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forgadgetsandgizmos · 4 years

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It Pulls Me Back into the Night

Written for Day 2 of Alex Manes Week 2020 | Prompt: AU/Canon Divergence

Read it on AO3

When Alex woke up at five in the morning to a text from Max of a location and-

>>come quick

-he has to admit that the first thought to cross his mind was something along the lines of again? His second was annoyance at having to wake the sleeping bed of curls beside him in order to attach his prosthetic.

At no point did he expect to drive to a cave in the middle of the desert and find himself staring at a glowing, mystery alien device, a Max lookalike, and one Mimi Deluca. Or that the three of them would precede to ask him to plan a heist. . . in 1948.

Yet here he sits, plans for said heist spread out in front of him, aided in his endeavors by a bearded, country version of his alien boyfriend’s alien brother.

Antarian, not alien, he corrected. Because the mystery planet Mimi had deemed ‘that place with the red skies’ was called Antar.

At least it was according to Jones-the-alien-lookalike, who had yet to provide another name.

Jones’ cave hole hideaway has its own pod and consul set-up. According to him, his consul was the original one linked to Michael, Isobel, and Max’s pods, and therefore stored their missing seven years of memories, like a back-up on a computer. Jones was locked out of the interface and while Michael, Max, or Isobel should have been able to access it, the memory of exactly how was just as lost as everything else about their past. Hence, a power-borrowing, time-walking heist to find Nora in 1948 and have her give Michael a psychic impression of her mind, allowing him to gain access to the consul and restore his own memories. Which will include how he can restore Max and Isobel’s. According to Jones. Whose trustworthiness Alex remained on the fence about.

Plus, just thinking about the physics of it all for too long made his head spin.

“I think the plan is as good as it’s going to get based off seventy-year-old information,” Alex finally announced. In the last three hours, they had created a timeline of everything they knew about Nora’s day at the harvest festival in October of 1948, even calling Sanders to ask for his recollection of events.

“Are you sure?” The real Max stood to the side, leaning against the cave wall. In the time Alex had been here, he had barely taken his eyes off of Max-lookalike.

Alex shrugged. “As sure as I can be.”

“Finally,” Jones exclaimed; the word drawn out near the end from his exaggerated accent. Alex had to resist rolling his eyes every time he heard it.

“I’ll call the others,” Max directed to him. He headed outside for cell reception since this cave was a complete dead spot.

It was a fact Alex had been cursing every five minutes of their little three-hour research project. The only skill Alex brought to the table and Max brought him to the one place in miles it was useless. Although if he’s being honest with himself, it was perfectly on par with every other insane event during the past few months.

Forty-five minutes later, Michael and Isobel were running in, Kyle, Liz, and Maria not far behind.

Michael rushed straight to his side and pulled him into a quick kiss. “Leave a note next time.” He shoved Alex’s shoulder lightly. “I didn’t even realize you had left this morning when I got Max’s call.”

“I didn’t wake you when I put on my prosthetic?”

“Busy day at the junkyard, I was exhausted. Slept right through.”

“Is anyone going to explain what’s going on?” Isobel questioned, waving her hand in a hello, remember me? gesture.

And that was how Alex ended up explaining theoretical time travel to the gaping faces of his friends before he’d had his (second) morning coffee.

He had to hand it to Liz and Kyle; they had managed to set up a mini-hospital room in a cave with bare-bones equipment and an extension cord hooked up to Max’s car battery outside.

Liz was comforting a worried Maria who was hovering over her mother while Kyle connected her to vital monitors.

Max had conveniently ducked out, leaving him to explain Jones’ plan to Michael and Isobel.

“Let me get this straight,” Michael started. “You want Isobel to link my mind to Mimi’s so I can steal her powers- “

“Borrow her powers,” Alex corrected.

“-steal her powers and use them to time travel-“

“Time walk.”

“-into creepy Not-Max’s past to get a psychic impression from my dead mother that will make the glowing alien machine return my missing memories?”

Alex grinned, unabashed by Michael’s bewildered tone. “That about sums it up.”

“Are we sure this is possible?” Isobel appeared to be taking this more seriously than Michael. She had dropped her previous look of exasperation in exchange for the intense concentration she displayed now. After she recovered from the shock of Alex saying, ‘back in time,’ of course.

Alex sighed. “That’s where it gets dicey. Theoretically, yes. Jones said that Mimi’s ability to walk through the past of people in her direct line is a common power among Antarians. The thing is, Michael’s going to be going backwards through Isobel to Mimi to Jones. It’s is a lot of hoops to jump through in order to make this work.” Alex didn’t try to hide his displeasure at his next words. “There’s a slight chance that when Michael tries to come back to his body, he can’t ground himself and gets stuck between times.”

