In The Rain - Silent Dialogue

The black and white ball flew through the arms of the goalkeeper, hitting and bending the net backwards, forming an apex with the edges of the goals. The under 17's threw their arms in the air as the ending siren for the last quarter sounded. Hands shook, and fingers grasped at the winning goal kicker. Sweat fell from their faces as they clambered over each other to celebrate their win.

Meanwhile, the opposing team fell solemnly to the ground, lying flat on the warn grass, gasping for air. Their final grunt for victory left them drained and exhausted; the disappointment etched into their red faces.

One boy, James Daniels, lay flat on the ground, his throat wheezing loudly as he breathed life back into his lungs. He turned his head to watch the winning team hoist the week's champion onto their shoulders and bounce off the field. James pushed back on his arms to raise his head from the grass. Looking around at his teammates on the grass, he sighed and stood.

James stretched his wary muscles and yawned, arms in the air with dark-haired armpits cooling in the breeze. Upon reopening his eyes after the yawn, he noticed a few of the others had also risen to stretch, and slowly make their way to the bleachers where the coach sat, head in hands, whistle discarded on the metal seat next to him.

The dreary overcast sky bore down on the boys as they walked slowly off the field. Thunder quietly rumbled in the distance, followed by a quick flash of lightning. James looked to the sky as a louder, closer thunder clap rumbled, before flinching as a small raindrop landed on his nose. The rain quickly became heavier, the thunder louder and the lightning brighter. In the space of a few minutes, James was soaked, head to toe in water, and he couldn't see hardly three meters ahead of himself.

He ran.

James ran from the back end of the field, across the midfield and – on his way to the bleachers – slipped and fell in a puddle of mud. James - covered in the thick brown sludge - stood and trudged slowly to the bleachers, the mud having completely filled his pockets. The rain bucketed down heavier, and by the time he reached the shelter of the bleachers, he was spotlessly clean, other than the mud he pulled from his pockets and emptied at the coach's feet.

Coach Ripley looked up at him, shook his head and sighed, before rising from his seat, looking at the semicircle of under 17's, and leaving. James watched him go, then turned and sat in his place. Timothy Hunt moved to stand in front of him, and James looked up at him, waiting for the words of encouragement that Tim was famous for.

Tim opened his mouth, thought again about it, then shut it and sat on the back of the metal bench behind him.

James nodded at him, then shook his head and sent water from his hair and pulled his soccer bib off. He tossed it to the side, then removed his shoes and socks, and stood, jumped twice, then bolted down over the metal seats and back out into the rain. On his way down the bleachers he had grabbed a soccer ball, and he began to kick it around, bouncing it off his foot and knees.

James grunted as the heavy rain knocked it from his neck, and on picking it up, he found that Tim had run out blind in the storm to find him. James looked at Tim; he was shirtless and shoeless just as he was. Laughing, he stood back and kicked it to Tim, who caught it in on the knee and bounced it around his body until he eventually kicked it back to James.

Pretty soon, Leroy, Billy, Sam and the other James had made it out to the storm. They were all lacking in shirts and shoes, and they were all soaking wet. James' extreme game had brightened the moods of the under 17's that had ventured into the rain. He could picture them laughing, or choking on the rain water as they looked up to head butt the ball.

Within ten minutes, they had worn themselves out completely, and fell to the ground, their spirits renewed, and despite the heavy rain, dehydration settled in. James looked to the grey mist above his head, before being forced to close his eyes to the downpour. James opened his mouth to the sweet rain, and swallowed the cool liquid, following its path down his oesophagus to his stomach, where he lost track of it.

Suddenly the soccer ball collided with his gut, and he opened his eyes in surprise to see Tim, standing above him, hand offered for support. James took the ball under his left arm and reached up with his right to grasp Tim's. Tim's scrawny yet muscular biceps had no trouble hoisting James to his feet in the rain. James slapped him on the back and led the way back to the bleachers, where the boys all stripped to their undies and wrung their shorts dry. James shook his wild hair, sending droplets of water about him to the complaining grunts of the boys around him.

James straightened up and looked about him; the boys had retrieved their towels from their bags and were drying off. Somehow he know no one would be taking a shower in the change rooms today; they all felt clean and refreshed as it was, despite the few mud splatters on their faces or cuff marks on the hands.

James dressed in the shelter; they were all the same and had no shame in being naked about each other. He pulled his legs through his three quarter length denim shorts, and pulled a light weighted white shirt over his torso, finally topping his wild blonde hair with a red and blue cap.

James, like the other boys, slung his soccer bag over his shoulder and made his way to the end of the shelter to see his mother waiting impatiently around the corner in her old, red Ford Falcon. James whisked his bag above his head, and ran for the car, jumping into the front seat and shutting the door quickly behind him.

His mother turned to him, and waited for him turn to her.

'You're late' She motioned to him, in sign language.