Play Like A Girl

        "She fakes a pass, twirls around the opponent, and speeds towards the net." I look up from my "stick" (a broom) and shuffle the ball towards my father, who was kneeling in ready position in front of our dinning room table (the net) and trying to look serious, but failing and allowed a smile to slip by.

           "Wide open, just her and the goalie. She knows this is what she's waited for, she knows what she must do." I mutter out loud to myself and scoot the ball around my stuffed teddy bear towards my father.

        "Then suddenly, she turns around! She's skating backwards towards the goalie then she turns back around and shoots it towards the top right! But wait! She faked it! She twirls, the rockets it towards the left top! She scores!" I throw up my arms in triumph, tossing my broom to the side and smiling at my father who failed to block my obviously slow shot, and was trying to look upset. But in an instant he smiled and laughed, holding out his arms towards me and I dive straight into them.

        "My girl won the Stanley cup! Sullivan shall forever be etched into the history of hockey!" He shouted, picking me up and hands me our tinfoil "Stanley cup". Lifting me onto his shoulders we parade around the living room, shouting and hollering.

        "Hey, players! It's bed time!" My mom yells at us, wiping her hands on a dish towel. She's smiling though, as always, and gives a good, rich laugh at the sight of us. Her daughter in her husbands oversized jersey, running around the living room with a tinfoil bowl and vase glued together. 

         I would do anything for her, just to hear that laugh.

        I sighed though, heeding my mothers instructions and trudged towards my room, exhausted from my efforts. My father and my mother were laughing about something, probably me "winning" the playoffs.

         "Don't forget to say your prayers!" My mother called after me. I tossed my "stick" to the side, took off my equipment, and dove into bed. To tired to speak to God.

        ***

        "Don't forget to say your prayers!" My grandmother yelled at me from downstairs. 

         I just rolled my eyes. Tossing my stick and hockey bag to the side, I took off my sweatshirt and pants, then flopped onto my mattress. Completely drained.

        "Yeah, whatever." I muttered into my pillow. 

        I haven't knelt down before bed and talked to Him since they left.

       I stared out my window for a second before seeing something flash across the black sky. 

        A shooting star.

        What the hell. I thought, getting up out of bed.

         I positioned my bruised knees underneath me and placed my banged up elbows on either side of my shoulders on the bed. Clasping my rough and callused hands together I bent down my head and said my prayers. At the end I looked up at the sky.

        "I'm going to win you that cup, Da. I promise." I whispered out into the sky. 

        I'm not sure if it was because it was the first time I prayed to God since the accident, or if it was because of the shooting star mixed with the time being 11:11, or maybe just because I didn't wish on the star, I stated, but I would learn soon enough that I would get my wish.