She was the first to ask. She asked why I stopped playing when all she ever saw was immeasurable joy and forever-burning passion in my eyes while on the field. I don’t resent her for it, I don’t hold it against her, and I could never blame her. Because, it’s not her fault.

She was--I guess you could say--my apprentice. She followed my example and looked to me for guidance. I critiqued her and I helped her. So how? How did she surpass me so soon?

The only person I can hold accountable and blame is myself. I decided to quit. I didn’t work hard enough. It’s my fault. 

Helping and teaching someone to be better than they started is such a gratifying process, even more so when you are friends on and off the field. You get to watch them grow from a stumbling duckling to a regal swan. With her, I got to help nurture her skills and become more confident in herself. But, what no one ever talks about when all is said and done is the insecurity. The jealousy. The inferiority.

It started when the coach played her as a starter. She did great, and Coach put me in for the last quarter. I was so happy for her, and the boredom from sitting on the sideline was entirely worth it for excitement gleaming in her eyes. Except, that wasn’t the only game that played out that way.

Every game, she would start and I would finish. But, I think the coach forgot about me at times. He would look to the substitute players at the side line, and all though I could never see his eyes through his reflective sunglasses, I’m sure his eyes widened in realization everytime when his gaze passed me; realization that he forgot he had a second goalie. That’s what I had become. Secondary. Some games, I played no more than five to ten minutes. But she was so happy. So proud of herself. And I was proud of her, too. Just...envious at the same time. 

At the championship game, I didn’t play. I sat. I watched. I wanted to cry. I wanted to scream. We won. Everyone was all smiles and laughter and congratulations. A few parents told me congrats. I wanted to ask them what for? Why congratulate me? It’s not my win. I didn’t contribute to that trophy. It’s theirs. It’s hers. But, I didn’t do that. I smiled appreciatively and thanked them. We posed for pictures, holding the trophy; I didn’t touch the gleaming, golden offending object. Afterwards, she bounded up to me and gave me a sweaty, accomplished hug. 

I think that was the moment. The moment a piece of me broke, and a single thought invaded my mind: how could I compare? 

An old coach got my mother’s phone number to ask if I would be their goalie for a new team they formed. I said I wanted to focus on my school work, even though I had perfect grades and plenty of free time.

An old friend reached out to see if I’d like to play for a team her mom was coaching. I said I was too busy and not interested in playing soccer anymore, even though indoor league is so fun.

Lies. Lies, lies, and more lies.

So, why did I quit playing? Good question.