Destroying death
Dear Death,
I don't even know where to start. I don't even have words to describe the effect you have. So sudden. So complete. So destructive. All at once you rob those left in your wake of a precious and invaluable presence in their lives. Though everyone effected by you can learn to live with you and your effects, there will always be something inside those that feel the sting of your presence that can never truly heal. You only know pain and destruction, theft, sin and anger.
I both wish I never had to meet you, and also am grateful for you, at the same time. You taught me so many things about myself that I never could have learned had I not met you in the way I did. I am stronger than you. As much pain as you cause, and as powerful as you seem, I am stronger and more powerful. That is always the case. Always was, always will be.
You teach all in your wake how to be strong, how to overcome, how to live, though you yourself are weak, defeated and dead.
Until we meet again,
Chandler
Time
Sometimes
life will throw curve balls.
Things will happen
in ways you don't expect.
Some times,
things are fine. Others,
the world is on fire, and
you can't see a light at the end of the tunnel.
Some times.
Society is crumbling.
The earth is crying, suffocating.
Its people are broken, fighting, arguing.
Sometimes, all you have is time.
Home Game
I love chasing down the ball as the wind sails past my face, and the sun beats down on my back and neck. There’s nothing else that makes me happier; not money, or friends, or food (although ice cream on such a hot day is a close second). Chasing the ball in those moments is my singular focus. Nothing else matters in those moments. For some people, yoga, meditation, or other sports do that, but not for me. For me, only soccer fills that void.
For even some of my friends on the team, that I’ve known forever, they don’t feel the same way... some do, but not all of them, for sure. You can tell too, who’s really in it and who isn’t. There’s me, Christian. Then there’s Al, and Bailey. People call Bailey “Bear” because of his build, strength, and dedication to the team and game of football.
I’m a senior in high school now, and I’m captain of the varsity squad. We’re definitely the pride of our hometown. Every year, since I’ve been around, we’ve made it all the way through the championships. It’s to the point now where, everyone expects us to win. I know people mean well -- they just want us to succeed -- but it's hard to keep it from getting to you. It still feels like a lot of pressure, especially the closer we get to the championships, which are now only a few months away.
The Spring season just started. It’s the beginning of February and the championships are held mid-late April, right before school ends for the seniors. We’re about to have practice, and Coach calls us all in to have a meeting beforehand. He lives for that kind of stuff — motivational speeches and getting us all hyped-up to do our best. It’s starting to rub off on me.
“Who’s ready to go out there and kill it?” Coach yells.
“Let’s do it!” Al yells.
“Let’s go!” Bear returns.
“What are we waiting for?” I yell.
“You guys have to be mentally ready. It’s all in here.” Coach says, with his index fingers on his temples, rotating them slightly. “I believe every single one of you has the potential to be great. Here’s where you can start to put in the work, and start to figure out how great you want to be. If you want to be great, it will show. If you don’t, it will show. Your motivation determines your destination.”
I knew it. Motivational speeches. Happens every time, but never fails to disappoint. He always manages to get everyone amped. And I mean everyone. “Lion, as the leader of this pack, do you have anything you want to add?” Coach asked.
I always have things to say. It’s just, would they be helpful, and do people want to listen? I nod my head, and get up out of my chair. As I got up, my knees locked up for a moment. When you’re me, you learn to live with the bumps and bruises. Turning towards everyone else, I start. “Thanks Coach.” I give him a nod. “My name is Christian, for those of you who don’t know me. I’m the Captain of the team. As the Captain, I want to help everyone be better players than they were yesterday. I can’t make you want to be here. But I can promise you that if you commit to me, I’ll commit to you.
With that, I paused for a moment, and walked back to my seat. “Thank you Christian.” Coach responded.
“So what do you guys say? Who’s ready to get out there and play some football?” After claps and cheers all around, Coach led us outside to the field.
Practice started out ugly. Balls were flying everywhere. Even Al, Bailey and I were whiffing them left and right. It always takes time to get back into the swing of things… even for the best of us. It will come together though. It always does. We always warm up by shooting around a little bit. Then we do some footwork, and then sprints. If you want the results to show, you have to put in the work.
“Fun’s over guys. See you bright and early tomorrow!” Coach yells. Tomorrow is Saturday. Practices are at 8 on Saturdays. I hate getting up early, but it’s worth it to get out of the house and onto the soccer field.
My team is my family and my school is my home. My parents are just roommates in a building I don’t see as anything more than just that. Soccer gives me what they haven’t.
I finally make it all the way back to my (really, I see it as their) home, assaulted with the stench of nothing but alcohol and cigarettes. Metal is blasting through the speakers in the kitchen that makes my ears bleed. Dirty dishes are piled in the sink, and mom and dad are yelling at each other (again) about the bills.
“Quit nagging me!” He yells. “It’s not my fault! If I didn’t catch you sleeping around, you’d still be acting like everything’s fine!”
“If you spent half the effort you do drinking and yelling at everyone else, and went and got a job, we wouldn’t be in this mess!” She retorts.
They go on like that for hours at a time. It only gets worse when they drink too much. I’ve grown numb towards it after all these years. I usually stay late at school and work on drills, but practice today was exhausting. So, I might as well give Al and Bear a call and see what they’re up to. Anything to get me out of this dump and around people that actually care about me. I guess it might not be a bad idea to leave my bags in the house, so I don’t have to carry them around. I put my soccer bag and backpack on the kitchen table; my bruised-up arms glistening under the glow of the kitchen lights.
We decided to meet up at Zach’s, the local pizza joint in town. I’ve been going there for as long as I can remember. They’ve always had the same owners. They’ve really gotten to know the soccer team, since it’s been the spot so many of us go to after games and practices.
