The mental preparation it took to be ready for this moment was tremendous. I had reinforced the steel walls constructed around my emotions, in order to prep myself for this afternoon. Taking in my familiar surroundings a bittersweet smile graced my lips. The field looked almost as I had remembered it from the previous year, save for the new turf and construction on the metal stands.

I sank to the ground, onto my bare knees, before running my right had tentatively over the fake grass, as if I was expecting the ground to spontaneously combust. My movements were slow, trying to refamiliarize myself with the field as I let my left hand copy its partner. Small black pieces of plastic flew as my hands made contact with the ground, “turf turds,” an annoying material that players commonly shake out of their cleats after a match. Annoying, yes, but a substantial part of being a soccer player. It seemed like a lifetime ago since I last played at Memorial Field; so much had changed, not just about the field but me, since then.

I studied the lines laid precisely on the ground; bright white contrasted with green showing the players and any onlookers where the field both began and ended. My eyes followed their path, stopping at the sturdy white goal. It was only two years prior when I had been standing inside its mouth with my teammates, making silly faces and posing for the onlooking camera. I was co-captain alongside two of my friends that season; I had the best soccer experience that year.
Pulled out of my memories by a sharp pain in my right knee, I extended my legs into a more comfortable position. I ran my finger softly over the long purple scar on the outside of my right knee, apologetically, I massaged the skin until the ache disappeared. Brought back to reality I continued my previous thought. Five. Five nearly unbearable months since I had stepped onto the lush greenness of a soccer field and four since my surgery. For a girl that has played for over 10 years, year round, a total ceasement of activity for such a long period of time is maddening and sure to lead to a bout of depression.

The grey concrete walls separating the stands from the field seemed to be growing near, slowly inching towards my defenseless body, closing in. My breaths became deep and desperate as I struggled to regain my composure. I slowly lifted my head to the once blue sky; it seemed darker somehow. The clouds became more prominent to me. The air seemed cooler, more biting than when I first padded onto the field. My head returned to its normal position as I continued to breathe and slowly I was brought back the real world. The walls had ceased in their attempt to crush me, the sky was not as menacing, and the air returned to a normal September warmth. It was then when I was permitted to return to my normal state of calm.

A sort of tranquil peace washed over me as my once bitter smile turned genuine. Maybe, like the improved stadium, I would come out of my transformation a stronger and better version of myself. With this realization, I had the ability to leave the field content. I would be back, I promised, and next time I would be wearing my uniform.