Self Interview

This is a piece I wrote recently, as a self interview assignment. Last names are censored. 

Her black headband resting just centimeters from the beginning of her dark brown widow’s peak, her ponytail grazing the back of her neck with every step she took. Shoulders bare and gleaming with sweat. Yellow, red, and black Iron man Band-Aids clung to the back of her heels, covering numerous blisters, from the recently purchased volleyball court shoes she had been breaking in for the season. Her pink Nike workout top clinging to her slender torso, moving as she did. Equipment littered the floor, the air smelling of sweat and girls deodorant. “DIVE!” the words of “Coach T” rang in her ears as she felt her knees, cushioned by black fabric pads slam hard against the slick gym floor. This was the time to prove herself.

This had to be the fifth or sixth tryout/practice that summer by now that Caitlin A- had attended, in hopes of making the LBJ volleyball team that fall. The first day being one of the hardest. Conditioning.

“The minute we began I knew I would be in for a long and grueling workout,” Anderson said. “The feeling of the 8 pound bag above my head, my arms up by my ears as I pulled myself up and tossed it across the court line maybe 10 feet away to my partner. Half way through I could barely keep running the sidelines of the gym. My whole body ached. This was far from any workout I’d done before.”

Only an hour left before the coach would say who made the team, with a game already scheduled for the following day, emotions ran high, and the girls were out for blood.

“It’s always very competitive,” said Annie M-, a girl trying, as well as a friend of A-’s. “You have to show you’re better than they are, especially with this many girls trying out this time around.”

The practice was ending as the clock changed, reaching 6 o’clock sharp, and A- could feel her heartbeat increasing as she approached the coach along with the other girls.

“I always hate cutting girls, but I just can’t have all of you on the team,” “Coach T” said. “If I call your name you can go and I’ll see y’all tomorrow at the game. If not, stay here with me. Desiree, Maizie, Annie, Emily, Alexis, Lauren, Diamond…,” the coach continued. “Cathy, Alexa, and…,” she paused. “Mimi.”

A- froze, knowing what was soon to come. It. Was. Over.

“I felt my heart drop,” said A-, feeling herself get teary eyed. “After the last name, I just zoned out, and stopped listening.”

She and the other rejected, unwanted girls stood, motionless. It. Was. Over.

“Girls, you have a lot of potential,” coach said in a sympathetic tone. “But we can only take so many girls. I’m sorry. Don’t be discouraged, I want to see all of you at tryouts again next year.”

It. Was. Over.

“I got my bag and struggled to hold back tears, biting my lip and trying to convince myself it would be okay," A- said. "Annie came up to me and told me she had no idea why I didn’t make it, all we knew is that I didn’t. I walked out to the parking lot, where my dad waited. I opened the door, got in the car, and told myself, there was always next year.”