The journey to Happiness

Seventeen Again

With the final in less than twenty-four hours, Jessie sat awake in bed, shamelessly. Not even trying to fall asleep. Early December and the weather was miserable.  Everything was weighing on her performance. Everything this year was delayed, The FA cup being no exception. This was going to be huge. They finally got a chance to play at Wembley representing their club rather than their country.  It was cold, and the wind whipped harshly through the air, leaves of all colors left dejected on the sidewalk. In the early morning traffic, they flew across lanes of traffic until they clogged the storm drains and littered the sidewalks. 

She was given the heads-up that she was starting tomorrow. Magda and Pernille were helping her cope, Even with Magda reinforcing after every visit that she didn't hold a grudge, that there will be many other tournaments that the swedes would win, t didn't help. Yeah, Magda had another shot but Caroline Segar didn't, neither did Lina Hurting. The comforting words helped her get her game under control. The countless hours of wallball paying off. The extra sessions Magda had pulled her from the comfort of her sheets to finish. Everything that Magda couldn't help her with Bev and Sinc did. The hours of avoiding the sports Psych were dwindling. She knew she needed to speak with him. Yet there was something that always made her unnerved in his presence. The way he looked through people, how actively he would listen like it was the first time ever hearing words, how he would constantly pry; He was just too much of everything without being anything she needed.

Sammy had reached out after a little pushing from Magda and gave Jessie the number to her sports Psychologist who helped her come back from injury, Chapman and Huitema also slipped numbers under the door of her hotel or in the pocket of her favorite hoodie when she wasn't paying attention. none of them ever offering anything out loud. Long weary looks across locker rooms and sorrowful glances over food. No checking up on each other. Every athlete went through a funk, a period of doubting every decision they made, most recovered quite quickly; Jessie being the exception. 

As the clock ticked on the wall Jessie sat Indian style, her favorite blanking wrapping around her shoulders, her hands clasped around a now warm Budweiser. She wished it was coffee. Searching through the channels for anything. The only thing she could access was the local news station and old reruns of some movie she's never heard of.  Settling for nothing she sat in the darkness. Just enough light spilling through the thin curtains from the moon to light the space in front of her. Her sister's playlist on repeat, the songs comforting tonight. Shifting when her legs fell asleep. 

The a/c on blast, the lock over the control panel leaving her softly shivering under the warmth of the too-thick duvet and too-thin sheets. The music filling the quiet room, her breaths were labored, her right hand subconsciously rubbing her throat every few minutes when the air got caught in her lungs, the bottle raising to her lips when her tongue got too big and her mouth got too dry. If it wasn't for the bottle pressed over her heart her fingers would fiddle endlessly, intertwining themselves over and over. Her fingers still fiddled as the same songs ran through for what seemed like the hundredth time. The label was then turned into nothing but papery mush and leftover adhesive that bond was too strong and her nails were too short. 

The mattress to soft to sit comfortably. Shifting to the floor, her phone buzzed anxiously, every minute on the minute it seemed. She felt seventeen again, sitting in the corner of some rich kid's mansion with a beer pressed to her chest as she watched people openly mingle, snapping photos from every angle with everyone they knew. She had too much riding on soccer to be caught in a photo with alcohol. So she sat in the corner just watching, sometimes when people got too drunk and her ride wouldn't be there for another hour, she was fine to drive always reminding herself to stay sober in public. Her father had drilled that notion into her head since she started experimenting with alcohol at 14.  She would sit on her phone scrolling through her sittings list to look busy, mentally counting down the minutes until she could leave. The house was always either too cold or too hot. The music was always too loud and her head would pound for days after.