37 37. A Bunch of Little Punks

The raucous children instantaneously quieted. Slowly backing down and sat in their respective seats.

Aruna was truly charming, like she could enchanted people with her magic, Hendra thought. But, that was a biased opinion. Moreover, he was already in love with her. Totally subjective and out of proportion.

He was clearly captivated by her … that he wasn't even aware of Aruna looking at him now.

Being caught after a mere minute of peeking, Hendra sheepishly ducked his head.

Unexpectedly, Aruna's reaction was quite different from what was in his mind. Childishly, Aruna stuck her tongue out at him. The tip of her index finger rested on her cheek, right under her eye, which she pulled down. Complementing the ridiculous face she made just for him.

'She's not upset anymore? Thank God …'

He decided to stop peeking then. Seeing an empty bench on the terrace of the building. It was something he rarely did. Just sitting around doing nothing, merely watching children play and enjoying it.

"Gooooaal!"

The boys cheered again, claiming their early victory. However, it looked like a one sided match. With a score of 5-0, no wonder the other team was slumping down. There was no fun when losing, anyway. Which was the exact opposite of the winning one.

Hendra observed them, wondering what they would do next. His mind wandered back to a book he had to read before starting a study every afternoon each Saturday, years ago. 'Cours de Philosophie Positive', written by August Comte (1798-1857). He was then taught by an old private teacher, always wearing eyeglasses and awfully annoying. Because the only thing he did was talk.

Hendra chuckled as he remembered his teenage years back then. He often pretended to be asleep just so the old man left as soon as possible. At times, he even actually fell asleep out of boredom.

"'Socius' means friend. 'Logos' means science. So, the simple definition of 'Sociology' is friendship, hahaha!" That was what the old private teacher said back then. He usually ended his lecture with a laugh. Not because there was something funny on the subject. But, he was indirectly teasing Hendra.

"How can I not fail this study? I can't even greet my friends. Argh! It's too theoretical!"

That study soon became a match between a pessimistic teen versus a fiery lecturer with various social theories under his sleeves.

Thud!

That sudden sound broke Hendra out of his flashback. A little boy tripped, now kneeling on the ground. The half-Javanese half-British man stood and was about to help him. However, his friends were quick to act.

"Don't be a crybaby! We're losing because of you, so get up and fight back!" a boy wearing a red shirt barked, arms crossed.

"Hey, it's okay, we're just playing," the other boy, wearing a faded yellow shirt, tried to subside.

"Come on! Don't cry again, that's really embarrassing. We will score a goal!" the positive thinker cheered.

"Impossible," the pessimistic boy said, even as he started to rise after his fall, wiping away the stray tears falling down his face. Truthfully, he seemed to be the weakest and played poorly from the beginning. He looked to be the smallest from the bunch, the youngest too, maybe.

"Do you want to continue or surrender? It's 5-0, now," another boy from the winning team cided, challenging.

Hendra remained there, then. Keep watching the bunch of little punks playing football. He chuckled to himself, restraining a bout of laughter because he didn't want to bully the losing kids. But, they truly suck at this.

"Argh!" The smallest boy was accidentally kicked by his friend. He limped to the side, once again bringing his hand to his face and wiped his tears away. It looked like he hurt his foot. At least he didn't sob as he waited by the courtyard's side.

"Hey, come on!" his friend called out loud, the angry one who was annoyed by his poor play earlier.

In the end, Hendra was touched. He walked around the courtyard towards the little boy who was now grimacing in pain.

"You don't want to play again?" Hendra crouched, leveling his gaze to the little boy's.

He only shook his head.

"Does that still hurt?" Hendra carefully touched the reddish skin on his calf.

"Do you want to play for me?" a simple question, yet it has a deeper meaning.

"You really want your team to win, huh?"

The boy nodded again, seemingly the type of a quiet kid.

Hendra's blue eyes locked on the boy's for a second before he nodded too, "Alright, but you have to play again later, okay? I'm sure it's not that bad," he gestured to the boy's hurt calf.