Michael’s eyes shot to him, wide as saucers.

“We have a plan for that,” Alex reassured him.

“Yes, your boyfriend.” Jones’ booming voice echoed around them.

Michael scowled, turning his body in a vein effort to block Jones’ view of Alex. A pointless gesture in the cramped cave but it made Alex smile, nonetheless.

“Boyfriend goes in connected to you, separate from the other two, giving him a straight shot back. Your connection to him,” he directed to Michael, “will allow you to travel with him and use to him anchor you. As long as he can ground himself, you’ll both wake up safe and sound.”

Michael ran a hand through his hair. “And it has to be me because...”

“You aren’t physically traveling back in time,” Max answered, finally back from his car to join the growing group. “You’re traveling back through Jones’ experiences. If I went, Jones would be the only person who could see me. Your familial connection with Nora should theoretically allow her to see you as well. Isobel has the same connection with Louise, but she has to link you and Mimi.”

“You get to meet your mom,” Isobel realized.

A guilty expression flashed across Max’s face. “I’m sorry, Isobel. You’re the only one who can make the connection between Mimi and Michael.”

“I offered,” Jones added snidely.

“We aren’t letting you in their heads,” Alex snapped, his annoyance obvious. He and Max vetoed this hours ago and Jones had repeatedly brought it up since then, especially since the other five arrived. “I’m not comfortable with it and frankly, Maria isn’t either.”

A rough hand grabbed his and thumbed over his skin in soft circles. He squeezed back firmly.

“We’re all set up,” Liz announced, drawing their attention to the opposite wall. Mimi sat calmly, hooked up to a heart and blood pressure monitor beeping steadily. Maria held her hand beside her, looking significantly more concerned about the next few minutes than Mimi.

Liz rubbed her hands together and looked between Michael and Alex. “Remember, you’ll have eight minutes, maybe nine. Longer than that and I can’t make any guarantees about how well Mimi will hold up to the stress.”

“Time limit.” Alex nodded and raised his wrist to show the room where the pre-set timer was blinking on his watch. “Timer. We got it.”

“Time travel,” Michael muttered, shaking his head.

Alex grunted his agreement.

Yeah. This was insane.

He was standing.

It was the first thing Alex noticed when he opened his eyes. He had been laying down in the cave beside Michael, holding hands with their arms pressed together to make sure they didn’t break contact when they lost consciousness.

Now he stood in the midst of a bustling fall festival. His head spun behind his eyes from the sudden, blinding sunlight and loud screeching of children laughing.

The first thing he noticed when his head had finally calmed enough for him to crack his eyes open was the color. The movies always show the ‘40s and ‘50s in pastel, as if they had been painted in faded watercolor with age.

The real ’48 was nothing like that.

He stood on a bed of hay. Tents selling crafts and food formed makeshift streets around him. Vibrancy was everywhere, the scenery adorned in neon colors and strong patterns. Men and women alike wore bright colors with clenched waists and high-waisted denim. Young women passed by in coveralls with bright shirts for a pop of color.

He jumped back as a child in bright blue pants and a yellow shirt burst past him, a woman in a polka-dotted dress following close behind. He stepped back on his prosthetic, so that had made the jump at least. Good. He’d been worried.

Michael placed a steadying hand on his back. “Are you seeing what I’m seeing?” he whispered.

Alex nodded dumbly.

Shoot, the timer, he remembered. Alex clicked a button on the side of his watch, starting the countdown from seven minutes and thirty seconds. Jones had suggested the thirty-second cut, figuring they would be disoriented and need the cushion. It irks Alex to know he was right.

Jones had been telling the truth about them not being visible. Despite knowing they must have suddenly appeared standing in a spot that was empty seconds before, no one had spared them a second glance.

It was definitely for the best. With him in his leather jacket standing next to Michael in worn jeans and his black hat, they certainly didn’t fit in with the tailored suits and squared shoulders of the men here.

“We need to find Nora,” Alex said finally. “The longer we’re here, the more the connection fades and the harder it’ll to get back.”

Michael nodded his agreement. Neither of them wanted to risk Mimi’s health.

“Okay. According to Sanders’ timeline, Nora, Louise, Roy, and Walt got to the pumpkin contest around two o’clock today, while Jones said he’d been here since twelve. Assuming our version of the timeline is correct, we’re in the thirty-minute window between when Jones sees Nora at half-past two but keeps his distance and when he speaks to her at three. After that, he gets too far away.”

