that he did not feel entirely claustrophobic. Not to mention that it offered Joe the opportunity to turn away from his seatmates ever so slightly. Initially it had seemed like a good thing that the American guy to his right was rather talkative, even if he himself was not exactly well-versed in English, for the excitement of everything that was going on had brought with it a feeling of adventurousness that also made him wish to improve his linguistic capabilities. If nothing else, then just by listening. Before long, however, he found himself trying his best to telepathically thank his friends back home for having reminded him to download a bunch of videos and music from YouTube before boarding the plane, as the American was much too thrilled to detail his recent Pattaya-exploits to the Turkish guy sitting by the window. By no means oblivious to the things that sometimes transpired between tourists and local women, typically from the poorer parts of the country, the way in which this farang talked about women who could just as well have been his classmates or friends, not to mention his little sister, was frankly uncomfortable. Unfortunately, the Turk was too polite to ever cut in and end the unfortunate monologue, and Joe felt he may well have lost his mind come the layover in Istanbul, had he not been able to plug his ears with a pair of earbuds.
Now enveloped mostly in the relative quiet of the music he'd decided on, only occasionally interrupted by the farang’s overenthusiastic voice, Joe closed his eyes and slowly began to wander off into the recent memories of that last day of school.
After saying goodbye to everyone, Joe had gotten on the bus back to what he’d always referred to as his father’s stall. As so often before, he found Tok with slightly flushed cheeks and a glass of whiskey and soda on a small table next to the stall, where he was laughing with the people who ran the other stalls around; the sausage guy, the coconut couple, the noodle lady, and Tok would all be swarming around a couple of plastic tables as friends came and went, and often urged by the momentary absence of customers. Tok had often wondered about why they had all chosen that particular location. There was a 7/Eleven right behind them. Wasn’t that meaningless competition? Or were they all, stalls, 7/Eleven, and the next-door restaurant, conglomerating here because it was just the place to be? A part of him couldn’t help but suspect that the real reason was that this was the most convenient place for them to drink. They had what they each sold to snack on, sure, but the shop behind them offered an even larger selection, and, more importantly, a variety of alcohol.
Tok laughingly greeted Joe as he approached, proudly proclaiming that his boy was now a professional footballer, with his peers all appearing to be greatly interested. Joe wasn’t quite sure how much they actually cared, but he appreciated the smiles on their faces, whether caused by drink, the general good vibe among long acquainted friends, or if it was perhaps really in his honour. After chatting for a dozen-or-so minutes, he excused himself. After all, there was somewhere he was dying to pay a visit.
When he showed up at the court, a bunch of kids and teens greeted Joe with a cheer, no doubt orchestrated by his old pal Sem, who went to greet Joe properly outside of the court. He urged Joe in ahead of himself, and only a few words were spoken before they’d joined the ongoing game, which mostly consisted of a plethora of young people chasing around whoever had the ball and trying to drive it up the pitch should they manage to gain possession. Little care was given to positions, formal rules, tactics, and some of the players likely were unaware as to whose team they were even supposed to be on. It was chaotic, sometimes loud as the kids would scream with excitement, but Joe had always loved how the tight green net pretending to play the role of roof over the court provided a feeling that the court was of a different world. One where they were not melting under the sun. One where there was no difference between rich and poor, or about whether you were a star student at school or had been working since you could barely call yourself a teen. One where all were welcome, and where doing intricate little tricks and passes were all you could offer to raise the green net above. Details of how Joe had been running circles around a big chasing pack on that last evening on the court in Sathorn turned to colourful, mushy clouds as he drifted into the world of dreams.
Joe stayed in a dreamlike state for days after that. Something he had never before experienced. He thought it might be the air, or maybe it was that thing he’d heard about. Jet-lag or some such. Whatever it was, it stayed that way throughout his being checked into the new home that had been arranged for him by his new employer. As he entered the training grounds for his very first session, after having already greeted his teammates, he had yet to reconnect with reality. It had him a little worried, for what if he wouldn’t have the usual feel for the ball. He felt sluggish, and he had no idea just how good his new teammates, who also doubled in a sense as a type of future rivals, were, here at Victoria Falls Eagles. What if he could not even compete, utterly out of it as he felt?
