I had a thrilling game in goal this week. The opponent’s team boasted a skilled former teammate that I share a friendly-enough rivalry with. I had to manage a flurry of shots and physical play on the ground (no kicks to my face, but very close). One of these shots was too quick for my hands and smashed off my chest. It felt strange.
Once the scramble to clear the ball was over, I put my hand to my jersey. I was wearing my grandmother’s rosary.
There was nothing to do at that point. There is little respite in indoor soccer and the goalie never gets a break. It was protected under two layers of clothing and it had existed for decades with a woman who worked hard most of her life, I couldn’t ruin it with a little soccer, could I?
The game only got more intense. We stayed ahead, but only by one or two. I stopped a penalty kick and had enough luck to hold them to three goals. We won with five.
I forgot about the rosary and crucifix. I was elated and drained by the conflict. I went home and undressed in the dark to shower. I placed the necklace on my dresser without a thought.
I forgot to put it on the next morning. I’m not accustomed to wearing jewelry and it hasn’t become a habit.
After coming home from the studio, I went to put it on for our evening outing. The crucifix was missing from the rosary.
I searched my home, laundry, and car, but it seems obvious where I lost it.
Now I’m sitting in the parking lot of the facility, hoping that there’s an early game and I get a chance to search the field.
Check back here for the update.
