11 Reasons Why

#7: Dreams

 11 Reasons Why

 © Brittany Lancaster, 2013

7. Dreams

He had his dreams clutched in his grasp, the vision of his future spread out widely before his eyes. He was so determined, so passionate about it, and she adored him so much for it.

Every once in a while, she would stop and watch as he swiveled around in the field, running and chasing the ball, kicking it victoriously, scoring a goal. Nothing was better than seeing his wide grin as he threw his punch into the air in glory.

Though she realized that she would always come second after his dreams (and maybe third, or fourth, or fifth—the list could go on), she wouldn't really complain if she could see him happy like that.

 

Early November, 2010

 “WHAT do you wanna be when you grow up?”

                I could hear Grant humming over the phone, thinking over his response to my question. I moved from the spot where I was sitting on my bed and laid on my back instead, staring at the white ceiling of my bedroom, my head on one of the plush pillows on my bed. It was four o’clock and I had just arrived home half an hour ago, at the same time Grant’s classes ended and he was allowed to come back to his dorm room. I called him immediately after changing out of my uniform and we began chatting on the phone like we usually do every day.

                “Well?” I asked again after a few moments of silence passed.

                “Hush. I’m still thinking how to voice it,” he said quietly with a light chuckle at the end of his sentence.

                “Aw, come on. It’s a simple question; what do you wanna be? Your dreams? Your lifetime wish?”

                “To marry you.” And as usual, I could hear him grinning in his room as I laughed. “Well, that’s one of them.”

                “Graaant,” I whined, still half-chuckling. “I want to be an author. A writer. Like J.K. Rowling, Suzanne Collins, Sarah Dessen—“

                “You know I’m not familiar with any of those names.”

                I rolled my eyes. “—just like them. A worldwide known author. I want to write a book and publish it and get people to read it and change their world with what I write. I want my books to be so popular worldwide they have to translate them into so many foreign languages. Everyone in the world will fall in love with the book. That’s my biggest dream.”

                If he were here with me, I could probably see the soft smile playing on his lips. “I’m sure you’ll be an awesome writer.”

                “I know I will,” I sniffed arrogantly, yet jokingly, and then laughed. “So what about you? What do you want to be?”

                A pause. And then, “A soccer player.”

                I smiled. I could’ve guessed, but I just wanted to hear him say it out loud. To admit it. To tell me everything. “There. That wasn’t too hard to say out loud, was it?”

                He chuckled. “Yeah.” I heard a soft, muted thump and a sigh and I was guessing that he probably had just thrown himself onto his bed and was lying on it like I was. “It just… it makes me happy, Alison. Building strategies with the team, being in the middle of the field, scoring a goal, watching and hearing the crowd’s screams, winning the game… It’s insane. It’s what I want to do for the rest of my life.”

                The next words that he told me were alien to my ears. I admitted that I really didn’t understand any of it. I hated sports with all my heart and soul so I never really paid attention to how soccer games worked and everything. All I knew was that soccer involved two teams, a ball, and two goals for each teams, and each team had to kick the ball into the opposite team’s goal to score. That was it.

                He told me about these players that he idolized and probably obsessed over but I was too caught up in listening to his voice to remember those names. So I just hummed, letting him know that I was listening, and gave a comment or two—“What? Really? That’s so cool. I know. Right. Absolutely!”—and he went on and on about his dreams so passionately.

                “I would tell you so much more of it, but you probably won’t understand anyway so yeah, that was it. Becoming a soccer player is my biggest dream, thanks to my uncle.”

                I giggled. “Right, right. You’re good at it, I’m sure. I’m totally, a hundred percent certain that you’re awesome at everything you do. And I hope your dream will come true.”

                “I hope so. Thanks, Ali. I hope your dream will come true, too.”

                A worldwide-known author, and an international soccer player. Sounds like a pair. I softly giggled and nodded, even though Grant wouldn’t see it. “Hey Grant?”

                “Yeah?”

                “Can I come to one of your soccer games one day?” I hummed softly, smiling as I imagined a surprised look on his face.

                He paused as if in disbelief. He probably was, since he was fully aware of how much I hated soccer—or sports in general. “Yeah! Yeah, of course you can come and watch it,” he replied then, excitement filling his voice. “There’s this indoor game this late winter, and another one a few weeks after. You can even come to the practice if you want—sometimes we use the town’s stadium instead of the school’s field. I’m sure no one will mind if you come—I most definitely won’t.”

                “Okay, okay,” I laughed. “I’ll be there, alright? I’ll be the one who screams the loudest in the crowd.”

                “Awesome! Yeah, that’s awesome. I can’t wait to see you there.” I smiled to myself, enjoying the sound of joy that coated his voice. “Anyway, I probably should go. Soccer practice starts in ten and if I’m late again, Coach will probably skin me alive.”

                “Sure, Grant. Have fun there.”

                “Alright. Talk to you later, Ali. And thank you.”

                I smiled. “It’s alright. Bye.”