“I was there when you explained it the first time, Alex,” Michael remarked with a poorly stifled laugh.

Alex rolled his eyes and stepped forward. “Excuse me for knowing my boyfriend has a tendency towards selective hearing.”

Michael caught Alex’s hand, pulling him back. “My boyfriend.” Michael’s eyes glinted mischievously. “I like that.”

“Think we can tell it to your mom?”

Michael’s face softened at the mention of his mother, forming an almost wistful expression. “I hope so,” he mumbled.

Alex squeeze his hand reassuringly and tugged him forward. He didn’t have any experience with coming out to a parent – his dad had seemed to know he was gay before he did – but they had still daydreamed together, usually in bed, usually blissed out after sex.

Some things were too painful to even think about. His mind drew a blank when he tried to imagine his dad’s reaction to Harlan murdering Tripp and building a shed to hide the body. But other things, like Christmas with grandad Tripp, who’d be accepting and warm, or telling Nora about them together and her being overjoyed that they found a cosmic love to match her own? Those daydreams were perfect. And in a way, this was their chance for one of them to be real.

Despite Michael’s cool attitude before they’d left, Alex could tell he was nervous about meeting his mom. Whether it was excitement, embarrassment, her meeting Alex (assuming she could see him as well), her meeting Alex as his boyfriend, or some combination, he wasn’t sure. Alex didn’t blame him. He couldn’t meet Tripp, who was human and therefore unable to see or hear them, but the sentiment was there.

It was barely a half-minute of walking before they saw the sign from the picture reading ‘Roswell Fall Festival.’ Nora was easy to spot; she stood beside an overly large pumpkin and the only non-white man in the small crowd. He noticed Nora’s eyes on them seconds before Michael did.

Alex paused next Michael’s frozen body. Nora’s posture mirrored Michael’s, stiff with shock.

He spun and met Michael’s eyes, a dozen, churning emotions reflecting back to him. As much as Alex wished he could him be, to take a second and soak this in (he was seeing his mom, alive and healthy), they had already wasted precious time getting here. They didn’t have more to waste.

“Ms. Nora? Everything alright?” A child beside her – Sanders, Alex presumed, as a child and before he’d lost his eye - noticed her distress and was tugging on her skirt. The man beside her – Roy Bronson – drew his eyebrows in.

Nora shook her head. “Everything’s fine, Walt.” She swatted his hand away. “You know not to be pulling on my skirts,” she admonished half-heartedly.

Michael’s hand tightened suddenly in his.

“Sorry Ms. Nora,” Walt said, seemingly unapologetic.

“I need to excuse myself,” she announced. “I’ll just be a minute.”

Roy reached out and placed a hand on her shoulder. “Louise will be back soon,” he protested, “and the contest is about to begin.”

“I’ll be back in time,” she answered, turning away. She looked over to where the two of them stood, oblivious to the rest of the crowd, and tilted her head towards a closed barn to her right. With another glance to Michael, who seemed to have a better hold over himself, he followed her.

They stopped once they had reached the back of the barn, hidden on each side by large stacks of hay decorated in fall-themed leaf print outs strung together.

Michael and Nora stood facing each other.

Mother and son in a bittersweet reunion, Alex realized. Nora would understand how they were here. She could see their strange clothes and must realize what it means.

They couldn’t warn her about what would happen tomorrow. Jones had explained again and again before they left. To everyone else, everything happening around them is real. To Alex and Michael, they were experiencing a memory as if it was projected around them. Or more accurately, as if they had been projected into it. They couldn’t change anything because this was had already happened. Even if they spent the next five minutes explaining to Nora, in painstaking detail, everything they know about the next seventy years, she would forget the second they left. They’d arrive back at the same future they left empty handed, having wasted their time.

“Hi, Mom.” Michael’s voice was barely above a whisper.

“My son,” Nora said softly. She reached a hand up to cup his face before it fell as if for a moment, she had forgotten he wasn’t here and then reality hit. Alex watched her eyes trace Michael’s body, catching briefly on his tight grip of Alex’s hand. “You’re alive. And healthy.” She beamed at them.

“We’re not really here,” Michael started to explain, his voice dripping with unspoken apologies.

She shook her head. “I know. You won’t have long. What do you need?”

“I’m not really sure, something about accessing a consul. We found Jones-“

“He’s still alive?” Nora asked suddenly, eyes snapping to Michael’s.

“He was in pod, like ours, hidden away.”

“You stay away from him,” Nora demanded. Her voice took on a sharp edge to it. “He’s a stowaway who took a dangerous stance in the war on Antar and I don’t want you near him.”

