Letters About Literature (Final)

Dear Mr. Jack Kerouac

Your adventure, your philosophy, your way of life in your novel The Dharma Bums has eternally changed me. Thoughts of a future in my hometown, attending the University of Virginia, beginning a family and growing grey in the affluence of Charlottesville have abruptly shed like the shell of a cicada. Now dreams of years of world travel with just a backpack and a soul along for the ride fill my every thought. An education spent immersing myself in the things I truly care about lies ahead. Hopes of raising a family brought up in one big puddle of love without the cloud of an angst filled society raining on top of it. For what is a life not spent in union with the animals, with the world, with the void?

You told me life is a spontaneous creation. A thing so complex, it is meant not to have a path. You illustrated that the twists and turns add the flare everyone secretly longs for. Lives planned from birth, whether it is a baby boy whose future is premeditated to attend an ivy league, inherit the family business, marry rich and age on their parents trust fund or, the life of a poor baby girl in a third world country working her life away on the family farm, marrying without a choice, growing old having never left her village are now the antithesis of my dreams. These lives fill me full of true remorse. I want to pull them through the bleak trapdoor they do not realize lays only inches from their grip. Your book, your life showed me a way out. The Dharma Bums is a portal that can lead these ensnared souls to eternal personal freedom, to enlightenment.

Jack, you have taught me enlightenment is not money. It is not power. It is not even love, as I might have thought. Enlightenment is being one with oneself. Some might say that’s pure selfishness. I say it’s pure genius. Why live if you’re not at one with oneself? Why try to please others, when you yourself are not even fulfilled? Many philosophies state that material things are not essential for happiness. I doubted it. But you proved it. You climbed Matterhorn, with a little food and a little friendship. And you’ve never been happier than at the top of the peak- wind ripping through your heart like a roaring train slowly setting you on the tracks to true happiness.

Jack’s recipe for enlightenment I called it: oneself, a little food, a little friendship, a little spontaneity. I tried it. I climbed the peaks of the Peruvian Andes with a little food and a little friendship. I’ve never been happier. I’ve never been more at one with myself. I’ve never been more in the void. You were right, Jack. You bum, you were right all along.

Peace,
Rachel Woolworth

Letters About Literature

Dear Jack Kerouac

Your novel, your adventure, your philosophy, your way of life in The Dharma Bums has eternally changed me for the better. Thoughts of a life staying in my hometown, attending the University of Virginia, beginning a family and growing grey in the affluence of Charlottesville have abruptly shed like the shell of a cicada. Now thoughts of years of world travel with just a backpack and a soul along for the ride fill my every thought. An education spent immersing myself in the things I truly care about lies ahead. Hopes of raising a family brought up in one big puddle of love without the cloud of an angst filled society raining on top of it. For what is a life not spent in union with the animals, with the world, with the void?

You told me life is a spontaneous creation. A thing so complex, it is meant not to have a path. You illustrated that the twists and turns add the flare everyone secretly longs for. Lifes planned from birth, whether a baby boy whose future is premeditated to attend an ivy league, marry rich, inherit the family business, idle the summer away at the country club, squander the vital days of parenting with nannies, fall into the endless monotony of a loveless marriage resulting in an affair and the slow decline of a physical, mental and economic state or, the life of a poor baby girl in a third world country working her life away on the family farm, marrying without a choice, growing old having never left her village. These lifes fill me full of true remorse. I want to pull them through the bleak trapdoor they do not realize lays only inches away from their grip. Your book, your life showed me a way out. It is the portal that can lead these ensnared souls to eternal personal freedom, to enlightenment.

Jack, you have taught me enlightenment is not money. It is not power. It is not even love, as I might have thought. Enlightenment is being at one with yourself. Some might say that’s pure selfishness…I say it’s pure genius. Why live if you’re not at one with yourself? Why try to please others, when you yourself are not even fulfilled? Its common knowledge many philosophies state that material things are not essential for happiness. I doubted it. But you proved it. You climbed Matterhorn, with a little food, a little friendship. And you’ve never been happier than at the top of the peak, the wind ripping through your heart like a roaring train slowly setting you onto the tracks to true happiness.

Jack’s recipe for enlightenment, I called it: yourself, a little food, a little friendship, a little spontaneity. I tried it. I climbed the peaks of the Peruvian Andes with a little food, a little friendship and I’ve never been happier. I’ve never been more at one with myself. I’ve never been more in the void. You were right, Jack. You were right all along.

