Skirt

Ιανουαρίου 23, 2008

MonologueFootball, and all of its complications, is not easy. Everything happens for a reason and too many decisions have to be made in too short of time for any high school student. I was 16. My memory of the night was that the sky was as black as I had ever seen it. It was almost like it knew something that no one else knew. It happens so fast you don’t have any time to worry or fear of what might happen. The moment you become scared or worried is the moment you get hurt. I tried to get away as fast as I could but a herd of bodies drove me violenlty out of bounds. I stood up with the voices of my teammates assuring me that I was fine and that they were proud of me. I know that they were. You can just feel sincerity crawl down your spine and into your stomach when you hear it under lights. I remember the last thing I heard was my brother telling me that I was all right before I, from what I’ve been told, passed out and suffered from a seizure. And when I woke up there were people standing over top of me. There must have been at least five of them with beaded sweat of concern and the only comfort I felt was my father’s influence. He looked at me as he stood with my mother. He looked at me out of where I was. It was the honesty in his face that made mw feel invincible. That no stretcher or opponent or doctor could tell me anything that disagreed with him. My mother remained above me through it all, like a portrait hanging from a wall for centuries for every tourist to gawk at in awe. Moving along on the stretcher, my eye level was at everyone’s waistline and I remember passing cheerleaders on my way into the ambulance. I passed each and enery one of them and they were faceless. As I passed each skirt I could feel. My hands. My toes. My heart.

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