Turning to the courtyard, Hendra yelled to the playing children, "He's hurt. Can I play in his place for a while?"

.

The sun had shifted even lower to the west, casting a longer shadow on his feet. The only adult man there had already shed his suit jacket and shiny black shoes, now carefully being held by the smallest boy on the sideline.

He felt like being a boy again.

Playing football with a lousy team and helping them win. There, he was no longer the only heir of an influential tycoon. He was no longer a successor of a powerful business empire who received special treatment. He played like any other kid. They would come at him, kicking, trying to get the ball, restraining his towering figure with their tiny bodies. No one made a way for him and let him win, because now, he was just another player in this make-shift football yard.

They were truly a bunch of little punks. He was losing count of their fierce and unrelenting kick, robbing him of the ball he was dribbling. The branded trousers were covered in dust and dirt. Because of the heat, he already took off the upper two buttons on his light rose shirt. Cufflinks safely kept inside his pants pocket, sleeves rolled up until they reached his elbows. He was equally relentless trying to win this award less match.

And finally, one of the boys from his team managed to score their first goal after his skilled pass. The children on this lousy team were jumping up and down, cheerfully yelling their hearts out. Even the smallest boy who said he was in pain was jumping joyfully from the sideline.

"Sir, pass it to me next, 'kay!"

They were scrambling to get Hendra to pass the ball to them, already acknowledging his expertise and the strategy he made. He had decided to divide the team with their own position, like a real football player, not just children playing blindly.

"No, don't leave your position if you want to win," Hendra refused.

"Can we? It's 7-1 now!" the kid in the faded yellow shirt complained.

"Yeah, and we have to go home before dark," the red shirt wearing boy said, a bit hypocritical from his earlier optimistic thought.

"There's nothing wrong with trying," Hendra expressed, already pumped up to play again.

"Hey, do you still want to play or not?" one of the kids from the opposite team yelled, a little annoyed at the stolen goal.

The dust danced in the air. Flying high on the courtyard of the place marked with a big board with 'Children's Social Welfare Institution' in bold letters. It pictured a dramatic effect for a bunch of kids and an adult man who played football.

No doubt, after Hendra's briefing of simple strategy, the previously lousy team was now fired up. They followed his plan, not wasting any time with efficient moves. On the other hand, the winning team was starting to slow down, tired.

One by one, they caught up and scored goal after goal. 7-3 soone turned to 7-5, and next it was 7-7.

Looking up, the sky was almost entirely covered in dark. But the boys were still fighting hard to decide who would win. They wouldn't want to end it in a draw. There must be a winner, they said. And so, they agreed to do penalty kicks.

Hendra sat down on the sideline. The smallest boy who he replaced was offering him a bottle of water, a proud smile on his face. The sweaty foreign-looking tall man readily accepted, he glugged down the clear mineral water, eyeing the little boys lining up to do the deciding penalty kicks. Unnoticed, the water slipped past his lips, trailing down his jaw and neck, wetting the front of his shirt.

"Do you want to do the kick?" Hendra asked the quiet boy.

"What if I miss?"

"Do the first kick then. You'll cheer them up if you score the goal. But, they won't blame you if you miss," he suggested.

"Will they let me do it, tho?" he said, eyes darted around his friend's faces.

"Don't worry about it. Come on."

That late afternoon, all scoring goals were cheered loudly from both teams. The bunch of dusty boys were jumping up and down excitedly, screaming from the top of their lungs. Including the pessimistic little boy who was allowed to kick. Not as the kickstarter, just like Hendra suggested, but he was intended to be a back up.

In the end, he kicked the last ball. The deciding factor of the match. Bringing their lousy team to victory.

Deep in euphoria, Hendra spontaneously picked up the grinning boy and sat him on his shoulders. He ran around the courtyard, joyous children trailing after him.

The sun disappeared on the horizon, but their smiles remained into the night.

.

.

"You've done playing?" A soft and familiar voice called out to Hendra.

He was unaware of being watched by her.