“I don’t really understand that, but, well. That’s what I’m trying to say. When we woke up, we didn’t remember anything from before. Jones said that you can give me some psychic link to trigger my memories with the consul he was found with?”

Alex saw Nora’s face crumble before she could steady it. “It unlocks with a psychic connection that’s tied to me. I can transfer it to you.” She reached out a hand, palm up. “Hover your hand about mine,” she directed.

With a glance towards Alex, he placed his hand palm down above Nora’s and both their hands light up with the same faint, iridescent orange and purple that the ship pieces glowed with. After a few tense seconds, the colors faded.

“It’s done,” she announced, taking her hand away.

Michael followed suit.

“Rath - “

Alex tilted his head.

“- listen to me. This is for you and only you, alright? Get your memories back but you can’t give it to Jones,” she implored, a hint of a scowl (a very familiar scowl, Alex noted) appearing when she said his name.

Alex’s watch beeped. One-minute warning.

Michael looked at him, eyes suddenly frantic. Not enough time. It won’t ever be.

“Rath?” Michael’s voice was small, timid.

Nora didn’t seem to know what to say to that. “Yes? That’s you. That’s your name. Do you,” she trailed off. “What do you go by?”

He swallowed. “Michael.”

She repeated the word a few times as if she was feeling it out.

“There’s 3 of us,” he continued, “Isobel, Max, and I.”

“Vilandra.” She was blinking, rapidly. Blinking away tears? “And the other. Zan.”

“Rath,” Michael repeated.

Nora looked at Alex properly for the first time since they’d arrived. “And you?”

Michael had her eyes, Alex noticed. They shared the same shine when they smiled.

The unexpected question seemed to shock them both into silence.

“This is Alex. I love him, Mom. So much.” Michael answered the question with confidence, the first Alex had seen since waking up here.

Alex let his grin show. It was his Michael again, emerging from this shell he had climbed into roughly six and a half minutes ago.

Michael had dropped Alex’s hand earlier when Nora asked for it. Now, he took it again.

“Manes, Alex Manes,” Alex said again. He winced, realizing what he had said. The first thing he does when he officially meets the love of his life’s long dead mother is copy James Bond?

“I see,” Nora said softly.

“I’m Harlan’s grandson,” Alex answered her unspoken question. “I don’t agree with his values.”

“I can see that,” Nora said with a wink, motioning towards their hands. She flattened her hands over her skirt. “Well, it’s nice to meet you, Alex Manes. I’m Michael’s mother, Nora.”

“It’s nice to meet you too, ma’am.” Looking over at Michael, he didn’t think either of their faces could smile any bigger or brighter.

His watch beeped again. “30 seconds,” he said apologetically. And they’d have to go or risk getting stuck here or Mimi getting hurt.

“I understand.” Nora took a step closer and placed her hand over Michael’s chest. Had he really been here, they’d be touching. “Michael, I’m so glad you’re safe. It’s all I’ve been worried about for a year and to know that you survive, and you’re healthy and loved is a blessing I will treasure, even if I don’t remember it for long.”

“You see me again,” Michael choked out. “Right before…”

Nora placed a finger over his mouth and shushed him. “I wish I could’ve been with you and raised you, watched you grow up into this handsome young man. I’m so sorry I couldn’t be. Know that I fought for you. You go and be the amazing, intelligent, compassionate boy I know you to be. I love you, dear heart.”

Michael choked back a sob. “I love you too, Mom.”

Nora looked to Alex. “You’ll keep him safe, now.”

“With my life,” Alex agreed.

“I’m glad he found his family,” she said softly. “Time for you to go then. I have a pumpkin contest to win.” She put on a brave face and gave them a wink.

“I’m not ready for you to leave, Mom,” Michael cried, reaching out to her.

“I know baby. I’m not ready to leave. But parents never are, and it’s the job of the kids to keep going.”

BeepBeepBeep. BeepBeepBeep.

Alex cut the sound off quickly.

“I assume that means it’s time for you to go?” Nora supposed.

Alex nodded.

“I can’t be here when you do,” Nora said, backing up to the edge of the hay wall sealing them off from the rest of the crowd. “I love you, Rath.” Alex caught Michael’s shoulder, wrapping him in his arms as the figure walking away from them faded from view.

He let Michael hold onto him for a few seconds before placing his hands on either side of Michael’s face and pressing their foreheads together, both their eyes clamped shut. “Baby, we gotta go,” he whispered.

A shaky breath. Then a nod against his head.

