The air was crisp and fresh, the stadium parking lot smelled like popcorn, and my heart

was beating furiously within my chest. I wiped my palms against my jeans to rid them of the
sweat that had collected during the short, fteen minute drive. My grandmother leaned over the
median that rests between the two front seats of our hand-me-down, champagne-colored Buick
and told me to call, eat, not to talk to strangers, and everything else that would be expected.
Like a typical girl of fteen, I rolled my eyes, shut the door, and waved goodbye before turning to
face the ticket booth.
I couldnt seem to shake the feeling within my gut as I purchased my ve dollar ticket
and entered my new high schools football stadium. Panic began to set in as my eyes darted
across the crowd, searching frantically. My hand reached for my phone instinctively and I
checked to make sure that I got the date, time, and intention correct. I mean, I hadnt seen this
guy in over three months; mistakes were completely possible! What if this was the wrong game?
What if he didnt want me here at all?
Air rushed into my lungs as I looked up and made eye contact with the most wonderful
specimen my teenage eyes had ever had the opportunity to take in. He was a football player,
only on the junior varsity team, but a star all the same. His shoulders were broad and his hair
was cut short, something that I hadnt quite been expecting; despite my shock, buzzed hair
suited his face and made him appear to be much more erce and mature. A nervous grin spread
across my face and I nervously waved. He didnt notice.
Slightly embarrassed, I looked around to make sure that no one had noticed my mistake.
I put on my best, cutest smile and sauntered up to the circle of friends that surrounded him; they
were all making perverse jokes and laughing far too loudly, even for an outdoor event. As cliche
as it seems to be, I cleared my throat and one of his friends, whose name I forget, turned to me
and grinned.
Oh, Chandler, how rude! Not even saying hello to your
Clearly, he was at a loss for words, or one in particular. That did not surprise me.
Girlfriend. His girlfriend. I stepped through the middle of the group and latched on to his
arm. Vaguely, I remember that he smelled amazing in a comforting and familiar way.
Before I had the opportunity to tell my boyfriend about my summer, ask him about his trip
to Puerto Rico, or even greet him properly with a hi or hello, his friends had caught his
attention again. At that point, I didnt care very much about who he was talking to or where his
mind had wandered. My clearest, most concentrated thought was on my arm in his and that
glorious, warm smell.

I often lie awake at night, wondering why I never questioned any part of our relationship.
I often wonder how I never noticed the fact that he would ignore me around his friends and
ignore my phone calls when he didnt feel like talking. How blind and deaf and stupid I must
have been to never realize that the voices in the background of our angry phone calls were
female and that his family often looked at me sympathetically, like an injured animal.
No matter how much I ponder and lie awake at night, I can never save my younger self
from the events that passed only two years after that seemingly joy-lled varsity football game. I
can never save my stupid, naive, sixteen-year-old psyche from the tears and emotional scarring.
All of my heavy, deep contemplation can not change the fact that I was thoroughly and severely
abused by the one voice that I longed to hear most in the world; the one person that I would
have condently and obediently died for.