I pressed my hands against the thick plexiglass that separated me from what I was certain was my destiny. My breath fogged up the clear area and I stepped to the side so I wouldn't miss a beat. Hockey was the sport I would play. I was sure of it. Sure that I was no girly-girl, and sure that this was right for me. I smiled and watched in awe as the puck soared into the goalie's glove. So this is where my story begins...
Soon enough my family got me gear and I was enrolled in learn to skate. Honestly I must say it was degrading. I was the oldest member there, and I already knew how to skate... I easily passed it and made a team. I wasn't too good yet, but soon enough I would be. Almost as soon as I started playing in a league I realized I no longer wanted to be an ordinary player. I wanted to be a goalie. Again my parents reluctantly agreed to it and soon enough I was playing on a 10 and under team as a goalie. It was amazing, awesome, everything I had ever wanted. Not only that, I was on the A team! The better team!! I loved every second the cold wind stung my cheeks and every time a puck was prevented from becoming a goal. It basically became my life. My favorite days of the week were the practices, twice a week, and two games every weekend. Years flew by and I was moved up to the twelve and under team. In the time that followed I became very close to the teammates that had always been at my side, but mainly the other goalie on our team. Her name was Iva. Iva and I were so close. We had sleepovers and did all sorts of great stuff. And then I was moved down. Taken away from everything I had known. I was no longer good enough for the A team. The day it happened I was a wreck of nerves- they were going to tell us what teams we were on today! It was extremely exciting. I was almost positive the spot on the A team was mine. I was almost the same level as Iva and the coach I had always been with thought I was a good player. According to him "I didn't have enough spark". This confused and hurt me. The same words echoed in my head all day. Not enough spark. What did he mean? Was I just not wanted? It seemed that way. I promised myself to practice hard and make it back on the A team, but that never happened. It seemed I was permanently going to be a step below. In the year that followed, while Iva was getting great training I was getting no training. I hardly improved. This is when we come to the point where everything was lost. This year they had three teams. I wasn't on the A team. Not the B team. The C team. The worst players. I took it, at least I still got to play! And then that team fell apart, leaving me with no where to go. My dad was friends with the B team coach and got me a spot on the team. It was a miracle! I couldn't be more grateful for what had happened. Over the summer I worked hard and practiced and tried to get up to the level of the B team, yet when the season started I "wasn't ready" according to the coach. He sugar coated every word he said to me as he explained why I wasn't going to play. I nodded my head and looked up at him and said I understood. That night I fell apart. In my room late at night every single problem was magnified and there was nothing I could do to stop them from crushing me. I dug my nails into my skin and allowed the pain to surge up through my nerves into my head. Over the summer I had become somewhat of a masochist, and it scared me. This weekend was the team's first two games. Not mine, the team's. Not my team, the team. This team had nothing to do with me. Everything hockey had helped me escape from was coming back now. I had friends there when I felt lonely or awkward at school. I had something I knew I was talented at even when I was constantly under fire for being weak elsewhere. But now I felt weak and useless and awkward and unwanted, but most of all lost... like I didn't belong. The first game we played almost mentally killed me. I was nothing but in the way. I hadn't helped and I couldn't share in the feeling of defeat. Instead I sat quietly and beat myself up. I was an useless failure. I bit down hard on my lip until I the metallic taste of blood came to my tongue and told me I had gone too far. The next game was even worse. Sitting on the bench I couldn't escape the evil jealousy that poisoned me. I took my glove and shoved the corner of it into an open cut on my hand, almost enjoying the way tears came to my eyes. This time we won the game and it was even worse for me. I was "supposed to be a part of the team" but it is one thing to pretend to be happy and a completely new thing to actually be happy. After the game we were driving back and my dad asked me why I looked so sad. I was afraid of what would happen when I opened my mouth but knew that I couldn't ignore him. So I started talking. As soon as I started I couldn't stop the tears from spilling. I cried and cried... It was embarrassing, when we stopped for lunch I didn't want to get out of the car because it was so evident I had been bawling.
-------------—-----------—------------–----
This is where I'm going to stop the story because it isn't a story at all. If you hadn't figured out, this was me. Throughout the story I was explaining a story that had been going of for a long time. Iva is a name sub. But that story had to be said. The last part is today.
In the locker room after the game the coach asked if anyone thought they didn't give 100% effort. I felt like yelling at him that I didn't. I didn't get the chance to. That I wasn't okay and it was all his fault and that I wanted to leave this team and never look back. I was in the way and nothing more. No one wanted me there and no one cared if I had gone. No one would have paid any mind if I stabbed myself right then and there. If you want to torture me, well now you know how!