An orange glow filled Alex’s vision. He squeezed his eyes shut as the light built and the sounds of the festival faded away. The sound of his own heavy breathing filled his ears. The feeling of Michael’s stubble under hand was gone, as if it somehow faded beside neither of them moving.

Alex didn’t dare move his hands despite not feeling anything under them. Michael hasn’t moved – if he had, Alex wouldn’t be able to go back – and letting go might mean Michael losing his anchor.

The light dimmed.

This was his part. He had to ground himself in his body - without actually returning to it – and then link himself to Michael so he could return as well.

Without opening his eyes, he turned his attention to his other senses. He could feel the damp, cool atmosphere of the cave against his skin and rock digging into places where he remembered it when he laid down. His prosthetic was just slightly digging into the top of his leg from laying down with it on for too long. He could hear muffled speaking, though he couldn’t distinguish it as any specific person or words.

He focused his attention on his right hand, the one that was supposed to be in Michael’s. He remembered the feeling of warmth against his arm, the places the hair would tickle against the crock of his elbow, and the way Michael’s thumb always caught on his finger when they held hands in bed.

And then Michael was squeezing his hand and he flung his eyes open and the room erupted in his ears.

Alex tightened his arms and rolled over, slowly pulling away from Michael’s sleeping body on the other side of the bed.

It had been a hell of a day. But as exhausted as Alex’s body felt (it turns out that time walking with borrowed alien superpowers took a toll. Who knew?), he couldn’t get his mind to catch up.

As soon as they got back, everyone had begun yelling, wanting to know if they were okay (Liz and Max), how seeing Nora was (Isobel), and if Michael got what he needed to access the consul (Jones). Isobel and Max had taken to learning their birth names with as much grace as one could when said names are delivered through their time traveling brother’s conversation with his dead mother seventy years in the past. Jones had wanted Michael to try and get his memories right then and there, but it turns out that the seven and a half minutes in 1948 equated to seven and a half hours in 2020.

Liz’s calculations had been right for Michael and Alex’s part, but she hadn’t factored in the time dilation. After the initial panic when nine minutes past and they didn’t wake up, but Mimi’s vitals held steady, Liz and Kyle figured it out pretty quickly.

And god, they’d been exhausted. Alex had been about to kill over where he stood. The only thing that kept him standing was his training and knowing that Michael was just as tired, only with acetone substituting for military experience.

He had never been happier to be in his own bed. With Michael too. He had persuaded Michael to come with him instead of going to his airstream, claiming if Michael wouldn’t come to Alex, he’d have to go to him and the bed there would make his already hurting leg worse.

He had gotten a dirty look for it but getting to be here, now, the mop of curls he’d cuddled to sleep peeking out from under the comforter?

He didn’t mind all that much.

Alex stared at the ceiling fan spinning above him in the dark. As soon as they could leave that cave, they’d had. Stopped by the Crashdown for to-go food and eaten it in bed while watching Animal Planet on Disney Plus.

They hadn’t talked about those seven and a half minutes yet, him and Michael. Alex wouldn’t blame Michael if he never wanted to acknowledge them again. They didn’t need to talk about the bad things to understand.

But Nora wasn’t a bad memory. She’d been good. She’d been great.

He supposes, in a few days when the wound wasn’t so raw, when they were cuddling in the dark, blissed out after sex, Michael would talk about it.

And he would listen.

See it on AO3

#alexweek2020 #roswell new mexico #alexappreciation2020 #malex #alex manes #michael guerin #roswellnm #roswell nm #rnm #fic #malex fic #my writing #ao3 #alicewrites

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talabib · 7 years

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Leadership Journey : Andre Agassi

It’s a common belief that those who reach the highest level of fame and success must have an inherent and extraordinary passion for their field. But this couldn’t be further from the truth in the case of Andre Agassi, who first burst onto the scene as a rebellious tennis champion from Las Vegas.

In this post, you’ll learn about the unusual life trajectory of this Grand Slam master who would rather have been penning poetry than playing tennis, and who didn’t know how to handle the fame that came from receiving tennis’s highest honors.

From his early tennis grooming to his endeavors to help at-risk children improve their lives, you’ll get an insight into the highs and lows of Agassi’s celebrated career.

Andre Agassi’s childhood was difficult and dominated by an overbearing father who forced him to practice tennis.

Andre Agassi has been blasting back tennis balls for as long as he can remember. At the age of seven, Agassi faced off every day against a machine that his father had built in their backyard in Las Vegas, Nevada. Agassi called this contraption “the dragon.” It growled and bellowed smoke as it shot out tennis balls like a cannon. Agassi faced up to 2,500 balls a day as his father barked directions at him from behind: “Hit harder!” “Hit earlier!”

