The Boy Who Wore Boat Shoes

12⎜The Field

12⎜The Field

           “Here?” I demanded. “Of all the places on campus, you chose to bring me here?”

           “Yep,” the girl beside me said as we both stared emptily at the large expanse of barren green before us. It was lit up by stadium lights, considering that it did happen to be a stadium and all. There wasn’t anyone in sight—not even the odd janitor or a coach staying behind late at night. This was the place where I was supposed to be spending hours upon hours, but gave it all up, and quit.

           “Why?” I questioned, feeling my body tense up. As the memories gurgled up inside of me, I tried my hardest to suppress them, not needing to revisit that era, yet again.

           “I don’t know,” she said. And I believed her. The way that she said it wasn’t as if she was blowing me off and did actually know, but more that she truly wasn’t aware what had compelled her to do so.

           “It’s amazing,” I commented, sucking in a breath as my eyes scanned over the enchantment of the scene before me. I had seen quite a few football fields in my day, but this was different—this was Stanford.

           “It is,” she agreed, “do you ever regret leaving it?”

           “Never,” I shook my head, glancing longingly at the trimmed grass with AstroTurf around the rim.

           “Do you ever miss it?” was the next thing she asked me.

           “Every day, Ari Pomegranate,” I sighed, “every single day.”

           “I’ve never understood the appeal,” she told me, walking a few feet over to a wall so that she could lean her back against it. I copied her movements, resting my back in the space right next to her. “Why are so many people infatuated with a sport that solely consists of running, throwing an oddly-shaped ball, kicking the said oddly-shaped ball, and tackling each other to prevent the oddly-shaped ball from advancing?” she continued, but it wasn’t the type of thing meant to be answered. The tone in her voice suggested that she had more to say, so I didn’t give my input, and allowed her to continue speaking, just enjoying the calming sound of her rainy voice. “My brother played football, and my dad’s been a coach forever. I’ve never been able to love the game like they, and never understood why they loved it in the first place. It’s just football.”

           With the concluding sentence that made me breathe out a dry laugh, I shook my head, disagreeing with her completely. “See, but that’s the thing, Ari,” I began, absorbing every inch of the stadium as I spoke, “it isn’t just football. It’s everything from the opposing cheers of the spectators on either sides, to getting drenched by a bucket of Gatorade at the end of a winning game.” I smiled, recalling multiple times when that certain event had actually taken place. Adrenaline was pumping through everyone’s veins, and the sports drink was drenching their jerseys. That was football for me. “Football is about creating a secondary family from a team of boys and coaches that you practically trust with you life. It’s when you keep going, even when you have nothing left to give. Football is so much more than just a game with a non-circular ball,” I exhaled a bit, looking past Ari and all the lights and seats, but to the field. That was one of the two places I spent half of my teenage years—on the football field. “Now, I would say that football is a lifestyle, but that would make me sound really douchey, so I won’t.”

           “Scott’s said that about lacrosse before—it being a lifestyle and all. He sounded like a total tool,” Ari grinned a bit, her eyes illuminating as I could only guess that an idea had popped into her head. Without saying anything else to me, she began to jog away from the entrance where we were staying, and over to the field. I hesitantly followed behind, not entirely sure if it was allowed or not.