Capture the Flag (Final Draft)

Every year as school days dwindled down I would begin to dream about Maine summers and the pleasures it brought. The high point of my stay would always be the annual game of capture the flag. Played over our 12 acres of sprawling Maine forest and field, including a lake, beach and rivers, this was no game for the lighthearted as the intensity of family rivalries ignited with the night air. So sit back while I tell the heroic tale of the night I captured the flag.

The night was as dark as mom’s hair and smelled like one big bonfire. The temperature was perfection. The mosquitoes buzzed soothingly around my ear, occasionally deciding to launch an attack. Peacefulness floated through the air, until the bloodcurdling yell punctured peace… “1…2…3 START!” The serenity of my surroundings was broken, mosquitoes suddenly started to swarm and the darkness seemed overwhelming. But the quest for our own holy grail had begun and there was no turning back now.

An hour into the game, I received confidential information from my cousin Michael that the flag had been spotted. “Where’s the flag?” I ask. He quietly whispers to me; “Our baby is on the beach to the right side of the boat house.” I began to panic, wondering how in the world we would be able to make it that far through the forest without being caught. We both knew it was time for a plan…of mastery.

Next thing I knew Michael and I were standing by the lake’s edge, peeling off our shirts and timidly dipping our feet in the water. I was the first to silently slip into the ice cold lake and it was a feeling I will never forget. An intense coldness overwhelmed me. A thousand knives seemed to be piercing my skin and I longed for a wool blanket and cup of hot chocolate. Michael followed suit and we slowly but surely began to make our way around the lake.

Five minuets later we were behind enemy lines and knew that around any bend a rival could be lurking. We swam with caution, with meticulous care not to wake any sleeping creatures or disturb peaceful waters. Every minute I lost feeling in a new toe, a different eyelash felt like it had turned to ice. But we still trudged along, edging our way around the exterior of the lake. At one point Michael dared to turn the flashlight on under the water…it reflected through and set an eerie tone to the air. But now we were aware that the beach lay only feet ahead.

We stopped swimming and began to tread water, racking our brains for the smallest fraction of an idea. Before I knew it Michael had pushed me out of the water, and I was lying on the dark of the beach. I caught a glimpse of my cousin Pam, she was around the bend guarding the flag with care. Stomach to the ground I crept along the beach, grains of sand sticking to my wet skin as if I were a roll of duct tape. A gust of Maine wind blew across the coast, sending a shiver through my bones and the tip of the old couch upholstery flying in a crazy state. Closer and closer I crept, anticipating and calculating the finer points of my attack.

I was only feet away and Pam had not noticed my presence. My finger brushed the cotton tip of the flag. I cautiously pulled at the cloth, releasing it from the sand’s suffocation and placing it securely between my two front teeth. I was a tribal warrior creeping through sand. It was time for my retreat, but I suddenly froze. I heard voices from the woods, drawing closer by the second. Pam heard voices too and ran a few feet ahead to greet them. It was now or never. I scrambled towards the water’s edge and silently sunk under the surface. I swam as far away from the shore as I could but eventually had to come up for breath. As I stared back at the dark shore, I heard a commotion. There was a high pitched scream from Pam and frantic running. That was my cue, after that point I swam like I had never swum before. I was a crocodile swiftly moving under the surface, holding onto my pray. I curved around the coast, Michael trailing behind my burst of adrenaline.

By the end of the night, I got my wool blanket and my hot chocolate. I got hugs, I got compliments, and I got pride. Only years later did the opposing team admit that the thought of a water attack had never crossed their mind. I never “captured” the flag again…but the memories I have from that night are enough to last a lifetime. For one night of my childhood, I was the hero.

Capture the Flag (Draft 2)

Every year as school days dwindled down I would begin to dream about Maine summers and the pleasures they brought. The high point of my stay would always be the annual game of capture the flag. Played over our 12 acres of sprawling Maine forest and field, including a lake, beach and rivers, this was no game for the lighthearted as the intensity of family rivalries ignited with the night air. So sit back while I tell the heroic tale of the night I captured the flag.

The night was as dark as mom’s hair and smelled like one big bonfire. The temperature was perfection. The mosquitoes buzzed soothingly around my ear, occasionally deciding to launch an attack. Peacefulness floated through the air, until the bloodcurdling yell punctured peace… “1…2…3 START!” The serenity of my surroundings was broken, mosquitoes suddenly started to swarm and the darkness seemed overwhelming. But the quest for our own holy grail had begun and there was no turning back now.

