Lilly
Every year, my entire school takes a week off of regular classes and gives students and teachers and parents the opportunity to teach or attend a short, four-day class on anything their heart desires. Last year, I took fencing, and I was better at it than I expected. This year, one of my friends offers a class in kenjutsu, Japanese swordsmanship, and I think, Why not? and put my name down on the list. We don’t have the time to go into any real depth, but by the end of the week my friend is using me as an example to show people proper form in each movement. “You catch on quickly,” he says. When we practice blocks the force of his blows is enough to leave a black rash on the flat of my blade, shorn from the electrical tape crisscrossing his own. But he is not afraid of hurting me, and I am not afraid I will be hurt by him. The movements are simple but they make me feel strong for an hour a day.
Despite it all I begin to feel lost again. It is hard to explain, and not comfortable, but I try to constantly remind myself of something I told my counselor not too long ago:
“I just—I want to live on my own terms. So that’s what I’m doing. I’m done owing explanations. I’m myself. I’ll let people make their own assumptions if that’s what makes them happy.”
She was smiling, but she looked like she was going to cry.
“Don’t cry,” I was half pleading, half laughing at this point. “Don’t cry, that’s my job.” (Hadn’t I done enough for the both of us? She did chuckle, though.)
Soccer season starts in less than a week. While I am yearning for the chance to play on a real field again, sometimes I feel like something is holding me back. Maybe it’s the scar still latched onto my ankle like a ball and chain; maybe it’s the heavy emphasis my coach is already placing on our fitness getting to me, making me look at my body in a different light, not necessarily a positive one.
Realistically, I know that I am healthy and I will be fine. It’s just hard when my body gets tired before I do and old twinges in the muscles of my legs come out of hibernation like it’s already spring like, Is it time? Is it time to come back? It’s a dull kind of pain that’s closer to soreness, and one that I’m used to. But that doesn’t mean it’s not hard.
I am simultaneously fearful that I will not be enough and angry at myself for breaking my promise. Soccer is the sport I love but it’s also my greatest weakness. It makes me feel like I need to continuously explain myself. ♦