Standing By

1: Avery

Some people like to think that things happen for a reason. Kind of like fate. I never did. I still don't really. I am a firm believer in choosing your own life, you know? In making yourself into exactly who you want to be. At least, I used to think that. That is, until this scandalous thing we call death, and this other, passionate thing we call love, entered my life.

***

6:00AM.

The morning dew slid slowly down a blade of grass. I dug the heel of my cleat into it, pulling tight on my laces. The sun was just making its way over the horizon in the east. I taped my aching wrist, silently cursing myself for what happened last night. I concentrated on the placement of each strip of KT tape, pulling it just tight enough to stabilize what I hoped wasn't a sprain.

I ran through my typical warm up: two laps around the track, dynamic stretches, another two laps, and throwing a bag full of footballs at a wide target. Then came the real training. I ran through my typical solo drills to work on my speed and throwing. I moved easily through my routine, welcoming the burn in my muscles.

Then my watch vibrated. 7:00AM.

I sprinted back to the bench, collecting my cones along the way, before shoving all the footballs back into their bag, and throwing my water bottle, cones and cleats into another bag. I slipped into my slides before jogging across the street back to my house.

I approached the small single story home. Although it was small, it was still endearing. The outside was painted yellow a long time ago, but it still looked cheerful. There were two windows on the front, with dark green shutters bordering them. I watched as the curtains shivered on the inside, sure that my mom was checking on me. The grass was a bit overgrown, and I realized that I was slacking on my chores. There were a handful of wildflowers popping up around the yard, courtesy of me. Last spring, I had scattered some seeds around the yard hoping something would come out of it. It had delighted my mom as soon as the sea of yellow, purple and pink began to appear and thrive throughout the summer months. I had gotten the idea when I saw another house, a little bigger than ours and blue instead of yellow, with a yard that was made up entirely of wildflowers: a garden that was untamed and wild. Selfishly, my first thought upon seeing that uncultivated yard was how no one had to mow it. Thinking of my own unwelcomed chore of mowing, I attempted to mirror that yard as a surprise to my mom. It didn't really work as well as I had hoped, but the flowers that did appear were worth my mom's reaction. Still, I was responsible for mowing the majority of the yard, and it seemed like it was time to do it again.

I slowly walked up the driveway. When I got to the garage, I punched in our code and watched as the door rattled its way up. I ducked under it before it finished rising, side stepped around my mom's Toyota and tossed the bags to the corner where they typically lived. I skipped the three steps that led to the door, hopping onto the platform before I punched the garage door button with my finger. I swung the door open and quickly shut it so the rattling would not intrude on the occupants of my home.

I made my way to the kitchen where my mom was already making breakfasts and lunches for my siblings. I opted out of homemade lunches long ago. I grabbed my usual protein bar and banana from the pantry before giving my mom a quick side hug, simultaneously shoving the protein bar into my mouth.

"Avery, I love you, but you stink!" My mom declared. She was leaning over the stove, flipping an omelet that had my name on it.

I just smiled and asked, mouth still full, "Is that for me?" I lowered my gaze to the stove and linked my fingers together like I was praying for her "yes."

"The usual." She smiled back. She couldn't help it. She liked to say I was "charming." I didn't buy it. She just thought that because I was her son.

Her long black braids where being held together with a scrunchie today. She flipped the heavy ponytail over her shoulder and began cracking more eggs for the rest of the family.