In these circumstances, it’s easy to understand why Agassi hated the dragon and the sport of tennis. But Agassi’s father wasn't just determined for his son to succeed. He was prone to violence as well. Agassi didn’t dare resist.

An image of his father’s aggression is still etched in Agassi’s mind. One day Agassi senior, in a fit of road rage, pulverized another driver with his fists and left him unconscious in the middle of the street. Would he die? Or would another car accidentally run over him? All this had happened simply because the other driver had honked his horn.

The pressure was palpable. His father's demands and expectations had a source. He himself had dreamed of becoming a famous tennis player. As a young child in Tehran, Agassi’s father had watched British and American soldiers playing the game. In fact, he’d even acted as a ball boy for them.

Sadly, there weren’t any other kids with whom he could play tennis, and Agassi’s father took up boxing instead. He even represented Iran in the 1948 and 1952 Olympics.

He never won a medal himself, but he was damned sure his son wouldn’t be short of them. He wanted his son to become the best in the world.

Agassi’s professional career began after a rebellious stint at an oppressive tennis academy.

When Agassi was just nine years old, he famously hustled legendary football player Jim Brown in three straight sets. But that was nothing compared to what happened a few days later. Agassi was beating his father 5–2 in the first set when Agassi senior suddenly abandoned the match.

Playing against older players was nothing new to Agassi. He’d already been playing in junior tournaments against older kids for a year by the time he beat his father.

The pressure continued. Agassi wasn’t even allowed a proper education: at 14 he was enrolled at a tennis academy in Florida, the Nick Bollettieri Tennis School.

It was more like an army barracks than a school. Children aged between seven and 19 slept in rows of uncomfortable bunk beds on the rare occasions they weren’t forced to practice tennis. They were cut off from the outside world.

The food was bad, and they often went unsupervised. In this environment fights were common. Once, a couple of kids traded punches after a racial slur was used. One had his jaw broken in return for his wit. But no one was disciplined.

However much Agassi dreamed about escaping his father’s control, it was an impossibility. Within a year of being at the school, he started to rebel. He started drinking, smoking weed, wearing jeans during tennis practice and even styled himself a pink mohawk.

Bollettieri, the school’s founder, was forgiving. He let Agassi act up because he was one of the most talented players to grace the school. But eventually, 15-year-old Agassi snapped in front of him. The repressive environment had become too much. Why wouldn’t they enter him into professional tournaments? Bollettieri had no words. Agassi was ready to compete, and Bollettieri became Agassi’s first professional coach.

Agassi struggled with his image as well as his feelings about tennis.

Agassi turned pro on April 29, 1986, his sixteenth birthday. That day, he lost in the final of the Florida Masters tournament. He faced a dilemma. If he accepted the $1,100 second-place prize, it would mean accepting a livelihood as a professional tennis player.

Sure, it was great to have some much-needed money. But it didn’t make an iota of difference to his feelings about tennis. He still hated it, and he’d have to face that for the rest of his career. He took the money.

In his first year as a pro, he traveled the world, earning just enough to keep on the circuit. And a $20,000 Nike sponsorship deal came in handy too.

Agassi felt lost though. He hadn’t had a proper education and had to give up an interest in writing and poetry. All he knew was how to play tennis, and he hated that!

Things came to a head in Rome. He’d been there for a tournament but used the opportunity to see the city’s art. He realized a life inspired by such culture would be far greater than what he had.

The conflict was a real one, and Agassi was torn within, confused over his identity and image. He was a contradiction. He was shy but simultaneously had a rebellious streak that resulted in a flamboyant appearance that ensured he stuck out from the crowd. He wore denim tennis shorts and cut his hair into a spiky mullet, replete with frosted tips.

He had some stand-out victories in 1987, like beating the current Wimbledon winner Pat Cash, but they left him hollow inside.

He lost to some giants too. Ivan Lendl was the most cutting blow of all. He dismissed Agassi as nothing more than "a haircut and a forehand.” But in truth, Agassi never truly felt as though he had an identity of his own.

Agassi is eternally grateful to his trainer Gil Reyes and his spiritual advisor, J.P.

In 1987, Agassi shocked the world by taking home $90,000 from his first tournament win in Brazil. He was just 17 years old. He couldn’t resist splashing the cash and bought a white Corvette.

Success continued apace in 1988. But, after he lost in five sets to world number three Mats Wilander in the semi-finals of the French Open, it was clear his stamina and physical abilities needed to be worked on. He needed a trainer.