An hour into the game, I received confidential information from my cousin Michael that the flag had been spotted. “Where’s the flag?” I ask. He quietly whispers to me; “Our baby is on the beach to the right side of the boat house.” I began to panic, wondering how in the world we would be able to make it that far through the forest without being caught. We both knew it was time for a plan…of mastery.

Next thing I knew Michael and I were standing by the lake’s edge, peeling off our shirts and timidly dipping our feet in the water. I was the first to silently slip into the ice cold lake and it was a feeling I will never forget. An intense coldness overwhelmed me. A thousand knives seemed to be piercing my skin and I longed for a wool blanket and cup of hot chocolate. Michael followed suit and we slowly but surely began to make our way around the lake.

Five minuets later we were behind enemy lines and knew that around any bend a rival could be lurking. We swam with caution, with meticulous care not to wake any sleeping creatures or disturb peaceful waters. Every minute I lost feeling in a new toe, a different eyelash felt like it had turned to ice. But we still trudged along, edging our way around the exterior of the lake. At one point Michael dared to turn the flashlight on under the water…it reflected through and set an eerie tone to the air. But now we were aware that the beach lay only feet ahead.

We stopped swimming and began to tread water, racking our brains for the smallest fraction of an idea. Before I knew it Michael had pushed me out of the water, and I was lying on the dark of the beach. I caught a glimpse of my cousin Pam, she was around the bend guarding the flag with care. Stomach to the ground I crept along the beach, grains of sand sticking to my wet skin as if I were a roll of duct tape. A gust of Maine wind blew across the coast, sending a shiver through my bones and the tip of the old couch upholstery flying in a crazy state. Closer and closer I crept, anticipating and calculating the finer points of my attack.

I was only feet away and Pam had not noticed my presence. My finger brushed the cotton tip of the flag. I cautiously pulled at the cloth, releasing it from the sand’s suffocation and placing it securely between my two front teeth. I was a tribal warrior creeping through sand. It was time for my retreat, but I suddenly froze. I heard voices from the woods, drawing closer by the second. Pam heard voices too and ran a few feet ahead to greet them. It was now or never. I scrambled towards the water’s edge and silently sunk under the surface. I swam as far away from the shore as I could but eventually had to come up for breath. As I stared back at the dark shore, I heard a commotion. There was a high pitched scream from Pam and frantic running. That was my cue, after that point I swam like I had never swum before. I was a crocodile swiftly moving under the surface, holding onto my pray. I curved around the coast, Michael trailing behind my burst of adrenaline.

By the end of the night, I got my wool blanket and my hot chocolate. I got hugs, I got compliments, and I got pride. Only years later did the opposing team admit that the thought of a water attack had never crossed their mind. I never “captured” the flag again…but the memories I have from that night are enough to last a lifetime. For one night of my childhood, I was the hero.

Capture the Flag (Draft 1)

Every year as school days dwindled down I would begin to dream about Maine summers and the pleasures they brought. The high point of my stay would always be the annual game of capture the flag. Played over our 12 acres of sprawling Maine forest and field, including a lake, beach and rivers, this was no game for the lighthearted as the intensity of family rivalries ignited with the night air. So sit back while I tell the heroic tale of the night I captured the flag.

The night was as dark as mom’s hair and smelled like one big bonfire. The temperature was perfection. The mosquitoes buzzed soothingly around my ear, occasionally deciding to launch an attack. Peacefulness floated through the air, until the bloodcurdling yell punctured peace… “1…2…3 START!” The serenity of my surroundings was broken, mosquitoes suddenly started to swarm and the darkness seemed overwhelming. But the quest for our own holy grail had begun and there was no turning back now.

An hour into the game, I received confidential information from my cousin Michael that the flag had been spotted. “Where’s the flag?” I ask. He quietly whispers to me; “Our baby is on the beach to the right side of the boat house.” We both knew it was time for a plan…of mastery.

Next thing I knew Michael and I were standing by the lake’s edge, peeling off our shirts and timidly dipping our feet in the water. I was the first to silently slip into the ice cold lake and it was a feeling I will never forget. An intense coldness overwhelmed me. A thousand knives seemed to be piercing my skin and I longed for a wool blanket and cup of hot chocolate. Michael followed suit and we slowly but surely began to make our way around the lake.

