What Is Left Behind

THREE

I was seven when my mom signed me up for tennis lessons.

She was a failed tennis player who never got to go pro. She was almost there when she fell pregnant. Then after having kids, she could never go back due to an old injury. So, her plan became to have a daughter go pro and live her dreams. Because that always turns out well in the end.

I fell in love with the game though. Confidence came nature when I was on the court. It became my own dream to go pro one day. I could ignore the nagging and pressure when I just focused on just playing for myself.

I have not played tennis since my summer competition. I won. Though I keep the trophy in the garage. It is a reminder that I might have won but, in the end, I lost something greater. After the incident I just haven't wanted to play.

When the final bell rang ending my first school day, I walked out to the tennis courts with an unfamiliar dread in my stomach. Something I never feel going to practice. My palms were clammy, and I felt short of breath. I stood outside the fence watching the team warm up together.

Seven of those girls were like my second family last year. Only playing in pairs up until the summer competition, I didn't think I would be good enough to play singles, but these girls helped me. With them, I saw I was good enough. I was almost better than her.

She knew that and because of it, I hurt her.

I hurt her.

I hurt someone I loved.

I didn't mean to.

I-

"Allie, it's good to see you."

Beside me was a woman in her mid-forties who still looks like she was in her twenties. With long red hair always pulled into a high ponytail with a visor cap on that helped shade her face from the sun she was always in. I've only seen her in athletic clothing even at fancy dinners she wore something athletic related. She was someone I will always look up to. She was always my personal cheerleader.

"Are you going to join us this season?" Coach Gavin asked. "I still have a spot for you."

"Yeah." I pulled my bag higher on my shoulder as I looked back at the courts. "I was just taking a moment to you know... just watching because... you know."

I felt sick to my stomach now.

I could not form words. I did not make sense as I tried to explain how I was trying to take myself into going to practice. I wanted to practice. I wanted to play tennis again. It just was not the same. Nothing was the same.

Coach Gavin just nodded her head like she heard what I did not say. She gave me a soft smile and said, "Life has really been tough for your family this year. I know you did not see this coming or even imagined for it to happen. And I would be lying to tell you I understand what you're going through, because I can't, and I can't even begin to imagine it. But I can tell you this.

"I struggled when my father passed away when I was in college. I gave up on everything because I saw him with every practice, every game, and even in my tennis racket. The only thing that helped was when I stopped fighting not thinking of him and I gave in. I started to play again, and I embraced the painful memories. I started to keep them alive with every match. It still hurts, but I know I am doing what he loved watching me do. Most importantly, I am doing what I love the most."

My head felt dizzy as I processed Coach Gavin's words.

It's something my therapist told me last week at our session. Giving up something I love due to a painful memory won't heal me but hold me back. He told me I should only quit if it's what I wanted and I should only play if it's what I wanted.