My Defender

1|My Helmet

"I don't mind losing
in this game of love,
if it means You
will be the winner." 

― Kamand Kojour   

    My body hits the solid turf with a thud as the ball whizzes past my ear and dings against the hard metal of the goal behind me. The initial moment of shock is washed away by disbelief as the sound of the scoreboard's loud buzzer fills my ears, followed by my opponents shouts of celebration. This exact order of events has happened hundreds of times in my life, but it always hits just as hard as the first. I slowly roll forward on to my stomach and push myself up from the ground to my knees. I tuck my head down, unwilling to make eye contact with any of my teammates. Over the last two years, they have become my best friends and family. Disappointment, failure. I failed them- I have failed my family. They deserve the world; at this moment, winning this game was our whole world. These emotions are what any player would feel right now, but I am not just any player and this is not just any game. This is the game- that I just lost. Tears blur my vision as a hand caresses the small of my back, right below the number plastered on my jersey- a thick, white ninety-nine. I want to turn my head to meet her gaze, but the helmet on my head is suddenly too heavy to even think of moving. I've worn this same helmet for years; it has become my form of armor. It protects me from harm, physically and emotionally. It has hidden my fair share of tears over the years. I know some notice, but many of my teammates don't look past the metal guard over my eyes. Some say the eyes are the window to the soul, but I call bullshit. If my eyes were the window to my soul, why are they so clear and blue? Because my soul is anything but. My soul is red and thick and angry. Angry I can't be myself, angry I can never show too much in fear of rejection. 

    My helmet helps me save face, but it separates me from the rest. It is a cloak I hide behind, where tears, snot, and unimportant emotions can flow freely. As a tear falls from behind my helmet and onto the turf, I realize they are also free-flowing. My teammates will never truly know the extent of my tears. I've made it a part of my responsibility not to show too much emotion. I close myself off, knowing they wouldn't be able to accept the thoughts going on behind my hard helmet. It's always in one ear and out the other, never revealing too much. But as the hand on my back begins to move, rubbing love and support into my shaking body, I can't hold it in. Suddenly, my helmet is on the turf near my knees, barely grazing my leg pads, and my unprotected head is on my defender's shoulder. But she's not just any defender; she's MY defender. My protector. I feel her arms wrap around me, shielding me from harm, just as my helmet once did. She is who I play every game, every practice, for. She is the reason I wake up in the morning. She is why I am still here. Walking, talking, and even breathing would be impossible without her existence. It's all for her, yet she has no idea the extent of it. I would be lying to you if I said these feelings were years in the making. The moment I saw her- I knew. I knew she was going to be the life and the death of me.