Alphabet Soup

Grit

Grit

        Oscar tapped his left foot impatiently as he waited for his former coach’s response. He had to keep moving, had to satisfy that irresistible urge to stay in motion. Quivering with anticipation, it took all of his willpower to stand still as the coach made up his mind. Finally, the coach reached a decision, he gave his verdict with slowly moving lips as though he were afraid that speaking any quicker might make his response soar clear through one ear and out the other without actually registering although his eyes, rapidly scanning the desperate boy before him, betrayed a wish that a different verdict was possible for the former star of the track team. “Sorry, champ, but the regulations specifically forbid the inclusion of anyone in your condition on the team. They’re very inflexible when it comes to situations like this. I know it’s hard to accept, but it’s for your own good.”

        The hopeful smile that had been dancing on Oscar’s face faded away. His dreams couldn’t be destroyed just like that. He had dedicated his entire life to track; just because he had a prosthesis now didn’t make him any less of an outstanding runner.“Please, Coach, you have to let me back on. I can run just as fast as before!” Without waiting another second, despite the coach’s frantic pleas to stop, Oscar dashed over to the track. He slammed his feet into the ground as the world whizzed by. The dying grass around the track blurred as did the enormous oak trees with there branches burdened by thousands of orange and brown leaves and the little pink aster flowers that bravely bloomed despite the gloom of the increasingly barren landscape until only the track remained in focus. The only sound besides the whistling of the wind in Oscar’s ears and the firm slapping of tennis shoes against the ground was the frantic calls of the coach: demanding, asking, and finally pleading for Oscar to stop. With a warm burn flowing through his body that always accompanied his most in the zone moments during any run, Oscar had no intention of slowing down ever again until he was absolutely certain that he could regain his spot on the team.

        As he thundered past the midway point of the track, Oscar heard a faint noise, a metallic groan of protest. He swore softly, pushing himself to continue his mad sprint. No way would he let a little noise, however ominous, stand between him and a life of running. Weeks of missed practices began to take their toll as Oscar’s vision began to swim, and sweat poured down his back like a warm waterfall. His muscles, formerly singing in pleasure, began to scream in agony as he neared the end of his circuit. Oscar poured the last of his energy into his legs. Just before he reached his starting point, Oscar heard a faint click as he stumbles with exhaustion. He found himself hurtling towards the unforgiving ground, his right leg detaching itself from him as the metal joint holding the prosthesis in place slipped out of place. With a howl of frustration, Oscar struggled to regain his footing, but the stump refused to cooperate without the cold prosthesis attached to it. The former source of glory and intense pride was nothing but an eyesore for Oscar now. Ending slightly above where his kneecap once was, the dream crushing mass of flesh had done nothing but let Oscar down ever since that car had slammed into him.

        The coach scrambled away, to summon the school nurse, leaving Oscar alone with his injuries. The frantic wailing of his aching body had dulled into a persistent throbbing with his stump as its epicenter as it radiated outward. The steadily bleeding scrapes left by the unforgiving pavement, he knew, although stinging fiercely now, would also disappear into nothingness eventually, but Oscar still wept. Tears trickled silently onto the ground, not for the temporary physical pain or even for the empty void where a flesh and blood leg used to be, but for the dream that had been violently shattered by the blur of screeching tires and frantic shouts that came unexpected and unwanted into Oscar’s world, snatching away the joyous melody of two feet rhythmically pounding the earth beneath them and replacing it with a stagnant world of stillness and sorrow. Oscar had no choice but to admit that although the rules had seemed to smother him, they were in fact meant to liberate him from endless hours of misery and torment that he would doubtlessly face if he were to compete once more.

         As the nurse arrived to help reattach his limb, Oscar was relieved to see his coach hovering nearby, ready to dash in if his assistance was needed. Even though the deafening wails of the ambulance and heartbreaking sobs of his parents had made Oscar especially afraid to make people worry about him, it was nice to know that he still had people who cared about him even after all of the trauma he had been through. It was the nurse’s job to take care of people whenever they had physical problems come up, permanent or not, but Coach Sanders had no obligation to watch as the stubborn boy dealt with the consequences of his actions. Yet he stood by Oscar’s side anyway, expressing his admiration for him and describing what an inspiration his dedication to running was to him as well as the rest of the team as he tried to keep the seventeen year old’s one track mind off of his pain. Even though he could no longer pursue his old goals on the track, Oscar now chose to focus on a new goal, instilling determination  into those around him so that they could chase their own dreams with as much boundless vigor as he had pursued his.