Not Looking Back

Chapter 15

Brandon's P.O.V.

The final bell rings, and I rush out of my sixth period. It's photography, but not for long. It'll be lacrosse in a few days, however, I don't plan to drop the photography class either. I feel like a normal guy for once in that class, so I looked into it, and it's offered as a zero period. I don't mind waking up earlier; it's not like I sleep anyway. I speed walk by the track and find myself staring at it. I see kids lined up one behind the other running around the track. Every once in a while, the person at the end of the line races up to the front and takes the lead. Indian Run, or as others call it the Dragon Run. God I hated when coach would make the team do those. I haven't thought about coach in a while. I wonder what he thinks about me just leaving him without a word, without a goodbye.

Snap out of it Brandon. I laugh quietly to myself. I wanna grab both your shoulders and shake baby, snap out of it. I bring myself back to reality and walk even faster than before to the parking lot. I told my dad I wouldn't go to school until I got my license here in California. I had one back in New York, but you know, I gotta get a new one. Surprisingly he agreed. I mean I guess that's expected. My parents have always treated me special because of my disorder. I take the keys out of my pocket and twirl them in my hand. I have reached my ride. I put my leg over it on the other side and sit down. I unlock my helmet and put on. I then put the key in the ignition and bring my motorcycle to life. It's a birthday present I got from my parents for my sixteenth birthday. It's burgundy and if it was a girl, I'd marry her. Before I leave the parking lot, I put on some music: Pretty Visitors by the Arctic Monkeys.

I rev out of the school and towards the closest sports store I can find. I love the feeling of the wind against my body. It makes me feel free, like if I could do and be whatever I want. I swerve around cars, hearing honks and obscenities every now and then. I just smile and chuckle. What came first, the chicken or the dickhead? The dickhead, definitely the dickhead.

I pull up to a Sports Authority. Athlete's intuition. What can I say? I take off my helmet and hop of my motorcycle. I enter and I feel the cool, refreshing air from the store. I'd love to stay and look into the many sports I'm interested in, but I have a job to do. I quickly walk to the lacrosse section. Ahh heaven. I'm so overwhelmed by all the equipment, all the memories, and I swear I'm about to cry. I threw my passion, my life away in one day. Am I any good anymore? What if I lost it? What if I'm not as good as I used to be? Arrington I can never stress how talented you are. You are the best goddamn striker I have ever had, and ever will. I feel like if coach told me that yesterday. I feel like if I'm just here on vacation. I'm the best goddamn left-handed striker you have every had, or ever will coach. God was I really that cocky? That's not cockiness Brandon; don't ever be afraid to brag ever once in a while. God I thought I was done with the voices, but lately they've been coming back everyone's. Dad's, coach's, even Lily's. Never my mom's though. I don't know why.

I grab a shopping cart nearby. I have never had to use one of these in a sports shop; I didn't even know they had them. I start getting into the zone, and I feel happy once again. I get a dark red Nike duffel bag, sports bottles, KT Tape, mouth guards, and cups to begin with. I then go on into the more serious stuff. I get a pair of lacrosse cleats, compression shorts, lacrosse pants, pads, a few shirts. I know they'll give me the helmet when I make the team. Finally the most important part: the lacrosse stick. I compare and contrast at least ten until I come to the conclusion of the one with a burgundy stick and black netting. My style. Everything together comes out to be $310. I call my dad and he gladly puts in an extra $150 in my card. Jesus it's like my dad thinks I'm about to die or something.

I pay for everything with my card and leave the shop with at least three bags. I'm all happy when it finally strikes me. How the fuck am I going to take this all home with my motorcycle. You sure you want to drive a motorcycle son? A car would be more convenient. Should have listened to my dad. I'm there carrying my bags, my lacrosse stick poking out, scratching my head and thinking like, Shit I'm going to have to call my dad to pick me up right now.

All of a sudden a white car pulls up right next to me. The window of the passenger side rolls down. I stare in bewilderment.

"I thought you weren't going to try out for lacrosse."