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Prologue
The door opened.
Along with the cold night air, two sets of footsteps came in.
The young woman, and the young guy.
…Together?!
I — So Tamano (thirty, virgin, forever B class, currently a cue ball) — watched it from the front table.
Watched, or rather, had been set down there.
Tonight she slipped off a camel coat. Underneath, a black turtleneck.
He slipped off a navy jacket. Underneath, the usual white shirt.
The coat and the jacket went up on the hooks on the wall, side by side.
From the back table came the old regular’s “All right.”
Tonight it sounded a little far away.
Chapter One: It Stopped
Nine-ball.
Race to five for him, race to four for her.
Two–two, and her turn.
The 8 was dead straight.
The 9 sat farther on, beyond it.
Pocket the 8, and if I carried on forward, the 9 would be right in front of me.
She struck me just above center.
Shff.
I ran.
Partway along, the sliding faded out.
A clean roll, as if gripping the cloth.
Tock.
The 8 dropped.
I stopped where I was.
“Oh, it stopped,” she said.
No.
Not yet.
On a dead-full hit, nearly all of my forward speed passes to the 8.
But the spin hardly passes at all.
Most of my forward roll is still in my body.
As I keep turning in place, the lowest point of me is moving backward.
The cloth tries to stop it, with friction pointing forward.
That friction wears away my spin, and pushes me forward.
Grip…
I set off again.
The spin shrinks, the speed grows, and where the two meet, I’m back to rolling.
The speed by then: about two-sevenths of what I had before the hit.
…Why do I know even this?
Apparently reincarnation makes you weirdly good at physics.
What a nuisance.
I came to rest just short of the 9.
“Oh, it came forward,” she said.
A rolling cue ball, on a dead-full hit, stops for an instant.
Then it sets off again, and rolls on at about two-sevenths of its speed before the hit.
Chapter Two: Kind of Cute
Before the next rack, the young guy set up the same position.
Because she had said, “Show me that again.”
He struck me.
Tock.
I stop.
A beat.
Grip… and I creep forward.
“The way it stops for a second. That’s kind of cute.”
She laughed.
The one she called cute was me, no question.
But the one who struck me was him.
So in this case, which of us got the compliment?
Back when I was B class, I thought follow carried the ball forward from the instant of contact.
I never knew it stopped first.
It’s only an instant.
Unless you’re looking for it, you can’t see it.
“Eight years, and what was I even looking at…”
Follow arrives late, after the stop.
My own turn, still stopped, has yet to come.
Epilogue
Closing time came again.
The lights went down.
One by one, the customers headed home.
The old guy went home.
The young woman went home.
The young guy went home.
Once again, I was the only one left on the table.
In the end, she took her fourth rack.
Both hooks on the wall were empty.
“Two-sevenths, huh…”
In the darkened pool hall, I just stayed still.
— Will my story go on? Or won’t it?
That may depend… on all of you.
Next time (if there is one): A little before closing. The young woman closes her cue case. The young guy closes his, too. ...At the same time?! The reincarnated life of So Tamano, cue ball, goes on... maybe.
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