Five minuets later we were behind enemy lines and knew that around any bend a rival could be lurking. We swam with caution, with meticulous care not to wake any sleeping creatures or disturb peaceful waters. Every minute I lost feeling in a new toe, a different eyelash felt like it had turned to ice. But we still trudged along, edging our way around the exterior of the lake. At one point Michael dared to turn the flashlight on under the water…it reflected through and set an eerie tone to the air. But now we were aware that the beach lay only feet ahead.

We stopped swimming and began to tread water, racking our brains for the smallest fraction of an idea. Before I knew it Michael had pushed me out of the water, and I was lying on the dark of the beach. I caught a glimpse of my cousin Pam, she was around the bend guarding the flag with care. Stomach to the ground I crept along the beach, grains of sand sticking to my wet skin as if I were a roll of duct tape. A gust of Maine wind blew across the coast, sending a shiver through my bones and the tip of the old couch upholstery flying in a crazy state. Closer and closer I crept, anticipating and calculating the finer points of my attack.

I was only feet away and Pam had not noticed my presence. My finger brushed the cotton tip of the flag. I cautiously pulled at the cloth, releasing it from the sand’s suffocation and placing it securely between my two front teeth. It was time for my retreat, but I suddenly froze. I heard voices from the woods, drawing closer by the second. Pam heard voices too and walked a few feet ahead to greet them. It was now or never. I scrambled towards the water’s edge and silently sunk under the surface. I swam as far away from the shore as I could but eventually had to come up for breath. As I stared back at the dark shore, I heard a commotion. There was a high pitched scream from Pam and frantic running. That was my cue, after that point I swam like I had never swum before. I was a crocodile swiftly moving under the surface, holding onto my pray. I curved around the coast, Michael trailing behind my burst of adrenaline.

By the end of the night, I got my wool blanket and my hot chocolate. I got hugs, I got compliments, and I got pride. Only years later did the opposing team admit that the thought of a water attack had never crossed their mind. I never “captured” the flag again…but the memories I have from that night are enough to last a lifetime. For one night of my childhood, I was the hero.

The United States' Role in the World (Final Draft)

Everything in life plays the role of a character and in some way contributes to the bigger picture. The United States of America as an individual country acts a role in the play of the world. It is sometimes looked at positively, other times less so, but there is no question that America is an influential factor to the world we live in. Without its vast contributions, or its negative effects, the world would be a very different place today. America negatively or positively is represented to the world as three things: a promised land, a world power and “the liberator”.
The United States represents a Promised Land to much of the world. It is a place that stands for freedom, democracy and opportunity. It has symbolized religious and economic freedom throughout history and in many ways still does. The English Puritans sailed to the U.S in the 1620’s looking for freedom of worship, after being persecuted by the Church of England that the Puritans believed was beyond repair. America symbolized a place they could practice their religion and life without prejudice. In the early 1900’s European immigrants flocked through Ellis Island looking for economic success. Adults came looking for jobs to support their families, a new hope of American riches ignited in their minds. Today, the United States still represents a Promised Land to many. A prime example is the steady flow of illegal immigrants traveling north from Central America, seeking a new beginning. These immigrants are seeking a life without repression, better paying jobs and more. The U.S represents a place of promise to these diverse groups of people. The United States of America’s place in the world as a Promised Land helps it maintain the role of a world power.
The United States is a world power. The U.S instills fear in other countries, often establishes trends the rest of the world follows and is one of the most self-confident countries. These are all components of creating America’s powerful role. There is no doubt that the U.S instills fear in other countries. From the atomic bombs in Japan, to the Iraq war, the U.S has made its mark on the world by brutal force. An important part of being a world power involves setting trends for the world to follow. From edge cutting fashion to groundbreaking technology and influential media, America is often times one step ahead of the world. The United States, at times is overly obsessed with its image. This can be a negative factor, but it also instills a huge amount of self confidence which leads to power and success. The United States considers itself as a world power; therefore it is more definitely a world power.
The United States has played the role of “the liberator” in the world. It has often felt the need to help and liberate other countries for better, or for worse. Many times its intentions are good, for example in bringing aid to various countries during natural disasters, or in ultimately liberating the world during World War II. A more specific example would be liberating Panama from the dictatorship of Manuel Noriega in the 1980s. But an overwhelming amount of the time there is something in it for us. For example it is the U.S government’s publicized belief that it is liberating Iraq from the hands of terrorists, but how much of the incentive for the U.S is driven by the desire for oil and pure revenge? This constant desire of more, covered up by the United States as simply “liberating” countries, leads to a negative outlook on our country by the world. The world often times views the United States as greedy.
The U.S symbolizes freedom and democracy but it also symbolizes greed and power. The plethora of opportunities and diversity in America make it unique. No other country has experienced such a blending of cultures and peoples. However, its constant obsession with money and power and its paranoia that its precious image will be ruined causes problems. The world would view the United States more positively if it did not revolve around the concepts of power and money; but the U.S still has many positive qualities. The role that America plays as a Promised Land, a World Power and a “Liberator” help shape the world.

