Without A Voice (Based On A True Story)

Rock Bottom

High school was where teenagers prepared for the real world. Some people made their best friends there, and others laid the foundation for the rest of their lives. For me, this was my redemption. It was my chance to take my life back from fear.

I followed John to Faraday High School. He was a senior, while I was a lowly freshman. Now, there are certain fears associated with being a freshman: upperclassmen picking on you, not knowing anyone (student or faculty), fitting into a social clique, etc. But Faraday had a reputation for being one of the state's toughest school. I don't mean tough academically, but environmentally. Faraday was in a low-income neighborhood near my grandparents' home. The citizens didn't have a lot and it bred a harsh surrounding. There were police officers parked in front of the school every day. But I knew what it meant to be judged and discriminated, so I gave Faraday a chance.

I scored exceptionally on the math-portion of the placement exam and was placed in geometry. There was a mix of grade-level students in the class; I was one of four freshmen in the class. I was intimidated at first, but I was determined to do well. And that was exactly what I did. My teacher was impressed by my quick absorption of the material. I was later known as the honorary teaching assistant. I helped my classmates with their work and answered questions in class. It didn't stop at math; my other teachers praised my deep-thinking and creativity.

For the first time, I was accepted and celebrated. I wasn't used to the attention. People were grateful for my help, not feared. I quickly climbed up the social ladder and was regarded as a genius. I still find it funny that such a "rough" place could be so kind to me. If only I had met them earlier in life, I could have had a normal life.

Mother was very pleased with my performance so far. Since I did so well, she allowed me to try out for the school soccer team. I was so excited. I had played with the team the previous summer. Everyone was very kind to me. They gave me advice on how to improve my stamina (since I was still very overweight), and improve my confidence. I was still timid, due to my lack of competitive experience.

John was also one of the captains. We were known as the "White Brothers" the entire season. I don't think John liked it so much. The coaches paired us up for drills a majority of the time, not because we were brothers but because we both played defense. He hated being paired with me. He felt that the coaches were holding him back. I could see it, and I brought it to our coaches' attention.

"Hey Coach?" Coach Jeff looked at me. He was a young man. Physically fit and physically intimidating. But deep down, he was a very kind man. He and I are still good friends to this day. He and I were able to connect on an intellectual level, but that's for another day.

"Yeah, James? Something wrong?" he asked.

"Would it be okay to practice with the other defenders?" I shyly asked. He looked at John and made the connection.

"Sure, practice with Sam." Sam was the stopper on the team. For those of you who don't follow soccer, there are traditionally four defenders: stopper, sweeper, left fullback and right fullback. They form a diamond in front of the goal, protecting the goalie from the opposition. The stopper was at the top of the diamond, and the sweeper at the bottom. John was the sweeper.

From then on, I was trained to be a stopper. Sam and I became quick friends. He shared tips and techniques on the position. I picked up the skills fairly quickly. I knew I needed to earn my spot when Sam graduated, so I took the opportunity to learn as much as I could. I also learned a lot on the mindset I needed to play at the high school level: no fear, quick thinking, and quicker reactions. 

For the first two years, I sat on the bench as a second-string stopper. Sitting on the bench allowed for two things to happen: I could develop the necessary skills needed to be a starting player, and I could analyze our opponents. I was able to utilize my pattern-recognition skills to develop strategies against our opposition. For the most part, it worked extremely well and we won games (loosely because of my contributions). I developed plays and tactics to confuse the opposing players, resulting in our victories. My teammates and coaches realized that I had a gift and would occasionally ask for my observations. I was the unofficial team strategist, and it felt good. For once in my life, I felt like I had a purpose. I felt like these group of guys were actually my friends. Well, it was until my sophomore year. 

We were struggling that year due to the lack of experience. Only myself and one other player had played soccer previously. The most experienced players graduated with John the previous year. Coach Jeff was making do with the restrictions he had. I understood his frustrations, but I couldn't do anything to help. I was still not physically fit enough to last the entire game and was still a second-string player. I could just watch in horror as my team lost every game with no possible strategy to help them. We were the laughing stock of the entire division. 

It was our last game. We were already disqualified from playoffs, so Coach Jeff said we would all get some playing time. I was so excited; I finally got to play. I made sure that I prepared well for the game: eating well, sleeping enough, drinking water, etc. When game time came, I sat eagerly for my chance to play. We were getting picked apart by the other team and our substitutes were going in in waves. I was getting excited, shouting advice to the my fellow second-stringers. However, Coach Jeff didn't like that. He had a set plan, and didn't want my advice this game. He yelled at me in front of everyone, and I obeyed his wishes.

It was the second half of the game and I was the last one to have not played yet.  I lamented in the fact that I angered Coach Jeff. I apologized to my teammates for giving them contradicting commands, feeling genuinely sorry. Time ticked away and the game wasn't getting any better for us. Then, I saw the referee signal the end of the game. I was heartbroken, completely devastated. I never got to play in the game everyone played in. I hung my head in shame and defeat. 

It was the longest bus ride home for me. The other players were cheerful, chatting away. I sat by myself so that no one could see me crying. I took that game extremely hard and personally. My whole world crumbled right before my eyes. I felt betrayed by someone I considered a second father. To most, it was a simple soccer game but it meant more to me. It was my chance to show Coach Jeff and the team how much I improved. But he never gave me the chance for whatever reason. However, I didn't blame him for not playing me; I messed up by shouting commands without his permission. 

That moment made me take a hard look at my life. Mother wondered why I didn't get to play, and I wasn't able to answer. I wanted to tell her what I did, but I didn't see the point. I skipped dinner and went straight to bed. My depression outweighed the other feelings I had. I didn't sleep immediately though; obviously, I wasn't exhausted from the game. I wanted the day to be over. 

There was a lingering thought in my mind. In a game that everyone played, I still didn't get to play. Maybe it was my sign to stop playing soccer. Obviously, Coach Jeff thought I wasn't ready to play in a "fun game". But soccer was my only hobby; it was the only place where I felt welcomed. I played since I was four- years-old. But I had to really think about it. Thoughts echo so loud at rock bottom, it is hard to hear anything else.