Knee high socks, plain white headband, shorts barely reaching thighs, tank top exposing the hairs my mother hates. This is to tell me it isn’t serious, that church volleyball means next to nothing. My competitive side creeps into my play, but no one takes me seriously. The team wins, loses, wins, loses, and loses again. One game after another, one play after another I think more of her.
This was my escape, get in the game and clear my head. But on the, bench thoughts, like my competitive side, creep in and refuse to leave. Hopefully she refuses to leave.
Finally, a break. I take off the head band, slip on sweats and a sweat shirt, and take in a game, asking friends for water, for mom is gone; dad unprepared.
The game goes on, my brother arrives. His eyes look as if news has arrived. Folding his arms he squats down on the seat next to me. My eyes locked on the game, knowing what is about to come. Nate leans into my ear, and in a voice only intended for me to hear, whispers.
“Grandma is gone.”
Still locked on the game, a tear falls down my cheek; that’s the best I could do. Nate stands up, sucks in tears, and walks out. The game becomes hard to see. My eyelids filled with puddles not wanting to escape. My head has not moved an inch since my brother walked in, but my heart fell deep into the earth.
I go to the bathroom, throw away the headband, pull out longer shorts, roll my socks down, and keep the sweatshirt on. In an instant I am playing for something more than fun. I’m playing for her.