“Al, Bear, Christian! What’s going on guys?” Zach Sullivan, the owner, said right when we walked in. Whoever’s working when we’re there is always overjoyed to see us. No matter who it is, they always have a smile on their face and welcome us with open arms.
“Just another day, Zach. Just another day.” I replied as we all sauntered over to the counter to order.
“What can I get for you guys? No matter what’s going on, y’all know some good food can always help.”
We all get our usual orders: myself, a hamburger, Bailey, a pastrami sandwich, and Al, a meatball sub. “Some things don’t change,” Zach returned writing down our orders with a chuckle.
In our usual seats, Al breaks the ice. “Bro, what’s been going on with you? Something’s different about you. You’ve been acting weird, and I can’t figure out what it is.” he says to me. The look on both of their faces says it all. They know me too well. After all, we’ve been friends forever. I guess I wouldn’t expect anything else.
I pause for a moment, to collect my thoughts, and finally say “My parents have been crazy. All they do is fight. I don’t want to be there anymore.”
Al and Bailey just looked at each other and gave a little nod. “Would you want to stay with either of us?” Al asked innocently.
“What? Are you crazy?”
“It’s what friends do. I think you’d be crazy to stay in that house any longer.” he replied, raising his eyebrows.
Al and Bear, they know my parents. They know them. I’ve come to them with my scars and bruises — physical or otherwise. They’ve seen them— All of them. They’ve seen me — all of me.
“I don’t know.” I finally said, quietly and gently. I couldn’t just leave my family, my parents, like that.
“Ok.” Bear said, like he understood, from the look in my eyes. I didn’t have to say what was really on my mind. “Go home. Do whatever you need to do. Just know the offer is still there if, and when, you want it. Always.”
Almost on cue, Zach came over with our food. “It’s about time, huh?” He quipped. “You can’t rush perfection.” He said with his usual smirk, passing our plates around. “Enjoy guys!”
Zach’s food always has a way of making you feel better— smoothing things over, if you will.
We all wolfed down our food, and went our separate ways.
On my way home, I can’t help but think about what they said. I get where they’re coming from, and as much as things suck, how can they just expect me to leave my family? Al and Bear, they want me to run, but I won’t.
* * *
My family hasn’t always been like this. Things used to be great. We used to be one big, happy family. Then my dad started running. He ran into anger and alcohol. He ran into abuse… all because he wanted to run away.
He ran away from me. He ran away from my mom. But most importantly, he ran away from pain.
I will not run away from them. I won’t. I can’t.
* * *
When I got home, it was the same old story; another day, another fight. “What’s going on?” I asked as I walked in. Usually I try not to yell, but if I wanted any chance of being heard this time, I had to. They kept screaming like I hadn’t said anything at all. “Guys!” I screamed at the top of my lungs this time. My mom and dad both stopped dead in their tracks, turned around and looked at me, both with somewhat of a deer-in-the-headlights look.
“Why are you fighting?” I asked again, growing increasingly annoyed, but trying to maintain my composure and not get sucked in to their argument.
“He won’t stop drinking long enough to have a two-second conversation!” She screamed, gesturing to my dad.
“She just doesn’t understand!” He yelled.
I paused for a second, and said plainly “So help me try to. Help me try to understand.” Again, they both stopped, and had the most confused, bewildered looks on their faces, as though they were totally stunned that I said what I did. I just looked back at them both, waiting patiently for them to respond.
Silence.
* * *
Saturday morning. That means practice. But not just any practice — early morning practice. “Come on guys! Gotta get your heads in the game! Eyes on the prize! The Championship isn’t gonna win itself!” Coach blasted. We were running sprints and doing drills until half of us were puking on all fours, and the other half of us were so dizzy we could hardly stand. Finally, we heard Coach yell “Good! Done!” Instantly everyone collapsed. “That is the effort I need to see from each and every one of you if we’re going to have any hope of making it to the Championship this year, let alone take the dang thing.” He continued.
That’s exactly what he’s gonna get, at least as long as I have anything to say about it.
* * *
The day is finally here. The Championship. We made it. Walking out on that field again, one last time, has been a dream for me all year. Leading my team, to this moment, is something I’ll never forget. “Let’s go boys!” I screamed, moments before we were set to leave the locker room for the final time before a game. We walked out onto that field, our field, ready to take on the world.
The whistle blew, and it was game on.
When I’m on the soccer field, nothing else matters. It’s my happy place. This couldn’t be more true on my home field. Al, Bailey and I are unstoppable. In the first thirty minutes of the game, the three of us alone scored two goals each! By half time, the score was 6-0!
The whistle blew again. Half time. “That’s what I like to see guys!” Coach rejoiced, throwing out hi-fives to all of us.
“That was awesome!” Al exclaimed, breathing heavy.
“Yeah it was!” Bailey agreed, similarly puffing.
I looked over, and did a double take. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. My mom and dad came. They were sitting in the dead center of everyone else. All at once, I felt a mix of every emotion I thought was possible, my two worlds colliding — football family and blood family. Mostly I just felt like running — I wanted to leap out of my skin. But again, I knew I couldn’t. I had a game to play. Though now, getting back into focus seemed impossible.
“Five more minutes everyone!” One of the referees shouted.
Ready or not, it’s go time.
“Game on everyone!”
* * *
Just like that, we’re in the heat of the second half. Chasing down the ball puts me in a trance — time just melts away.
Five minutes left. The ball stops right in front of me. Time for a breakaway. It’s just me and the goal now.
Just like that, it was over. I can’t believe I scored the final goal of the game. I looked over, and my parents were actually clapping for me, cheering, even. Is this really happening?
Well, all I can say is, running got me here, in more ways than one.