The United States of America's Role in the World (2nd Draft)

Everything in life plays the role of a character and in some way contributes to the bigger picture. The United States of America as an individual country acts a role in the play of the world. It is sometimes looked at positively, other times less so, but there is no question that America is an influential factor to the world we live in. Without its vast contributions, or its negative effects, the world would be a very different place today. America negatively or positively is represented to the world as three things: a promised land, a world power and “the liberator”.

The United States represents a Promised Land to much of the world. It is a place that stands for freedom, democracy and opportunity. It has symbolized religious and economic freedom throughout history and in many ways still does. The English Puritans sailed to the U.S in the 1620’s looking for freedom of worship, after being persecuted by the Church of England that the Puritans believed was beyond repair. America symbolized a place they could practice their religion and life without prejudice. In the early 1900’s European immigrants flocked through Ellis Island looking for economic success. Adults came looking for jobs to support their families, a new hope of American riches ignited in their minds. Today, the United States still represents a Promised Land to many. A prime example is the steady flow of illegal immigrants traveling north from Central America, seeking a new beginning. These immigrants are seeking a life without repression, better paying jobs and more. The U.S represents a place of promise to these diverse groups of people. The United States of America’s place in the world as a Promised Land helps it maintain the role of a world power.

The United States is a world power. The U.S instills fear in other countries, often establishes trends the rest of the world follows and is one of the most self-confidant countries. These are all components of creating America’s powerful role. There is no doubt that the U.S installs fear in other countries. From the atomic bombs in Japan, to the Iraq war, The U.S has made its mark on the world by brutal force. An important part of being a world power involves setting trends for the world to follow. From edge cutting fashion to groundbreaking technology and influential media, America is often times one step ahead of the world. The United States, at times is overly obsessed with its image. This can be a negative factor, but it also installs a huge amount of self confidence which leads to power and success. The United States considers its selves as a world power; therefore it is more definitely a world power.

The United States has played the role of “the liberator” in the world. It constantly felt the need to help and liberate other countries for better, or for worse. Many times its intentions are good, for example in bringing aid to various countries during natural disasters, or in ultimately liberating the world during World War II. But an overwhelming amount of the time there is something in it for us. For example it is the U.S government’s publicized belief that they are liberating Iraq from the hands of terrorists, but how much of the incentive for the U.S is driven by the desire for oil and pure revenge? This constant desire of more, covered up by the United States as simply “liberating” countries, leads to a negative outlook on our country by the world. The world often times views the United States as greedy.

The U.S symbolizes freedom and democracy but it also symbolizes greed and power. The plethora of opportunities and diversity in America make it unique. No other country has experienced such a blending of cultures and peoples. However, its constant obsession with money and power and its paranoia that its precious image will be ruined causes problems. The world would view the United States more positively if it did not revolve around the concepts of power and money; but the U.S still has many positive qualities. The role that America plays as a Promised Land, a World Power and a “Liberator” help shape the world.

Format Essay: 1st Draft

America represents a Promise Land to much of the world. It is a place that stands for freedom, democracy and opportunity. It has symbolized religious and economic freedom throughout history and currently. The English Puritans sailed to America in the 1620s looking for religious freedom of worship; being driven out by the Church of England that they believed was beyond repair. America symbolized a place they could practice their religion and life without prejudice. In the early 1900s European immigrants flocked through Ellis Island looking for economic success. Adults came looking for jobs to support their families, a new hope of American riches ignited in their minds. Currently America still represents a Promise Land to many. A prime example is the illegal immigrants traveling north from Central America, seeking a new beginning. These immigrants are seeking a life without repression, better paying jobs and more. America represents a place of promise to these diverse groups of people. America’s place in the world as a Promise Land helps it maintain the role of being a world power.

America is a world power. We set the norms for right and wrong, we install fear in other countries, and we establish trends of the world. These are all components of creating America’s powerful role. America sets the norm for what is right and wrong in the world. For example as soon as America decided that racial prejudice is a bad thing, the principle spread around the world. There is no doubt that America installs fear in other countries. From the atomic bombs in Japan, to the Iraq war America has made its mark on the world by brutal force. An important of being a world power involves setting trends for the world to strive to follow. From edge cutting fashion to groundbreaking technology and influential media America is often times one step ahead of the world.

