“Affirmative.”
Then we hang up, and all is right with the world.
This game is going to be epic.
***
Your life can change in moments… even seconds, and no one ever told me. I probably wouldn’t have believed them if they had.
Our game against our conference rival is going fantastically as we knew it would. Our team is stronger and faster and we have insane chemistry, but as I leap high to spike the ball like I have a million times before, my left ankle buckles when I land.
Then my left knee pops.
And then the most intense pain radiates throughout my body.
And I cry out for God.
I already know what I’ve done. I’m in my senior year of physical therapy school. I’ve completely torn my ACL. No doctor has to tell me. I can feel it. It’s the injury every athlete most fears.
The small crowd of spectators grows quiet as I lay in the sand writhing in pain and watching my entire future disintegrate before my eyes. The smoke and ashes of a promising Olympic career, up in flames just like the beautiful bonfire I attended last night.
I’ll have to go back home to Philly.
To a mother who won’t be happy to have another mouth to feed in her home.
Even worse, I’ll be going back to a life of musicless, colorless, cold mediocrity.
And for me, that’s no life at all.
Two
MIA
Four Years Later
Northern New Jersey
I’m singingAdele’s classicRolling In The Deepcompletely off key, with the window down, arm hanging out of my sea green Prius like I don’t have a care in the world, because when you’re singing that woman’s songs, you must sing them with a full heart and a clear mind or you won’t feel the words where you’re meant to feel them — in your gut.
When I stop at the red light, there’s a woman and a small boy who turn their heads upon hearing my powerful vocals and giggle. That’s fine. I’ve never pretended that I was anybody’s Aretha Franklin, but that doesn’t mean you’re ever going to stop me from singing loud and proud. I get it honestly. My Grandma was a second soprano in the church choir and couldn’t sing a lick either. You could hear her from twenty pews back, but nobody gave a damn, particularly her.
When I pull into my job’s parking lot, my mood completely shifts. I turn Adele off and start feeling around the passenger seat for my cell phone. Somebody in that building has to call a tow truck right now. A visitor without handicapped plates, stickers or tags is parked in my spot and I’ll be damned if I’m going to limp my ass all the way from the back of the parking lot to the front entrance.
“Mr. B?”
“That you, Mia?”
“Yes, sir.”
“What can I do you for?”
“There’s some random car parked in the main handicapped space near the east entrance. No tags or anything.”
I know it’s not technicallymyspot, but visitors wouldn’t be parking in the East parking lot. This lot is for students and staff only, and I know for a fact that no one in my building has a physical limitation besides me.
“It’s probably some clueless summer student.”
“There are no other available spaces, Mr. B.”
