One Name

This time an actual crowd, not one of my imagination, was chanting the name on the back of my jersey. But I couldn�t focus on them, no matter how good it felt. I had to focus on the ball between my feet and getting it into the net.

The sun was bright, poised high in the sky, sharing its warmth with the world. The wind was hardly there but its breath was still felt, ruffling the grass. Ah, the grass. Cut to perfection and kept well groomed. Not a blade out of place and the color a lush green. The air was fresh and smelt of leather and dirt.

I breathed in deeply, looking around the stadium. Yes, I was home.

I stepped out of the dark tunnel and onto the field with my laces untied and a ball under my arm. The grass was soft and spongy under my weight. It made me smile. I had a spring in my step as I walked to the penalty box on the left side of the field. I placed the ball on the dot before sitting down to tie my cleats. First the right, then the left, just the way I’d been doing it all my life.

The cleats themselves were dirty and worn but I couldn’t be any happier with them. They were the cleats that got me on the team- England's Women's Football team.

I got back up, shaking out my legs and bouncing on my toes. I only had eyes for the ball a couple of feet in front of me. I closed my eyes, imagining a keeper was guarding the net. Then teammates gathered around me, waiting for me to take the shoot. Finally I imagined a crowd, a loud crowd of fans, all screaming one name; my name.

I stopped bouncing and opened my eyes. I took another step back; glaring at the spot I wanted the ball to go.

Top left corner.

I took a deep breath and ran at the ball, striking it with my foot. It made that musical, leather-on-leather sound and the ball arched up from the ground and into the top left corner.

Perfect.

*

I ran up the field with the ball at my feet. This time an actual crowd, not one of my imagination, was chanting the name on the back of my jersey.

“Lunholm, Lunholm, Lunholm!”

But I couldn’t focus on them, no matter how good it felt. I had to focus on the ball between my feet and getting it into the net. Time was ticking away and the scored was tied, nil-nil. Someone needed to score.

I wanted to be that someone.

There was a defender breathing down my neck so I changed directions quickly. I passed to a mid-field before running ahead to receive a pass back.

It was all done so fast, and so well that the other defenders were rooted to the spot, not sure who to go at. My legs moved fast enough that they were left in the dust. I down 3/4 of the field and the keeper was the only one standing between me and a sweet victory.

I slowed so I could have better control over the ball. I’d hardly decreased my speed but the tiny adjustment allowed a defender to get closer. I could feel the vibrations of her steps through my feet.

I was now just outside the 18-yard-box. I only had time for one shot before the defender would shut me down so I had to make it count. I pushed the ball a bit farther ahead of me and drew back my leg.

Then the defender slid, hitting my ankle with the spikes of her cleats. I instantly crumpled to the ground, pain shooting through my leg.

I’d been too far a head for her to muscle me off the ball so she did the only thing she could do to stop me from scoring.

I hit the ground hard. The grass cushioned my fall but not enough to stop it from hurting. I barely got my hands out to try and catch myself before I smacked into the earth.

The referee's shrill whistle blew, stopping the play but it didn’t prevent what I was feeling in my leg. It couldn’t.

I closed my eyes trying to drown out the pain. It didn’t work. The pain continued on its way. So I bit my lip, tasting metallic blood, to rid myself of the throbbing.

That didn’t work either.

My hands were buried in the grass. I dug my fingers into the moist ground below. I could feel dirt making a home under my fingernails.

Yet still, the pain in my ankle was still there.

It was overriding my sense quickly. I couldn’t hear the crowd anymore, nor could I smell the grass or feel the sun on my skin.

It was only me and my agony, alone, in the void behind my eyelids. I was vaguely aware of people talking over me but everything hurt too much for me to care.

*

I woke up in a hospital bed, attached to an IV. I could hear the steady beep of the machine that monitored my heart.

Beep

Beep

Beep

The made it’s way into my brain, like a burrowing insect. I tried to move but my foot was weighed down.

Damn.

I’d forgotten about my ankle, my accident, the ultimate reason why I was even in the God-forsaken hospital.

“Ah, you’re up.”

I looked to the door to see a middle-aged woman, clipboard in hand. I assumed she was a nurse.

“How long have I been out?” I croaked, my throat scratching.

“Only a few hours dear,” The nurse said before she got busy checking me over. The whole thing took about five minutes. She made notes on the clipboard all the while.

“Good news is you’ll be fit to leave within the day,” She said, looking over the clipboard. “Bad news is you won’t be able to walk on the ankle for a good 12 weeks.”

“I won’t what?”

“Your ankle’s broken in three places. It’ll need at least 12 weeks in the cast then a couple weeks in physio.”

“So that means I’m out for the rest of the season?” I asked.

“I’m sorry,” She nodded.

I sighed and laid back on the paper thin pillows.

“I just got make sure of everything and get you a pair of crutches,” the nurse said, closing the door with a snap, leaving me with a heavy heart, a throbbing ankle and the sound of my heart cracking.

Beep

Beep

Beeeeeeeeeep

*

The sun was bright and kids were running through the park. It would’ve been the best day to play soccer. But no, it was only week 3 of my ‘resting period’, as the couch called it. I wouldn’t be able to play for another 9 weeks at the least.

Life was unfair.

I couldn’t watch my teammates practice anymore. I was just too tempted to jump in and play but of course I couldn’t with the stupid plaster around my foot. I was going stir-crazy, having gotten bored of the TV by the sixth day.

So I went on a walk in the park- not being able to resist the beautiful day. My underarms were sore from having the crutches there all the time.

