Tennis Balls for the Wrong Sport

Hollowed out lime green orbs bounced with an awkward sound. That pinging sound was slightly muffled, but it didn’t affect the bounce.

Carelio Cantis filled his tennis ball with poetry to bounce to Oletta Greenworthy. He had competition. As his ball bounced down the Wilmington street, the ther tennis balls jumped like children on a trampoline, too. Only these were entirely different kinds of hallowed out sports equipment.

“Of the thought I try/ Not to whisper why/ Your love is favor/ I savor the flavor.” That was just one poem stuffed into a ball like ham and cheese and chicken stuffed inside cordon bleu.

“You know I got your poem yesterday,” Oletta admitted. “It was really sweet.”

“Thank you,” Cantis replied.

“My brother was pissed, though,” she mentioned.

“He uses his tennis balls for something completely different.”

“Yep.”

“That’s alright. Whatever comes to the right person, that’s just what they get,” Cantis explained.

The two of them walked to her house. There was a breeze this cool October afternoon. Tennis balls pounded the pavement and made a percussion out of the street. Oletta bent down to pick up one. There was no poem to be found in it.

A policeman pulled up to the couple. He withdrew his gun.

“Freeze, Miss! Now place the ball down on the ground,” Officer Lorne O’Reilly ordered.

“She didn’t do anything!” Cantis shouted.

“Sir, I’m going to need you to lower your voice and step aside,” O’Reilly commanded.

The officer approached Oletta. He found the vials with white substance that shimmered in the light. in the light and slid the steel bracelets of justice over her wrists. Oletta bent her head and got into the back of the cruisier.

“You can meet us down at the station or go on about your business. Your girlfriend here is going to be asked a few questions.”

In the interrogation room, Detectives Asleksa Bjorn and Peter Ganter offered a ham and cheese sandwich with chips and a drink. She refused.

“We know you want a lawyer. We know you’re not going to loosen up with some state food pushed in front of you. What we don’t know is what you won’t tell us,” Aleksa reminded the young woman.

“I’ll tell you. My brother is Varney Greenworthy. He’s been dealing rock cocaine for at least three years now. He puts the product in these tennis balls. My boyfriend writes to me with these same tennis balls. I happened to pick up the wrong one and now I’m in this predicament with you both.”

“Understood. We’re glad we didn’t have to pull that out of you,” Ganter said.

“What we can do now is bring in your brother and you can go free. Depending on your familial relationship with him, we may have to relocate you out of Delaware.”

“Witness protection?”

“Yes.”

“Figures. My brother’s not coming after me. We’re really cool brother and sister. This tennis ball business really started with him, but the thing is, what difference is it if it is a poem or diet coke?”

“According to the penal code, young lady, the weight that your sibling is carrying could put him away for thirty years. A poem is not of the State’s concern. The drugs are,” Aleksa said.

“I gave you all of the information. Can I go now?”

“Yes, you’re free.”

Oletta fell into Cantis’ arms. “What’d you say in there?”

“I told them everything.”

“You had to or you would have burst. Your brother’s got enough money for a good lawyer. He’ll go to a resort if anything for a skid bid and be out without a felony charge. That all depends on whether you let him know they’re coming for him.”

“I’m not worried, he’s done what he’s done. Whatever the case is, he’ll have to atone for his crimes while we push to have these drugs legalized.”