and went in. The crowd went crazy! I never heard so many people cheer for me, and as I looked at my coach I saw him fist pump and smile. I knew I did something good. We still lost the game by more than ten points. As we walked back to Mr. Brown’s room for our post game talk, my teammates were saying good job to me. It made me feel good to hear that coming from people on my team who played in the game and who had to guard that point guard for Oshkosh North. After the talk, when I got changed, I went to my mom, and she hugged me and said that I did very great tonight. I thought so too. That night was one of the best nights in my life because of how I played in the game, how people congratulated me, and how I made kids go from laughing at me to being nice and keeping their mouth shut. Even though we lost, I felt like I won the game.
Forgiveness of a Different Kind of Heartbreak Sara Gilbert Sarah Paddison once quoted wisely, “Sincere forgiveness isn’t colored with expectations that the other person apologize or change. Don’t worry whether or not they finally understand you. Love them and release them. Life feeds back truth to people in its own way and time.” As we get older we learn that there is a deeper meaning to the words, “I’m sorry.” They’re not just the simple words we automatically spit off after we bump in to someone, and forgiving someone is a way of letting go and moving on. Forgiveness relieves and releases us, allowing our hardened soul to become tender and fall back into the pure and gentle state it once sat at before. There have been times in my life were I have felt hurt and broken down. It’s not a good feeling. To be honest, of all feelings there are to be felt, this is the most horrid one of all. When we get hurt many times it’s from the people we are fond of the most. There are a handful of people in our lives we keep close to our hearts because we think they would do no harm. It is there that we are mistaken, because everyone makes mistakes and never can we assume. When they hurt us it’s all the more painful because they were that much closer to our hearts. I’ve realized over the years and through past experience that forgiving someone who hurt me can be a very challenging process. It takes a lot of courage, patience, and stick-with-it-ness to accomplish. I now understand that when I hate or envy someone the only person I am truly hurting is myself. When I found the strength to forgive the one who caused me a different kind of heartache, it made me a better person over all, and when a deep injury is done to us we never recover until we forgive. My name is Sara Gilbert and this is my story. She moved into our neighborhood when we were three, and I vaguely remember. We brought them down pie, so smiles and hellos were exchanged. That was it: the beginning, and I’d say about where our lives began. Me and Ash go way back, best friends since we were three. Well, until now. Truth is I don’t ever remember not knowing her; it’s weird, like we just were a part of each other and thrown into each other’s lives, not sure when it started. Just that we were here now and together. We used to be inseparable; we couldn’t spend a day without each other. We lived exactly ten houses down from each other, and that’s how we would spend our summer days, at one another’s houses and to and from the park on which we live across from. I can’t tell you how many times I have walked that walk from my house to hers and hers to mine. It’s like a memory lane. Different scenes and parts of our lives have all been witnessed by that sidewalk happening as bicycles, skateboards and most all, our dirty little feet scampered across as it watched beneath. I grew up on that side walk with her by my side dragging dolls, toys and who knows what else. We would call the other one, the numbers memorized. She would always say, “Meet me half way?” I never thought Ashley would hurt me. I knew we would have a fight here and there. Those are just disagreements and everyone has those, but I never thought she would hurt me. But, like I said before this was not the case. ************************************ Minutes before, I had played a basketball game. I am selfish in a way because I was never one to care about the ending result of the game, just the factors that got us there, like how I played, or how we communicated, and even the ref. All the details play a part. I had a good game that day. I was in a good mood. The sweat rolled down my forehead as I was in the process of catching my breath. My chest was heaving as my heart within pounded, but it was declining. The locker room was blue with cement floors. Just being in there put you in a determined mood because it had a game atmosphere. I started to notice that it smelled like B.O; that happens after every game because who notices that when we are all concentrated on basketball. I picked up my phone and opened a text message from “Keemosabe.” “Since Claudia can’t work with us, I’m just going to work by myself too. “Wow”, I replied. “You’re just going to hang me out to dry?” She ditched me, and I wouldn’t get that upset if it was anyone else. But Ashley wasn’t just anybody, and I was allowed to have higher expectations. Just like that I was in a bad mood, but that was only the beginning. It wasn’t the incident as so much the after math; not the raindrop that is so small it can go by without being noticed but the ripples in the puddles that carry on for a while. I am not one who has a big group of close “best friends.” It’s one of my weaknesses, and I guess it will forever be. I always thought there was something wrong with me, but then I would whisper to myself reassuringly, “You only need one good friend,” and Ashley was it. It was the first day back from break, and Ashley and I had first hour together. Heading around the corner I didn’t know what to expect. I had hoped that there would be conversation. I started to walk slowly. Was she there already? Would we arrive at the same time? I made the turn as I felt my face get hot. She was just standing there, her hair now short, and I wanted to squeal, “Cute hair!” But then I remembered and stopped myself. She knew I was there, and she looked up from her phone. For a moment she looked like she wanted to say something but looked down to her phone and back into her own world where I wasn’t. Ashley knew I was mad at her, and she acted like it didn’t affect her or that she didn’t care to fix it, and that’s what was killing me. With that, I began to second guess, and I think that is when we become the most vulnerable.
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