It gets hard. Really hard. Skipping through these crowded hallways on crutches. Avoiding the stairs, stares, and endless stress of being in high school. Especially this school where word spreads like wildfire and you feel like you're always being watched by everyone. I sometimes wonder do they have anything better to do? Does it make them feel better about their perfect lives when they stare at me with pity?
  

I pass the sports wall in the cold office on my way into school. A familiar face catches my eyes but it only makes me push the crutches out further, faster. The clicking and clacking of the crutches makes me cringe, also because that familiar face was my own.
  

Varsity softball. #1 on varsity softball my sophomore year. I still crave the crunch when your cleats hit the freshly combed dirt on a clean field. I miss the sweat and tears I put into it, I had been playing since I was four. I was team captain and already had a scholarship lined up from UCLA. My mom had gone to every game since I started playing, she was my biggest fan. The loud emotional “club moms” is what we called the group of excitable moms. Always screaming at the ref always wearing team shirts. I remember that same scream piercing the air when she saw me in the stretcher the night of the accident.
  

My team and were woken with excitement after winning the first round of CIF. I made four home runs and the team played great together. I thrived off of my team yelling my name through the air “Lissa! Lissa!” We drove away singing at the top of our lungs, “We are the champions my friends!!” The windows were down as we screamed out to nowhere. Then in the blink of an eye a deer jumped in front of us. I shut my eyes tightly and breaked for my life, missing the deer. The car was as quiet as a mouse.