English
1A
Instructor: Ms.
Haumschilt
A Little Ray of Light
Experiences and memories help shape people's character; for example, the soothing warmth that fills one's body from a mother’s hugs or kisses, or also the sweet, decadent aroma of Grandma’s house when she is baking sugar cookies. Memories can also be awful, such as the sound of the wretched father’s beatings, causing a scurry into the darkness to hide from them. Whether in the spectrum of warm and sweet happiness or on the side of cold and menacing wrath, memories like these help shape how people act and define who they are. In my twenty-two years, I have one memory that I would like to share that has helped define who I am today. It is not of frightening fathers or sweet mothers. It is about an amazing friend who helped me when I was in a dark and lonesome place.
This memory takes place during my high school years, senior year to be exact. During high school, I had always been a straight “A” student; participated in football, wrestling, and track; and fared well socially. I was the typical high school student. What more could I ask for during that time? Senior year was supposed to be simple, straightforward, and full of blissful memories. But, sadly, most of it was full of sorrow and loneliness.
It started when I broke my wrist during a relaxed football practice. We were in shorts and t-shirts, and we were not supposed to be trying hard during this practice. It was just meant to be a walk-through of the plays for the next day's game. One teammate on the offense, while I was a body on defense, decided to play Mister Macho Man and knock me down. Well, he succeeded; while falling, I tried to catch myself using my left arm, which caused me to break two bones in my wrist.
I was forced to sit out most of the season because my wrist never healed properly, so I had to have surgery afterward. I spent a total of six months in a cast. All this was because one person wanted to show off and display that he was more dominant than I was. My broken wrist made me feel like an outcast on the team. I couldn't play or train with them; all I could do was sit there and watch. I was angry with him because before he took me out of action, I had put my body through intense, painful training during the offseason so I could be a starter. I went from the weakest and the worst player in football to one of the strongest and was put with the top players in our group. It cost me early mornings and late evenings. During morning weightlifting, I would add extra weight, which I was not supposed to do because it exerted my body to its physical limits. After leg day, I had an inconceivable soreness that caused me to cringe at the thought of having to get up and walk. The immense pain would last the whole week, only briefly disappearing before having to train legs again. All of this hard work, all my sacrifice was in vain: all because one of person.
My anger, my fury, was indescribable. I wanted to break his neck in my two hands and squeeze until the warmth left his body. Even worse was the fact that I had nobody to talk to, nobody who would listen. At home, we were in a financial crisis. My mother had so much to worry about because my stepfather was in the process of receiving his green card and was not going to able to return to the United States until the summer after my final year of high school.
I felt alone and depressed. I basked in sorrow, alone; at times, I would wonder if anyone cared about me. I imagined my death plenty, and the release of the pain it would bring. Cemented in this cold and twisted mentality, I would continually miss school so as to avoid contact with people. I felt like I was out alone in a frigid tundra with no one to talk to, even though I was surrounded by people at home and school. Eventually, I learned to coexist with the deadly sorrow that was gradually growing inside me.
The pain dwindled inside of me. May was around the corner and so was prom. I watched as the school flurried with dull-witted boys asking the floozy girls to the dance as if asking was a marriage proposal. I carried on for the following weeks, on my own, watching the flies buzz around the school. But the unimaginable for me, at the time at least, happened. A girl asked me to go to prom with her. But it was not just any girl; it was Stephanie, my biggest crush during high school. Like every crush, she was beautiful, with skin pale as snow and hair that mimicked a crimson sunset. She had a smile that could light up the night sky, which would bring beauty to the most barren wastelands. Not only was she gorgeous, but she was also incredibly intelligent and athletic, and got along with everyone; she was the personification of perfection in my eyes. I was the moss on the forest floor, and she was the radiant sun, which warms all. When she asked me to go with her to prom, I initially replied, “No.” There were so many soaring trees pleading for her attention. Why would she choose me?
For the next week and a half, she bombarded me with prom proposals until I finally said “Yes.” From simple cupcakes to asking in front of every class we shared, which was four out of my five classes. Because of her, I felt wanted, had a purpose, and knew that there were people who cared about me. She was the ray of light who showed me the path out of my dark world. When I asked her why she chose me when she could have chosen anyone, she said, "Simply because I like you." This was profoundly important to me because it taught me that simple acts of kindness can change a person’s mentality and give him hope for the future.