America plays the role of “the liberator” in the world. It constantly feels the need to help and liberate other countries for better, or for worse. Many times our intentions are good, for example simply bringing aid to various countries during natural disasters, or ultimately liberating the world during World War II. But an overwhelming amount of the time there is something in it for us. For example it is the U.S government’s tagline that they are liberating Iraq from the hands of evil terrorists, but how much of the incentive for the U.S lies inside the want of oil and pure revenge? This constant want of more, covered up by the United States as simply “liberating” countries, leads to a negative outlook on our country by the world. The world views the America as greedy.

Goal! (Final Draft)

I’m finally in the right place at the right time. My eyes linger over the small chance of opportunity, a slight opening in between the two white jerseys with red pre-wrap and dark eye shadow. I’ve always hated girls who wear makeup to games (just like those girls who match their sophies to the color of the lettering on their t-shirt). But suddenly the gap is closing; the two defenders are hurtling toward each other, toward my diminishing opportunity. “Through, through!” I scream, and just in time a perfectly placed ball comes rolling toward me, landing peacefully on my right foot. I hear a sickening crash. Glancing behind me I spot the two girls in a heap on the freshly cut grass, having missed the ball by seconds and found each other instead. I’m outside the eighteen with another makeup-clad monster charging toward me. A part of me begins to panic; but then the ball begins to grin at me, its black lines distorting to form a sliver of a mouth and big, jovial eyes. I blink and the face is gone. if I could only just turn the ball to the right, take a touch and … the defender is faster than I thought and suddenly I stop thinking. In a second I’m past the defender and the ball is soaring through the air. Everything stops. I watch in slow motion as the ball arcs, curves and hits the net. The goalie is on the ground, the ball’s in the net and I’m standing there.

Suddenly a body hits me and I’m awakened from the daydream. I look up and a whole team is sprinting toward me; others are already hugging me and each other. The goalie is slowly retrieving the ball from the net and the rest of the opposing team is lethargically making its way toward midfield. I guess it wasn’t a daydream, simply some kind of trance. After numerous hugs and high fives we begin to jog back to kick-off formation. I try not to smile too much as the parents cheer and the dark-eyed defenders glare. The sweet aroma of victory loiters around my nose like the smell of pound cake on a Sunday morning. My mind attempts to reel over the goal again and again, but I can’t picture it. All I remember is that second defender sprinting toward me and that arcing ball, now flying so fast through my mind it might as well have been a bullet shot off from a gun, not my foot. The euphoria has hardly hit me yet, I’m just standing, waiting for the kick-off whistle to blow. Soon I hear the piercing sound but it doesn’t blow once, it blows three times.

At first I don’t understand, but then I hear a scream and realize the game is over. The tournament is won. The score is 1-0. The goal is mine. And the exhilaration kicks in. I run toward the team as we form a mass of red, jumping up and down, screaming at the top of our lungs. The cooler of ice cold water is dumped on our coach, the hands of the other team are shaken, their makeup now smudged from sweat. The parents form a tunnel, cheering madly as we run through. I’m six years old and in the Fort McHenry tunnel, the lights flicker as I wonder if I’ll be drowned underneath the surface forever.

Everything has gone by in a blur. Only a couple minutes have elapsed since my game-winning goal and a swirl of net, makeup, red, white and grass move through my mind. I’m somewhat abashed at the compliments, awkwardly saying “thanks” and moving on to the next one. Still a sense of pride fills me. It is only the second tournament I have won, the other back in the days of U-13 with shorter halves and more timid players. As a team we walk toward the red tent, gloating over our victory and trying not to walk with too much swagger. The medals are given out one by one, big blue emblems with Colonial Cup written on them and an inscripted picture of an eagle. The team poses for a picture; we all kiss our medals and with it that distinct taste of toy choo-choo trains, a leaden soldier, which we all know so well. We proudly walk toward our individual cars, feeling a sense of fulfillment from achieving what we set out to do. As I settle down into my passenger seat and buckle the seat belt for the long ride home, I think to myself “I feel truly happy.”