Agassi found Gil Reyes at the University of Las Vegas. Reyes seemed like an actual giant to the young Agassi. He had the largest hands he’d ever seen. Reyes would become more than a trainer to him. It was the start of a beautiful friendship.

Reyes didn’t just design personal workouts on unique equipment; he also opened his home to Agassi. Agassi ate with Reyes's family frequently. In due course, Reyes – 18 years Agassi’s senior – became very much a second father, one who always held Agassi's best interests at heart.

Another key figure for Agassi at this time was John Parenti, more commonly known as J.P., the pastor of a Las Vegas church. He was known for leading his congregation casually dressed in jeans and a T-shirt.

Agassi reached out to J.P. They sat down and talked. The pastor was able to help Agassi understand his issues. Agassi began to consider his internal contradictions for what they were, a consequence of his upbringing. He finally understood that it was fine not to be perfect all the time.

Andre wound up bringing J.P. to tournaments, and sought his counsel for several years. He wanted to better understand himself as an individual, beyond tennis and his relationship with his father.

Once Reyes and J.P. were in his life, Agassi’s physical strength and confidence grew. He was perfectly placed to defeat tennis legend Jimmy Connors in a five-set match at the 1989 US Open.

Wimbledon success brought Agassi newfound respect; in Brad Gilbert, he found the perfect coach.

Reyes was the consummate professional, and before long Agassi’s game improved rapidly. The trainer even developed specific exercises that took account of Agassi’s lower back problems. Agassi had been born with spondylolisthesis, a slippage of the vertebrae that can be exceptionally painful. Reyes also blended a special sports drink to keep Agassi hydrated during and after matches. This was the famous "Gil Water,” a mixture of water, carbohydrates, salt and electrolytes.

The fundamentals were in place. But a grand slam title was still beyond Agassi's grasp. Achieve that, and he would finally gain the respect of his peers and the press.

He’d done himself no favors in a 1989 Canon camera commercial when he’d played to stereotype. The advertising slogan, “Image is everything,” only served to double down on his all-style-no-substance reputation.

It was a shock to everyone, then, when he landed a Wimbledon title in 1992. After all, grass courts were his least-favored surface, and he was ranked 12 – his worst position since 1988.

The press erupted at his first grand slam win. They finally recognized that Agassi was a player with the talent to compete and win at the highest level. Even Agassi’s hyper-critical father was begrudgingly and tearfully proud.

One thing that was slowing him down was his coach, Nick Bollettieri. He hadn’t adequately prepared Agassi for the mental aspects of tennis. Bollettieri could never help Agassi overcome those feelings of pointlessness that overcame him when he lost a match.

Brad Gilbert was the perfect replacement, and he had much to teach Agassi about winning and motivation. He made Andre play smarter: chasing winning shots, tiring his opponents out and letting them make unforced errors.

His relationship with Brooke Shields turned into a troubled marriage, but much more was wrong.

After his Wimbledon success, Agassi’s life entered the realms of the surreal. The president invited him to the White House, and he had a brief but intense friendship with Barbara Streisand. He was also introduced to and began dating Brooke Shields, an actress whom he'd had a crush on for years.

On their third date, Agassi confessed: he’d been going bald for years, and he wore a hairpiece to disguise the fact. The hairpiece had actually almost caused an embarrassing disaster during the 1990 French Open. The night before the big match, the hairpiece disintegrated. Agassi had to use 20 bobby pins to brace it back together. Distracted by his hair, Agassi unsurprisingly lost the match.

Shields wasn’t so bothered by the hair. In fact, she helped Agassi become “liberated.” He chucked the toupée and buzzed his hair short. He felt like a confident new man. It was thanks to this positive attitude that he won the 1995 Australian Open, beating Pete Sampras in the final.

Agassi would eventually propose to Shields in Hawaii, but he had some niggling doubts. Neither one of them understood what the other did for a living. Shields was always perplexed, for instance, as to why Agassi felt so beat up and depressed whenever he lost. It meant she just left him to stew alone.

Consequently, as time passed, they spent longer apart. It wasn’t all Shields’s fault – Agassi wasn’t much enamored of their sterile house in Los Angeles. Nonetheless, they still got married in 1997.

Theoretically, it should have been a great year for Agassi. But it didn’t feel like it. He felt empty. His marriage seemed hollow, and he was losing match after match. He even began seeking solace in crystal meth with his personal assistant, as a way to escape the emptiness.

Establishing a school made Agassi’s life and career much richer.

Soon after he got married, Agassi hit rock bottom. The tennis authorities informed him that he’d tested positive for an illegal drug. He ended up lying his way out of trouble, but he felt dreadful doing so, and his ranking dropped to 141.

