Running The Miles

Chapter 9

        We were playing a good game. We were winning 27-0, but the next time we had the ball, I was tackled, way too hard, and my right foot went the wrong way. It twisted to the right, and I landed on it. The only thing you could hear were my howling shouts of pain. I looked down at my ankle to see something sharp bulging out of the side, and red spreading across my sock. 

        I only felt pain. No colors, no spots, no head pounding sensations people usually get, just pain. Terribly, terrible pain. I felt pressure under my knees, then under my back, and then I was lifted into the air. My screams were louder. Don't they realize that that made it hurt even more? I didn't know who was carrying me, I didn't pay attention, I just knew they were running, and I heard multiple people on their phones. Probably calling 9-1-1. 

        My parents weren't at the game. They never go to them because of their job hours, they'll find out soon enough. I was carried to a vehicle with blaring sirens, the back doors closed, and then we were chasing down the roads to the hospital. That's when the spots actually started coming. I blacked out.

        The hospital room smelled of drugs. It made me want to throw up. I remembered my ankle, and was relieved that there was no longer that agonizing pain, but the dull ache of after surgery. I've never needed to have surgery before. It always scared the hell out of me. And you'd think a football player would be ready at all times to go to the hospital.

        I reached my hand down, and instead of skin, I fealt bandages. Bandages piled upon bandages. And then I remembered the team. "Mom, did we win?" I asked, my voice a dull croak. 

        "Yes Honey, you won, thanks to you," she said. She never talked much, but that was fine, I was the same way. I layed there for multiple hours recovering from the surgery, the next day they let me go home in a wheelchair. I wouldn't be able to attend any football activities for about a week or two. Sense it was a severly broken bone, it would take maybe even a month to heal. The doctors even said it may never heal properly. 

        I still went to school with crutches. At lunch I sat by myself in the corner of the cafeteria. The guys would always glance at me, either worried, confused, I don't know. At the end of the day, on my way to the school bus that I rarely ever take dur to football and always deciding to run instead, the team would always come by and try to make me feel better with kind words. It at least lets me know they haven't forgotten me.

        After two weeks, I recieved a letter from the college foorball coach saying that they were sorry about my injury and couldn't wait for me to come back when I'm heeled in another two weeks. 

        That was two months ago.

        My bone hadn't heeled properly. The doctors did another surgery. We waited some more time, and then it heeled properly, and I was then able to play. Two weeks before my recovery, the college coach had sent me another letter. They had found a replacement for me. I was no longer on their team. 

        It wasn't a terrible thing, I still had highschool, probably. I just want some sort of way to play football. That's all, and then I'd be alright. 

        When I finally went to football practice, they all cheered for me and patted me on the back. They said that they'd won all of their games. Not by much, but they still won. Practice still went smoothly. I was a little rusty from the lack of playing for so long, but I soon got my rhythym back, and I was soon running fast again. I didn;t even think about my ankle.

        

        It was Friday, I was putting my uniform on in the girls locker room by myself, sense the rest of the team was in the boy's locker room. I walked out of the locker room to the field, and the first thing I noticed was the flashing lights. I thought that maybe the stadium lights were malfunctioning, but they wouldn't be that bright, and that close up. 

        It was only a few lights, and only a few people trying to talk to me. I continued to walk to the middle of the field where the rest were standing, and staring over in my direction, confused. I turned around to face the people following me, and sure enough they were reporters. 

        "Nicole, how does it feel being the only girl on the team?", "How it is that you're so good?", "Would you say you're better than everyone else?", "How were you able to fgo right back into playing after such a tragic incedent?" My only response was "Uh."

        "Give the girl some space, now, come on! If you want to talk to her, wait till the end of practice, and wait till she says it's ok. Jesus, yeah, go!" said the coach, shewing them. 

        The reporters went to the edge of the field, still recording. And we went on with practice as normal. Drills, warm-ups, scrimmage, etc. At the end, I went to the locker room, collected my things, and went to the exit, where the reporters were waiting. "Nicole, have you thought of trying out for the NFL?"

        No, no I haven't, until now.

        

        The next day, when we watched the daily CNN News, I was on the last story.The Girl Football Player Rises Above the Rest. Another day, it was The Girl Running The Miles. I liked the last one. It suits.