Emotional Release 2

I’m finally in the right place at the right time. My eyes linger over the small chance of opportunity, a slight opening in between the two white jerseys with red pre-wrap and dark eye shadow. I’ve always hated girls who wear makeup to games. Just like those girls who match their sophies to the color of the lettering on their t-shirt. But suddenly the gap is closing; the two defenders are hurtling toward each other, toward my diminishing opportunity. “Through, through”! I scream, and just in time a perfectly placed ball comes rolling toward me, landing peacefully on my right foot. I hear a sickening crash. Glancing behind me I spot the two girls in a heap on the freshly cut grass, having missed the ball by seconds and found each other instead. I’m outside the eighteen with another makeup-clad defender charging toward me. A part of me begins to panic; if I could just turn the ball to the right, take a touch and … the defender is faster than I thought and suddenly I stop thinking. In a second I’m past the defender and the ball is soaring through the air. Everything stops, I watch in slow motion as the ball arcs, curves and hits the net. The goalie is on the ground, the ball’s in the net and I’m standing there.

Suddenly a body hits me and I’m awakened from the daydream. I look up and a whole team is sprinting toward me; others are already hugging me and each other. The goalie is slowly retrieving the ball from the net and the rest of the opposing team is lethargically making its way toward midfield. I guess it wasn’t a daydream, simply some kind of trance. After numerous hugs and high fives we begin to jog back to kick-off formation. I try not to smile too much as the parents cheer and the dark-eyed defenders glare. My mind attempts to reel over the goal again and again, but I can’t picture it. All I remember is that second defender sprinting toward me and that arcing ball, now flying so fast through my mind it might as well have been a bullet shot off from a gun, not my foot. The euphoria has hardly hit me yet, I’m just standing, waiting for the kick-off whistle to blow. Soon I hear the piercing sound but it doesn’t blow once, it blows three times.

At first I don’t understand, but then I hear a scream and realize the game is over. The tournament is won. The score is 1-0. The goal is mine. And the exhilaration kicks in. I run toward the team as we form a mass of red, jumping up and down, screaming at the top of our lungs. The cooler of ice cold water is dumped on our coach, the hands of the other team are shaken, their makeup now smudged from sweat. The parents form a tunnel, cheering madly. One by one we embarrassingly run under the ceiling of arms, occasionally receiving a high five or pat on the head.

Everything has gone by in a blur. Only a couple minutes have elapsed since my game winning goal and a swirl of net, makeup, red, white and grass move through my mind. I’m somewhat abashed at the compliments, awkwardly saying “thanks” and moving on to the next one. Still a sense of pride fills me. It is only the second tournament I have won, the other back in the days of U-13 with shorter halves and more timid players. As a team we walk toward the red tent, gloating over our victory and trying not to walk with too much swagger. The medals are given out one by one, big blue emblems with Colonial Cup written on them and an inscripted picture of an eagle. We proudly walk toward our individual cars, feeling a sense of fulfillment of achieving what we set out to do. As I settle down into my passenger seat and buckle the seat belt for the long ride home, I think to myself “I feel truly happy.”

Emotional Release

I’m finally in the right place at the right time. My eyes linger over the small chance of opportunity, a slight opening in between the two white jerseys with red pre-wrap and dark eye shadow. I’ve always hated girls who wear makeup to games. Just like those girls who match their sophies to the color of the lettering on their t-shirt. But suddenly the gap is closing; the two defenders are hurtling toward each other, toward my diminishing opportunity. “Through, through”! I scream, and just in time a perfectly placed ball comes rolling toward me, landing peacefully on my right foot. I hear a sickening crash. Glancing behind me I spot the two girls in a heap on the freshly cut grass, having missed the ball by seconds and found each other instead. I’m outside the eighteen with another makeup-clad defender charging toward me. A part of me begins to panic; if I could just turn the ball to the right, take a touch and … the defender is faster than I thought and suddenly I stop thinking. In a second I’m past the defender and the ball is soaring through the air. Everything stops, I watch in slow motion as the ball arcs, curves and hits the net. The goalie is on the ground, the ball’s in the net and I’m standing there.

Suddenly a body hits me and I’m awakened from the daydream. I look up and a whole team is sprinting toward me; others are already hugging me and each other. The goalie is slowly retrieving the ball from the net and the rest of the opposing team is lethargically making its way toward midfield. I guess it wasn’t a daydream, simply some kind of trance. After numerous hugs and high fives we begin to jog back to kick-off formation. I try not to smile too much as the parents cheer and the dark-eyed defenders glare. My mind attempts to reel over the goal again and again, but I can’t picture it. All I remember is that second defender sprinting toward me and that arcing ball, now flying so fast through my mind it might as well have been a bullet shot off from a gun, not my foot. The euphoria has hardly hit me yet, I’m just standing, waiting for the kick-off whistle to blow. Soon I hear the piercing sound but it doesn’t blow once, it blows three times.

