Tears stumbled down my face and blended with the snow-covered turf. I made my way out to the center of the field. The field revolved around me as I attempted to breathe in the smells of the game and remember the sights and sounds of my last soccer game. Kempton Schneider walked up to me with tears imprinting streaks down his face. “It’s beautiful isn’t it”, Kempton whispered with a depressing stutter. He and I made our way off the field against the murmuring wind and light snow. Snow melted on our faces and removed any trace of our despondent emotions.
I took a step onto the bus and looked back one last time at the Benilde–Saint Margaret’s Soccer field where I played my last soccer game. The images, sights, and smells of my last soccer game at Benilde–Saint Margaret’s. The wave-like roar of the crowd, the frigid snow sticking to my warm-ups, the icy air breathing in and out of my lungs with heavy breaths, and the final score illuminated in bright red letters on the scoreboard. I turned my head and slowly made my way onto the bus and took my seat. It was going to be a long ride