Tisha’s Prologue
Tisha tore down the left side of the field. Carriageville didn’t have an electronic scoreboard, so she had no way of telling how much time was left in the game, but she was sure the clock had to be down under three minutes.
The temperature was 92 degrees under a blazing July sun, and her headband was plastered to her forehead. The Carriageville field was so dusty, that she could taste grit in her mouth. It crunched between her teeth. No visible clock, the stifling heat, and the dust, all combined to trouble her, not annoy her exactly, because Tisha seldom got annoyed, but it troubled her and made her want to score and win this stupid, hot, dusty game on this crappy, hot, dusty field..
She focused on the defender in front of her, not wanting to go offside, and at the same time watched Martha and Becky from the corner of her eye. Becky had the ball, and she toed a perfect cross to Martha. Martha controlled the pass in stride as a Carriageville defender came up on her. She foot-faked to the right and took the ball left, juking the defender. Two more steps and Martha lofted a soft pass into the penalty area right in front of the inexperienced C’ville goalkeeper. That pass, Tisha immediately decided, was hers, and she would score. She accelerated to the right, her defender backpedaling furiously to cut her off.
Split second decision time. Tisha realized she had to head the ball or the keeper would get to it. She concentrated on the white sphere as it arched lazily down toward her and saw the bright yellow of the Carriageville goalie’s jersey in the left corner of her vision.
Suddenly, she was sure she couldn’t get there in time. Her jaws clamped tightly, she launched herself, head first, toward the ball, anyway. Her body sliced past her defender. She saw the keeper racing toward the ball, saw the panic in the keeper’s eyes as she flew through the air toward her, saw the keeper raise her knee in misguided self-defense. . .saw the ball and stretched toward it, got her forehead on it. . .saw the keeper’s knee just before it smashed into the side of her head. . .then for 5 minutes, she didn’t see anything.
When Tisha woke up, her head felt like it had been whacked with a hammer. Someone was crying and later on Becky would tell her that the someone had been the Carriageville goalie. Tisha’s hard head had done a major number on the poor kid’s knee. Not as major as her knee had done on Tisha’s head, though. A lady in a white shirt, who Tisha didn’t know, was shining a a light into her eyes and saying something to her. The light bothered her so she tried to twist her head away, and for a moment, looked to her side. Her white headband was crumpled in the dust, soaked red with her blood. What had happened, Tish wondered. How come she was here on this dirty ground? She wanted to cry, but she was tired of crying. She had cried too much lately but she couldn’t remember why. Her dad was standing above her, looking sad. Tisha seemed to remember that he looked that way a lot. Tish wanted to say,” Hey, Daddy, my head hurts. How come?” but she couldn’t get her mouth to work with her brain. She wanted her mom. Where was her mom, anyway? Then things started to get a little clearer, and she remembered. She’s in friggin’ Hawaii. Then she couldn’t help it, and she started to cry.
Tomorrow I'll introduce the Giant.
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