Earlier this year, my friend invited me to her tennis match. It was windy, the temperature was slightly warm and it felt humid outside. I walked toward the tennis courts and sat on the bleachers before I caught my friend in the corner of my eye practicing. I made my way to a bench behind the fence before getting her attention. She didn’t expect me to come, so her face quickly molded into a smile as she greeted me excitedly. We chatted for a moment with the fence in between us until she returned to practicing with her teammate. 

I was mesmerized by the ball bouncing and being hit from side to side at accelerating speeds. The sound of the ball hitting the concrete and racquets at an active pace along with the additional talking between people felt like my own isolated harmony. I stood up, admiring the skills the players have accumulated. It all made me wish I was in that position.

I reminded myself that I’ve been in sports for the majority of my life, contributing my natural athletic skill into it. I spent the first few years of my life playing baseball with my dad and then I started playing lacrosse in fourth grade for almost five years. I attempted to try tennis freshman year to early sophomore year but I quit. I now remain without a sport, afraid to join because I may be too far behind and afraid of my mental state would just ruin everything. 

I sat down on the bench before looking down at my phone, displaying a blank screen. I contemplated all I used to be and what I wish I had become. I was disappointed in myself for letting my problems get in the way of sports. I began to cry as the winds picked up, yearning for my problems to go away. I managed to wipe  my tears away before my friend walked up to the fence, “Are you OK?” she asked. I plastered a smile to my face while I reassured her that I was fine, only to continue crying once she turned away. 

After the tennis team met up, ready to undertake the matches, thunder struck within range. Everyone had to wait inside a hallway. It was crowded, giving a slight scent of sweat and rain. We waited about an hour until the matches were confirmed to be cancelled. I suggested hanging out with my friend but got denied. She quickly walked out to her mom, while I texted my dad to pick me up. 

He called me, asking if everything was all right so I explained the situation while trying to remain cheerful. His voice sounded worried and suspicious at the same time. The moment I hung up, my throat hurt from holding in how I felt. The once crowded hallway had become empty. I sat down, out of view from everyone else while I cried, with an unknowing loneliness washing over me. I could hear chattering and thunder under my silent sobs while the rain poured outside.