Total pages in book: 174
Estimated words: 173355 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 867(@200wpm)___ 693(@250wpm)___ 578(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 173355 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 867(@200wpm)___ 693(@250wpm)___ 578(@300wpm)
Because I know the pain.
I know the regret, the desolation of broken dreams.
“Jesus, you know I didn’t mean that, Con,” Stellan says, apologetic, even though he doesn’t have to. “You know that. All I meant was…” He sighs, taking a pause, pinning me with a grave, frank look. “Listen, you’re my big brother, all right? I fucking love you. I fucking look up to you. You’re the best man I know. And it guts me, okay? It guts me that you’re here, all alone. When we’re all out there. When we’re all living our lives. I know you couldn’t before. I know you had obligations. You had us. We’ve been your biggest obstacle, your biggest hurdle. And you gave up so much for us. You gave up your entire life for us. Your career, your education, everything, and if I could change that, Con, I would. I fucking would. But I can’t. All I can do is try to make you see that you don’t have to be here anymore. You don’t have to hold back. You can live your life. You need to live your life. And you need to be on that team because that’s your place. Besides, the coach we’ve got now is shit.”
“That your professional opinion as an assistant coach?” I quip.
“Fuck yeah,” he says, sitting back in his chair. “I’m telling you. You belong there.”
I belong there, he thinks.
That I should be living my life out there.
Once upon a time I thought like him as well.
I thought that my life was out there. That this town isn’t all there is. I thought that I’d get out of this town, do what I was meant to do — play soccer in the pros; something I found accidentally when I was five or so and gotten fortunate enough to work with the coaches who nurtured my talent — and get my family out of this hellhole.
I dreamed that my mother wouldn’t have to work from sunup to sundown. My siblings wouldn’t have to feel neglected because of it. I dreamed that we’d all live in a big house, always have enough Christmas presents, go on vacations. I dreamed that we’d be happy.
But then my mother got sick and kept getting sicker. Whatever little happiness our family had, it kept inching away from us. Hospital stays, doctor’s visits, medication, chemotherapy, radiation. I actually had made up my mind not to go to college at all, but my mother kept insisting so I went.
Until they called me back because she died.
And all my dreams of getting my mother out of this town, giving her the life she deserved, giving my siblings the lives they deserved, vanished. My own dreams, the kind of life I wanted to live, vanished.
I was sad about that, yeah.
I was devastated.
But then I shut that door. I buried the pieces of my broken dreams because I had work to do.
Because even though my dreams were broken, I could still help my brothers, my sister, realize theirs. They were young. They were untouched. They were yet to realize their potential.
So I did everything that I could to make their dreams come true.
I pushed them, encouraged them, cheered them on, bandaged up their scrapes, picked them up when they fell.
And one by one they got everything that they wished for.
That they deserved.
So this is my life now.
In this town. In this house. Taking care of my siblings, even if they have all outgrown me. And that’s fine. Every parent wants their kids to fly and yes, I realize that they are not my kids but I’ve taken care of them like they are.
This is where I belong.
“You’re not a hurdle,” I say then, emphatically. “Or an obstacle. You are my family and I did what I did, I do what I do, because I love you. Not because you’re some fucking obligation.” Pausing to take another sip of whiskey, I add, “And I’m fine. I’m living my life. So you don’t have to worry about me.”
Because over the years I’ve realized that some people don’t get to dream.
Some people don’t get to spread their wings and fly. Some people are rooted in the ground like trees.
Solid and dependable and strong.
People like me.
I’m that tree. I’ve always been that tree.
I tried to uproot once. I tried to dream once and it fucking blew up in my face. I’m not doing that again. I’m not dreaming or reaching for the stars or whatever the fuck it is they say to inspire people.
Nothing is worth that pain.
Not one thing in this world is worth going through that pain again.
Anyway, Stellan seems to have given up because his only response is to sigh and shake his head. Which is great. I could use some silence.
To reflect on what I did.
Last night.
But as it turns out, I’m not going to get it. Because after only a couple of minutes, my brother speaks up. “So is she special?”