But Agassi knew himself well. He needed to set himself a challenge, to aim for something. His goal would be to regain his number one spot in the rankings.

It took him two years to move beyond this low point and to work out who he really was. In part, the progress he made was thanks to the new school he’d established.

The Andre Agassi College Preparatory Academy started taking shape in 1998. The idea was to help at-risk children in West Las Vegas make it to college and to envisage better futures for themselves. It was a cause close to Agassi’s heart as he’d always felt he’d missed something through his own lack of education. Helping underprivileged children was something about which he could feel passionate.

Construction began on the school in late 1998, but Shields wasn’t there for the important ground-breaking ceremony. It was another sign that their marriage had fallen apart and a divorce followed soon after.

Andre’s coach, Brad Gilbert, was optimistic. Agassi’s worries about his failing marriage had been toxic for his tennis game. Gilbert was sure that if 1999 were drama free, Agassi would bounce back. What’s more, the school helped Agassi free himself from feelings of self-loathing. Now, on the court, he felt he was playing for the school and the students. It wasn’t just about him. He had purpose. And a comeback was the next step.

Agassi finally found the perfect match in Steffi Graf, and he made a brilliant comeback.

Steffi Graf, the German tennis great, was also due to play the 1999 French Open. Gilbert had a hunch that Agassi and Graf would hit it off and so made sure to book Agassi's practice court right next to Graf’s. Things were slow and hesitant at first, just a little small talk, and Graf had a boyfriend whom she’d been with for years.

But the two had a lot in common, and before long they realized they were perfect for one another. Graf's father had also pressed her into a tennis career at a young age and, unlike Shields, she had a real sense of the turmoil Agassi felt. She understood what it meant to search for individual worth in a life that felt overwhelming.

They were soon inseparable. Even their careers matched one another. They each won the French Open in 1999, and they both lost their respective Wimbledon finals. But it didn’t matter a jot to Agassi: he had a date with Graf after the match.

Though Graf announced her retirement after that Wimbledon, Agassi was determined to keep pressing on since he was on the verge of regaining his number one ranking.

Graf was there watching at the 1999 US Open as he battled through in a five-set win against Todd Martin. Thanks to that effort he was able to finish the year top of the rankings, displacing fellow American Pete Sampras.

It was tough though. His body was beginning to give out. At barely 30 years old, playing had taken a toll on his back, and his hamstring wasn’t faring much better.

Despite that, in 2000, Agassi still made the final of the Australian Open. It was some achievement, and it meant he became the first player since Rod Laver to reach four consecutive Grand Slam finals.

Agassi’s final years of tennis were some of his most rewarding, and his family was there for it.

In early 2001, Graf was pregnant with their first child. Agassi responded by bouncing around that year’s French Open like a teenager. Sadly though, his body couldn't take the strain, and he crashed out in the quarterfinals to Pete Sampras.

Their first child, Jaden, was born soon after. A second daughter, Jaz Elle, followed in 2003. These two kept him motivated in his last remarkable years of professional tennis, despite the pain he was experiencing.

When Agassi won his last grand slam in 2003 – the Australian Open – he became the oldest player in over 30 years to manage the incredible feat of winning a grand slam so late in life.

Unfortunately, the condition of his back continued to deteriorate, so he had to rest more between the big tournaments. This, in turn, meant he often felt rusty on court. Nonetheless, he was still able to win a few of the tour events, such as Cincinnati in 2004 and the 2005 Mercedes Benz Cup in Los Angeles.At the award ceremony for the latter, Jaden memorably ran out onto the court to take the trophy.

It was the start of the tennis era dominated by Rafael Nadal and Roger Federer. They seemed unbeatable. Nadal sprang around the court while Federer played with no apparent weakness. Agassi just couldn’t compete. The 2006 US Open would be Agassi’s last tournament.

By then he had a good perspective on his career. He’d even had the confidence to correct a reporter who was amazed at the transformation Agassi had made over the years. It wasn’t a case of transformation, he said, because no player can be a finished product. Every player is in a state of progress.

Agassi, that rebellious and flashy teenager, might have given the impression that he knew what he wanted from life. But it’s really something he’s still working toward, even now.

Andre Agassi was one of the biggest sports stars in the world in the 1990s, but there was more to him than a spiky mullet and flamboyant outfits. Agassi was raised to be a champion from the day he was old enough to hit a tennis ball. But this meant he was robbed of a real childhood and an identity of his own. Though he hated tennis, it was all he knew, so he struggled to find a way of playing the game and conducting his life on his own terms.

#Leadership Journeys

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