That Pivotal Moment

Chapter 1

The Meeting

Hayden

If there was one thing that I would remember for the rest of my life—one thing that, when I look back, stood out most—It was when I saw her. 

She had been walking through the sea of students in the hallway of our high school when I saw her from the corner of my eye. There were no sounds, no voices. Time seemed to slow as she made her way in my direction; oblivious to the fact that I was standing there. Her long brown hair hung around her oval face as she clutched her textbooks to her chest like they were a life preserver. I couldn't make out the hidden logo on her shirt, but I assumed it was the name of a band. Her jeans were faded and ripped at the knee, half covering a pair of overly-loved black and white Converse sneakers. 

Unable to move, I held my breath when she passed me. One thing that stunned me, was that I was hoping she would turn to look at me. But what would happen if she did? According to the social classes of high school, we were each at the far end of the spectrum. I was a jock and she was a loner. Per the unspoken rules nowadays, if you didn't "fit" by society's standards, you were a pariah. Even though I knew the truth, I couldn't take my eyes off of her. The ear-piercing sound of the bell finally broke me from the spell of this woman. Time and everything else around me resumed as the commotion of students and locker doors slamming filled my ears. 

Brad Mitchell, a fellow member of the football team and my best friend, clapped me on the shoulder. "Hey, man. You comin' or what? It's chow time." 

Brad was about six-feet tall, with a football player's build, and dark hair. He always had food of some kind in his hands. I met him on our first day of kindergarten and we've had the same classes ever since. We've been through a lot together. Growing up, we got into trouble together, discovered girls, and experimented with alcohol. But more than anything, we had each others backs. Even with my dysfunctional family, he was the one constant thing I could count on. 

"Yeah," I answered.  "I'll meet you there."

After he started heading towards the cafeteria, I looked back to the place where I saw her. Why couldn't I get her out of my mind? I felt this strong urge to go after her. It was like a magnet was trying to pull me in the path that she went. But I couldn't allow myself to follow after her. Even just asking her name would cause more problems at home. 

My parents weren't bad parents. My mom was great and had always supported me. My dad, on the other hand, was the type of man who planned out his son's future. My dad was a football champ back when he was in high school. He got a full ride to college and was supposed to be drafted to the NFL. As luck would have it, he got into a car accident that blew out his knee. No more football. 

My mom told me bits and pieces of the two years that followed after that day. My dad didn't take it well. He relied heavily on alcohol and anger in an attempt to accept it. He never laid his hands on my mom, but verbal abuse was a constant factor. When she told me, I asked her why she stayed with him. 

No matter how many times I would ask, she would always smile and say, "For better or worse, Hayden. He went through something horrible. How can I not stand by him?"

I was born three years later; and the day my dad found out they were having a son, I guess he felt as if it was his second chance. He planned out everything regarding my future. Starting on my third birthday, everything was football. My Halloween costumes were football, my bedroom was decorated with football, everything revolved around football. Sunday was a religious day for my dad—but not in the church sense. We spent every Sunday watching football, with him coaching me through each game.