Most of us cried when we lost the last game of season. I can’t say what all the tears were for — but I know for me it wasn’t about winning or losing. It was the ending. Every day for three months I sat in front row of Mrs. McCarty’s English class, watching the last few ticks of the clock that hung just above the door. My toe tapping in time with the second hand. My arms clutched around my books just before the bell rang — the bell that released us into the after school special that no one would film. 

I raced down the hall. Past the locker that I never used. Down the stairs. Past the front doors. Waved at my mom at her front desk in the Superintendent’s office. Down another half flight of stairs. A quick drink at the fountain. Into the girls’ locker room. Changed into my shorts and t-shirt. Hiked up the knee pads. Joining Mrs. Anderson and all of my teammates for volleyball practice. 

This is why I cried that last game. In slow motion, the last ball hit the floor on our side, and with that one splat, I had nowhere to go. No clock to watch. No hall to race. Nothing. 

Not to be all dramatic…of course it wasn’t true. I still had the books to read from the English class that I adored. I had a mother who loved me. All the friends I had from the day before. And a permanent gym locker that Mrs. Anderson let me use throughout the school year. We sang on the bus ride home from the game. Everything was beginning.

Each year for a minute on the 26th of December, I can feel that “ending.” That hollow. And then I go through my list. I smile.  I have everything I need. And just enough to wish for. No tears. I’m ready to get on that bus! To take the next ride! Let the adventure begin!