Still, that didn’t stop me from hobbling as fast as I could around London. I could feel my body getting out of shape but there was nothing that I could do to stop it, except keep my arms moving.

Couples were walking hand in hand, or sharing ice cream cones on the benches. Little kids were helping their grandparents feed the ducks with breadcrumbs. In the part, there was a group of guys playing football, using two trees as goalposts.

I longed to join them.

Unconsciously, I went over to where they were, slowing my pace.

Most of them were terrible, probably couldn’t tell an offside from an indirect kick, but there was one who would’t’ve had any trouble teaching them. He moved swiftly and surely. The ball looked like it was moving on it’s own. The guy was graceful on his feet, getting around one, two, three of the guys he was against.

Still a ways away from the fourth, the footballer brought his leg back and shot the ball with power. I could see the defender’s eyes widen as the ball whistled through the air towards him. The ball smacked off his shins and sailed towards me.

The guys all looked at me, expecting to get the ball kicked back. I shrugged my shoulders and lifted my crutches, carefully balancing on one foot. They all nodded, one laughed, and the one with the killer shot jogged over.

It was a good thing all my weight was on the crutches because had I been standing, my knees would’ve given out.

Brown hair spilled over bright blue eyes and pale skin sprinkled with freckles. He smiled with a little boy’s innocence but he’s eyes sparkled with something more.

“Sorry ‘bout that,” the guy drawled in a Bolton accent. “They’re not very good at footballs.” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder, pointing to where his mates were who were now jumping on each other.

“No problem,” I said. “Sorry for not being able to kick the ball back.” Again I gestured to my crutches.

He laughed. It was contagious and soon I was laughing with him.

“So what happened to your leg anyways?” he asked when we caught our breath.

“Oh ah, during a match… illegal tackle,” I said. the guy looked at me, squinting his eyes.

“Are you Diana Lunholm?” He finally asked.

I nodded, unsure how he knew my name.

“No way! Are you serious!!?” He cried.

“Well that’s what it says on my jersey,” I shrugged.

“I knew I recognized you! I’m such a big fan and all. M’name’s Chase by the way, Chase Jones.” He offered me a hand which I shook.

“Are you the Chase Jones from Three's A Crowd by chance?” I asked, knowing the name because his songs were all over the radio and his smile on posters.

“That’s what me mum calls me,” Chase answered. His face held a huge grin and his eyes shone with such honest excitement that I was dumbfounded.

It was still strange that people I’ve never meet before knew my name but I guess that’s what I got for being on England’s National Women’s Football team. Just as I’m sure it was strange for a musician to have random people ask for his autograph.

“Can I have your autograph?” Chase asked me just I was asking him the same questions. We stared at each other for two heartbeats before laughing again.

“I’ve never had that happen to me before,” Chase chuckled.

“I’ve never had anyone ask for my autograph,” I admitted, scratching the back of my neck.

“Really?” Chase seemed shocked. “You’re an amazing player.”

I blushed. Chase continued talking,

“I was there, at the game you got injured. It was a very illegal tackle. She should’ve gotten much more then a red card.”

“That’s all she got?” I asked.

“Yep. And because of it you’ve got… how long until the cast comes off?” Danny looked at my foot.

“Twelve weeks,” I said. “I’m only on my third.”

“You’ve still got nine weeks!” Chase cried. “Won’t you get bored?”

“Hah, already am,” I sighed. Chase watched me for a few seconds, the muscles in his jaw working.

“Have you ever been to a Three's A Crowd concert?” He asked, a grin gracing his features.

I shook my head and the flawless smile grew.

“Well you won’t be able to say that anymore.”

 *

I stepped onto the grass, testing my weight on my weak leg. It hardly hurt anymore.

The grass was still spongy and the fresh air still smelt like leather and dirt. The sun was hiding behind clouds but the warm breeze made up for it.

It was beautiful.

I took a deep breath and started out with a slow jog around the field. My leg was a tad stiff when I finished but not sore enough to make me stop. I continued. Around and around I went, feeling my muscles work and my lungs burn.

It was the best feeling in the world.

Just as I was about ready to stop, I heard him behind me. His breaths were labored and his steps heavy. I wondered how long he’d been running after me. Forgetting my weariness, I sped up, not wanting to make his job easier. He cursed and sped up as well.

I laughed openly, pumping my arms and moving my legs that much faster. He moved faster too. Soon I could feel him breathing down my neck, just like the defender was. His hand reached out and grabbed mine.

“You’re it,” He gasped out. He let go of me and started running towards the center of the field.

I stopped running laps and started running after him, trying to tag him back. He ran back and forth, zigzagging. He was good, as soon as I’d reach my hands out to try and tag him, he’d quickly change directions, laughing all the while.

I finally got sick of chasing him so I tackled him rugby style. We fell to the ground, me on top of him.

“I win Chase,” I said to my boyfriend, looking into his innocent eyes. “What’s my prize?”

Chase laughed and kissed me once. “That good enough?” He asked.

“Not quite.”

Chase reached up and kissed me again- once, twice, three times. The third lasted a long while.

“How’s that?” He said, a sexy smile playing on his lips.

“Brilliant.”

Chase rolled over, so that he was on top of me.

“Now where’s my consolations prize?”

“You’re on top of it,” I said cheekily. Chase laughed.

“Too right I am,” He said before going in for another kiss.

I met him halfway.

 

Reviews

[Lauren Marie]

Aww. What a sad and sweet story!
But, at first I pictured the girl to be on a high school football team, for some reason. I would say to make it more clear that she's not, that she's on a national team.
Other than that, this was a great read!
~Lauren