At first I don’t understand, but then I hear a scream and realize the game is over. The tournament is won. The score is 1-0. The goal is mine. And the exhilaration kicks in. I run toward the team as we form a mass of red, jumping up and down, screaming at the top of our lungs. The cooler of ice cold water is dumped on our coach, the hands of the other team are shaken, their makeup now smudged from sweat. The parents form a tunnel, cheering madly. One by one we embarrassingly run under the ceiling of arms, occasionally receiving a high five or pat on the head.

Everything has gone by in a blur. Only a couple minutes have elapsed since my game winning goal and a swirl of net, makeup, red, white and grass move through my mind. I’m somewhat abashed at the compliments, awkwardly saying “thanks” and moving on to the next one. Still a sense of pride fills me. It is only the second tournament I have won, the other back in the days of U-13 with shorter halves and more timid players. As a team we walk toward the red tent, gloating over our victory and trying not to walk with too much swagger. The medals are given out one by one, big blue emblems with Colonial Cup written on them and an inscripted picture of an eagle. We proudly walk toward our individual cars, feeling a sense of fulfillment of achieving what we set out to do. As I settle down into my passenger seat and buckle the seat belt for the long ride home, I think to myself “I feel truly happy.”

Emotional Release

I’m finally in the right place at the right time. My eyes linger over the small chance of opportunity, a slight opening in between the two white jerseys with red pre-wrap and dark eye shadow. I’ve always hated girls who wear makeup to games. Suddenly the gap is closing; the two defenders are hurtling toward each other, toward my diminishing opportunity. “Through, through”! I scream, and just in time a perfectly placed ball comes rolling towards me, landing peacefully on my right foot. I hear a sickening crash. Glancing behind me I spot the two girls in a heap on the freshly cut grass, having missed the ball by seconds and found each other instead. I’m outside the eighteen with another makeup-clad defender charging toward me, a part of me begins to panic; if I could just turn the ball to the right, take a touch and…the defender’s faster than I thought and suddenly I stop thinking. In a second I’m past the defender and the ball is soaring through the air. Everything stops, I watch in slow motion as the ball arcs, curves and hits the net. The goalies on the ground, the ball’s in the net and I’m standing there.
Suddenly a body hits me and I’m awakened from the daydream. I look up a whole team is sprinting towards me; others are already hugging me and each other. The goalies slowly retrieving the ball from the net and the rest of the opposing team is lethargically making its way towards midfield. I guess it wasn’t a daydream, simply some kind of trance. After numerous hugs and high fives we begin to jog back to kick-off formation. I try not to smile too much as the parents cheer and the dark-eyed defenders glare. My mind attempts to reel over the goal again and again, but I can’t picture it. All I remember is that second defender sprinting toward me and that arcing ball, now flying so fast through my mind it might as well have been a bullet shot off from a gun, not my foot. The euphoria has hardly hit me yet, I’m just standing, waiting for the kick-off whistle to blow. Soon I hear the piercing sound but it doesn’t blow once, it blows three times.
At first I don’t understand, but then I hear a scream and realize the game is over. The tournament is won. The score is 1-0. The goal is mine. And the exhilaration kicks in. I run towards the team as we form a mass of red, jumping up and down, screaming at the top of our lungs. The cooler of ice cold water is dumped on our coach, the hands of the other team are shaken, their makeup now smudged from sweat. The parents form a tunnel cheering madly. One by one we embarrassingly run under the ceiling of arms, occasionally receiving a high five or pat on the head.
Everything has gone by in a blur. Only a couple minutes have elapsed since my game winning goal and a swirl of net, makeup, red, white and grass move through my mind. I’m somewhat abashed of the compliments, awkwardly saying thanks and moving on the next one. Still a sense of pride fills me, it is only the second tournament I have won, the other back in the days of U-13 with shorter halves and more timid players. As a team we walk towards the red tent, gloating over our victory trying not to walk with too much authority. The medals are given out one by one, big blue emblems with Colonial Cup written on them and an in scripted picture of an eagle. We proudly walk towards our individual cars, after another long hour of celebrating, feeling a sense of fulfillment of achieving what we set out to do. As I settle down into my passenger seat and buckle the seat belt for the long ride home, I think to myself “I feel truly happy.”