Previous Challenge Entry (Level 1 – Beginner)
Topic: Childhood (09/03/09)
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TITLE: A Boy No Longer | Previous Challenge Entry
By Jill Fisher
09/08/09 -
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“Break! Break!” I yelled as Josh tipped the ball away from the other point guard. I was halfway down the court with my hand raised for the pass. The ball whizzed past my ear like a guided missile and I swatted it down without breaking my stride. Another perfect lead Josh, I thought.
The blur of a green jersey surprised me, and I pulled up for a short baseline shot. For a split second my concentration wavered when the hand appeared in my face, and I watched with frustration as the ball went long off the opposite rim. From there, the race was on for the rebound.
I sprinted to the opposite baseline. I felt the defender at my hip and turned my body a bit to box him out. I planted my leg and stretched to corral the ball, just reaching its pebbled surface. I was already thinking ahead to the next pass and turned to look for a trailing teammate when I felt hands on my back.
The push from behind was unexpected. In slow motion I felt my body fly past the leg still firmly rooted to the floor. I heard a gasp from the crowd a split second before I heard the pop. It echoed through my head in reverberating waves and resonated deep within my leg. It sounded like a top being popped on a can of soda, only less metallic. I fell hard on the ball out of bounds and heard the referee’s whistle somehow through the roaring in my ears.
Time stopped then, and I remembered only snippets of what happened next. I felt sweat trickle in hot streams down my face to puddle in salty drops on the cool gym floor and I struggled to control my raspy breathing. I heard someone mutter “hyperextension” before the trainer started working on my knee. He grabbed my calf and thigh with opposite hands and moved my knee sideways. I felt it sway back and forth, limp as an overcooked noodle, and didn’t need to hear him say, “Ethan, this doesn’t look good.”
“You don’t look so good,” came a voice from the doorway, shattering my unpleasant reverie. I jolted back to the present to see Dr. Murray flipping through the chart at the end of the hospital bed.
I swallowed hard to clear the lump in my throat and muttered, “I’m fine.”
Dr. Murray’s cool blue eyes surveyed the scene, clearly not missing the blanket curled in my fists and the tears pooling in my eyes. Walking with an almost imperceptible limp, he came around the bed and eased himself down near my hip.
In a somber voice he began, “When I was your age, I thought I had a future in rodeo. That is, until I sustained an injury similar to yours. Unfortunately for me, my doctor operated on it and made it worse.” He sighed, shifted his focus from the bedside table and looked at me.
“Yesterday I operated on a girl that drove her car into a ditch on the way to school. Her neck is broken. She’ll never walk again.” He stopped to swallow. He struggled with his emotions before he continued, “There are a lot worse things that could happen to either of us, Ethan.”
With a soft pat to my other leg he quietly left the room and left me to my thoughts. I dried my tears and took a deep breath. A season-ending injury will only be a life-changing event if I let it, I thought to myself. My eyes drifted to the window at the edge of the room. I saw tiny figures in the parking lot scurrying around to clean off windshields and windows in the falling snow. The image resonated deeply with me and a small smile tugged at the corner of my mouth.
“Brush yourself off and move forward,” I whispered aloud. I think I can do that.
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