Eight Ball: Part 5 of 5

The father taught the girl the difference between the good and great players boiled down to who can finish, who can hold their composure long enough to sink the eight ball. It seemed easy enough in theory but in practice the girl had lost many games getting ahead of herself, tasting the glory before securing the victory. In games with her father, if the girl happened to miss the eight ball he would make sure he tried his best to sink the rest of his balls and win. Often times he did and the girl got frustrated and mad. There was nothing worse for the girl then knowing that she had out shot her opponent yet couldn’t seal the victory. Many times other people observed the father’s tactics and implored him not to be so tough or mean. Why not give the kid a chance? But by not letting up the father taught the girl a valuable lesson, she learned how to be a winner, how to keep her head in the game.

With a deep breath the girl looked down the barrel of the stick eying the eight ball and forcing her mind to concentrate on the task at hand. With a soft kiss to the left the black ball danced across the table and quietly hit the back of the middle pocket. The cue ball made its way safely next to a yellow striped ball. That was it. Game over. The girl sank the eight ball and ran the table. Her opponent hung his head as his friends chided him for getting beat so miserably by a girl. On most nights the girl would have stayed on the table as long as she kept winning. But tonight one grand victory was all she needed. The girl smiled as she left the bar and began the assent up to her house. It was a memorable night, one she wished she could have shared with her father. This thought furrowed in the hollow corridors of the girl’s mind as she became sad, she knew her father was confused as to why she left home. And to be honest she didn’t exactly know why she had either, there was just something calling her west, some destiny to be realized. One day she would go back east more accomplished than being the winner of a pool game and perhaps then her father would be proud. Surely, it was just a matter of time. Satisfied with these thoughts, she put on her ski instructor’s hat and gazed up at the surrounding mountains. It was a hell of fine place to be stuck while she figured it all out.

The boy reluctantly went into the sun-room to apologize to his father. But when it came time for words he had none. Instead he asked the old man if he’d like to play a game of pool. The father looked at his son, put down the picture of the girl, and smiled. In the realm of men few words were needed, the father knew his son was apologetic. They picked out their sticks and the boy broke. After a couple of turns the father was down to his last shot. He eyed his son, looked at the ball and then back at his son as he wiggled his eyebrows, “Never miss the eight ball.” And with that the eight ball found its way to the corner pocket. The father stood up victorious and winked at the boy who had no idea he had just learned a very important life lesson.

Winner’s Circle,
A Warrior Princess

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