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It’s been on for the last hour and we’re drawing to a close soon.
And we’re winning.
It’s crazy that I’m calling the team ‘we,’ when I don’t go to this school and neither am I from this town. Also I’ve never had much interest in sports to call any team ‘we.’
This team feels like ‘we’ though.
Because of him.
Because he’s their coach. Well, ex-coach, but he’s coached them this week and he’s the reason that they’re winning.
He is.
Because he’s magnificent.
And he’s not even playing.
He’s standing on the sidelines, his feet shoulder-width apart, his arms folded across his chest as he watches the game with a very cool face. Occasionally, extremely occasionally, he calls things out to his players. While a couple of people around him, which I’m guessing must be the assistant coaches or whatever, are shouting and cursing, looking all sorts of animated.
But he’s the star of the show nonetheless.
Actually no, he’s not the star. He’s the king.
He’s the god these players are trying to impress.
Because they are.
Every little while, they look at their coach, not the surrounding clowns, but him, the head coach, waiting for his approval, his feedback.
Which he gives with a short nod and a slight tip of his lips.
And it just makes me feel so proud. At the way people respond to him. The way he inspires them, changes their moment, their day, their life just like that.
That’s why I came actually.
Because I wanted to watch him in his element.
I also wanted to surprise him, but mostly I came to watch him around his dream, around soccer. And I have to say that he absolutely shines.
So much so that I want to capture him in my sketchbook right here, right now. To show him. To make him see that even though he’s not playing like he always wanted to, he still manages to make this game better. And I have a feeling that it gives him pride as well. When they do something right. When they reach their potential.
Because the moment they win the game, he smiles. And for the first time since the game began, he claps. He moves from his spot and strides over to his players, who all welcome him into their midst like they missed him.
Missed his guidance.
Although he doesn’t stay with them for long. He stands among them for a couple of minutes before disengaging and breaking off from the crowd. I watch him shake his head and refuse what I assume are the invitations to stay, maybe even to celebrate with them.
And then I watch him glance down at that big silver watch of his and I know.
I know why.
I know he’s refusing them because he needs to get to me. He needs to drive over to St. Mary’s in exactly fifty minutes to go pick me up, and that’s when I move.
I was already standing, clapping with the hundreds of spectators when the team won, and now I push through the crowd. I make my way through the rows of people who are all trying to leave and are blocking my path until I’m at the end of the row, and then I’m bounding down the stairs and dashing over to the exit, to this archway kind of thing that leads into the stadium.
Where I know he’s going to come out of.
In fact, he’s there right now, at the mouth of it, as soon as I reach it.
I can see him striding through the flood of exiting people and I’m about to call out to him when my view is blocked. By a group of guys. Who from what it looks like are also trying to exit.
I bump into them in my hurry. “Oh, I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay,” one of them says but instead of moving out of my way he continues, “Are you lost?”
“Uh, no,” I tell him, trying to get past him. “I just need to…”
The second guy, this one taller than the first one, asks, “Do you go to school here? What grade are you in?”
I step back from them. “No, I don’t. I’m just… I need to get to someone.”
The third guy joins in and I move back again, bumping against someone. “We can help you find them, if you like. This place could get confusing if you don’t know where you’re going.”
“Yeah, and I don’t think you’re here with someone, right?” the second guy chimes in.
I draw back. “What?”
“Sorry, that came out creepy.” The second guy laughs nervously as the other two groan. “It’s just that we were sitting in the same row and —”
“Bronwyn.”
At my name, I breathe out in relief.
Not only because the sea of boys — who were frankly starting to creep me out — part, but also because he’s here.
He saw me.
Apart from being freaked out by these strange guys, I was starting to get antsy that we’d miss each other.
