Graft and Garner

A Kick In The (soccer) Balls

Jack

I tell Coach Garret,

"Look, thank you for all you've done, and I really appreciate your faith in me, but I am quitting the team." I brace myself for the worst, I really do, because Coach Garret is super passionate about our soccer team, and me telling him I'm leaving probably doesn't help. Instead he says,

"Well, Jack, if you don't like soccer, than there's no point in forcing you to keep playing." A flood of relief runs through me. Thank GOD. "But if I may ask, why don't you like soccer anymore?" This one's easy.

"Coach, I've never liked soccer. My mom was the one who forced me to tryout." I feel sort of awkward, like I'm pouring out my entire life story in front of Coach Garret.

Nonetheless, he sort of purses his lips like he's thinking, gives me a pat on the back, and says,

"Son, I'm glad we had the opportunity to have you on the team. If you ever need anything, you can always stop by my office." I almost want to hug him right now. It's awfully relieving to hear someone accept a decision that I made, it almost makes me cry.

Instead, I turn away and speed-walk out of his office.

Mom is already waiting for me when I come home. Yeah, I was a little late, but only because I had to drop off my overdue library books off.

Dad's still at work, but mom's pissed-off appearance makes up for it.

"Where've you been?" She demands. Classic line, mom. Zero points for originality. Fighting the searing urge to roll my eyes, I reply,

"At the library, dropping off books." Then she gets all huffy and cuts me off,

"No, I mean all day." I almost scoff. All day? She wants to know where I've been all day. That's ridiculous.

"School, mom. Where else?"

"I got a call from Coach Garret. I believe his exact words were, 'Mrs. Merrick, I wanted to personally ask you why you think its ok to force your son to play a sport he does not want to.'" There's this pause, a silence filled with tense tremors of anticipatory anger. I need to breathe. I'm mad, not at Coach Garret, but at mom. I didn't do anything bad. I didn't do anything.

"I quit soccer." I declare, nearly losing my cool. My mom stares back at me, her eyes full of quiet rage and mortification. Mortification at what? Me? Is it because now I don't fit her perfect image of a sixteen year old boy in an all-American family?

"You screw up everything, Jack! It's soccer. You love soccer, you begged me to let you play-"

"That is not true-"

"Shut up, Jack! I can't believe you. First, you trade your A-grade soccer cleats for some stupid skateboard, you stop hanging out with Davy Letourneau, one of your best friends-"

"Davy's a snob, mom. I was never friends with him, you're just friends with his mom from your damn country club."

"Jack Merrick, don't you dare talk to me like that!" She screeches. And suddenly, it's like something horrible and putrid pops inside me. My face literally feels like it's set on fire, and I see red.

"Wow, you really don't get it, do you? Sixteen years and you still don't get it! You only want me to play soccer so I can be your little trophy child and you can tell all of your friends, 'Oh, look at me, I'm a perfect mother with a wonderful little family and you can kiss my ass because I raised my kids better than you." Mom nearly jumps out of her seat and marches straight up to me, and for a second, I'm almost afraid she'll hit me, but she doesn't. Her cheeks burn red with fury, she leans forward so her face is inches from mine, and she nearly screams,

"You don't get it, how hard it is to have you as a son. Everyone else has a kid who does normal things, but not you, all you do is sit inside and listen to music and ride your fucking skateboard like some drug-infested gang member; and then you go ahead and quit soccer."

"Stop it, you shut-" I will never forget what she says next,

"I just want a normal kid!" It's like a shadow has fallen over the house, silencing everyone. I stare back at her, and she stares back at me, unblinking. My throat catches on the ninety words I want to scream back, but instead, the only thing that comes out of my mouth is,

"Then find one." This takes her breath, she has to grab the counter with one hand to steady herself, almost as if she's gonna keel over. I turn on my heel and run upstairs, slamming the door behind me and turning the lock.