forget-me-nots [h.s.]

five

Spring 2011

I was late, horribly and dreadfully late.

By the time I had gotten to the field it was halftime and the ticket stalls were closing. I had been in the art room working late on a piece with my instructor when I had looked at the time. I had promised him that I would be there--I was a horrible friend; I had already missed two of his games. He told me that he understood, but I still felt bad.

Thankfully, they let me in and I was able to find a spot that was free on the bleachers. It was close to the field, and the moment I sat down he spotted me. He waved at me as the team sat on the sideline. He was bouncing around, staying warmed up, and was making faces at me. I smiled widely as I settled on the metal bench. I gave him a small thumbs-up and he gave me one back.

I was wearing our school colors and had his number written in eye liner on the back of my hand (which I had hastily drawn on in my car). He had tried to explain the sport to me on more than one occasion--tried, being the key word. The whistle blew and the game resumed. The teams jogged to the field--which Harry referred to as the pitch-- and took their positions. I watched Harry closely as he took his position and I leaned forward in my seat.

When the action began, I lost track of him. I watched as the different colored shirts ran across the field, passing the ball from on teammate to another. Sometimes the ball would move so fast that I wouldn't be able to see it.

Harry shouted things on the pitch that I couldn't hear from where I was sitting. Eventually, Harry gained possession of the ball and ran it towards the other team's goal. He passed the ball to his teammates and moved the ball closer to the goal.

Parents and students cheered around me, urging the team on. Harry regained possession; out of nowhere one of his opponent slide-tackled him--knocking Harry off his feet. The crowd erupted in anguish; yelling at the opposite team and at the referee to do something. Teddy, one of Harry's teammates, helped him to his feet. They spoke to each other and Harry massaged the side of his leg. The referee approached the culprit and held up a yellow card. Harry offered his hand to his opponent in truce, but the other player smacked it away.

The Preston crowd booed the unsportsmanlike behavior. I watched Harry carefully as he tried to hide the slight limp as he retreated to the sideline. The cheering of the crowd began as the game resumed once more. A worrisome nagging feeling developed in my chest, as I tried to catch a glimpse of Harry to see if he was all right.

"Should I go play nurse?" A girl in front of me asked her friend. Her friend threw her head back in laughter.

"You wish," her friend told her.

"I do," the girl confirmed. "Come on, like you wouldn't want to be his nurse."

"I mean, yeah," her friend confessed. "It's Harry Styles, who wouldn't fawn over him."

I knew girls liked him; I knew that, but it was strange to hear girls talk about him though. Harry was just Harry, and when people talked about him, it was like he suddenly was bigger than he was. He was my best friend, but for some reason I didn't particularly like girls talking about him like that.

I tried to ignore them as I mindlessly watched the game. I watched the ball as it moved back and forth on the pitch. I didn't really start paying attention again until Harry returned to the game. He came back with a new found fire, taking charge of field. He took control of the ball and charged the opponent's goal. He worked with his team members effortlessly; inching closer and closer to the goal box.

I leaned forward on my seat as he kicked the ball towards the goal. I held my breath for a moment until I heard the sound of the ball catching in the net. I stood up with the crowd and cheered loudly. The first person Harry looked for was me, he smiled widely and jumped around excitedly. The referee blew his whistle and then stoppage time began. The other team was struggling to combat Preston's advance, and the clock ran out.