The buzzer blared and I hear roars from the opponents stands in the bleachers. I could feel the immediate disheartened mood cast down on us like the setting sun rays from up above. I heard the uncontrolled sobs of other seniors as the other team cheered in the distance.

Walking over to the sidelines everyone there stood teary eyed, watching as the other teams stands jumped up and down, ringing cowbells and cheering along with the others. loved ones immediately rushed out on the field and talked to the players and coaches thanking them for a great season and so much more.

I watched as parents and siblings ran out to the field and hugged there crying sibling, telling them they played a great game. I watched as random strangers and players came up and hugged my other teammates, rubbing there jersey number on the back.

I stood, waiting for my loved one to come out and pat me on the back, and rub my hair and tell me I gave it my all. My brother would try to steal my ball and my parents would take pictures of us, grinning ear to ear near the goal post. My mom would wrap her blanket around me, and say “man, even looking at you makes me cold.” And at that we would laugh, and I would depart from them to the bus, excited to go home and shower.

The more I fantasized this, the more I saw. I watched everyone get something I would never get, not a hug, or a pat of appreciation. No high-five, or “Way to go kiddo!”. Instead I stood on the 30 yard line, bag and water bottle in hand as everyone commemorated with others, creating memories I would never get.

I dug my feet into the turf, tiny black ball spurring back up at me and into my cleats. I hear the chants of the others die down and the rest of my team hugs there loved ones goodbye and headed back to the opposing end, ready to leave.

But I couldnt help but stand at the 30 yard line, staring at the now empty crowd. I would never be able to look up and see the faces that longed to see, cheering me on from the bleachers. I would never grow up with a little brother, let alone a “parental” figure. I would never be able to have a loved one or someone I cared for at all.

So as i sat at the yard line, waiting for the sun to die down below the trees, the breeze swaying a song in the distance, I felt myself start to tear up. Not for the game we had lost or the feeling of defeat. I didnt cry about something that had happened, but rather something that didnt. I curled my knees close to my chest and hugged them close and tight, knowing that it would be the closest thing I would ever get to a real hug.