My Sun Kissed Stamina

Alison Farrington

Mrs. Robinson

English II

10 October 2008

My Sun Kissed Stamina

At the foul line, toes just centimeters away, my heart is about to jump out of my chest. Icy sweat streams down the back of my neck making the little hairs stand on end. Droplets of hard work seep into my mouth; I sallow and taste the sweaty saltiness. I am in a concert of chaos but I hear no noise; it’s just me out on the court playing my game.  The referee bounces me the orange ball of possibilities. If I make these two shots the Lady Cougars will be in the lead with twenty-two seconds left on the clock. I hold the ball in my hands gently like a fragile egg. I bend my knees and bounce the ball rhythmically three times on the court. Spin the ball in my right hand; get in good position, only the soles of my feet pressed against the glossy ground.  I extend my left arm and finish with a flick of the wrist. Swoosh, sweet music to athletes’ ears. Then an echo of spectator’s screams resounds off the multi-colored walls. One more Ali, the team needs you right now; “come-on Ali-girl we need you!” buzzes my dad. I recognize my father’s deep and concerned voice and suddenly my concentration crumbles away. My focus is lost in the midst of moment but I keep staring at the back of the rim. I draw a deep breath to relax my nerves. Uneasy, I go through my identical routine as I successfully did before. As the ball is flying to the back of the rim it feels like times disappears. It hits on the left side of the narrow rim; the crowd shrieks.  Bounces and hits the right side of the rim; ascends up and finally drops straight in.  A ton of bricks falls from my back as I see the basketball net wave with success.  I exhaled hot air from my trembling parched lips and I commend myself for not crumbling under my dad’s pressure. The buzzing of my daddy’s voice reminds me of a bumblebee I saw just a couple days before the Championship game. Just out side these gym walls: across Cougar Lane flying by a golden, sun kissed daisy.

I sat crossed legged glaring at the gleaming flower. Also I examined her surroundings and the natural progression the roadside garden makes.  Starting with the grass and ascending up to the rotten leaves. I pondered about life: the different levels and possibilities with which I will be faced. The stages were all laid out right before my eyes, but the meaning has always been hidden behind the bushes. I drive on Cougar Lane every morning, but I never had the time to appreciate the lesson that I could learn. My mind is jam-packed with vocabulary words and is temporarily used as a filing cabinet with different history chapters shoved inside.

As I scurry though the tiny individual blades of the grass like a curious microscopic ant; I began reminiscing about my childhood. No blade of grass is exactly the same: they do not have the same hue of green, or the same size and shape. Although each baby is unique, they all experience the stage of grass. The grass is our growing stage in life. The stable and abundant wall of bushes portrays our middle years and towers over the innocent daisies. The color green develops in a rich and more distinguished hue and reflects the color of money. Reaching adulthood of our life is when we are most prosperous. As our life ascends up in to the background, the forest green becomes a gradual beige and hues of death gray. The sturdy bushes start becoming less plentiful and more spacious.  At the climax of the various levels is view of umber leaves: weathered and rotten. She only has a few neighbors. As the scream of wind blows, the wave detaches the grandmother leaf and lets her gently wave down, slowly and peacefully before a vibrant daisy.  As the newly deceased leaf lies on the ground, the progression of her life is complete.

 Located behind the freshly sprouted grass and next to the leaf is the parade of youthful daisies. We gradually grow up like the slender trunk of the flower does, we move up towards our teenage years. Every high school child is trying to find who they are and what they purpose in this life will be. Buzzing yellow jackets chime in to guide their teens to blossom. Finally, we arrive at the umbrella of the flower and have become apart of teen hood. We will come across a mature golden petal: like when we make both of our free throws or get an A in an AP course. Each of individual petal frames who we are at that moment in time. Some of us daisies are getting kissed by the rays of the sun or hidden in the shadows of the blossomed.  When we reach a petal in the dark, is when we have made a mistake. Don’t worry; we will soon approach a luminescent yellow petal that will be glowing with greatness. Between the rows of daisies there are some buds: these are the teens that have not found their way. Maybe on day they will blossom and find the light.

The gusts of wind pushes the daisy back as forth like a wave of a magician’s wand. Yet, it does not break in half; the slender stem of the daisy goes with the wind and lets the base of the flower bounce back. She does not loose form, or loose shape. She holds her composure as the roaring wind blows. She does her best to grow to find the sunlight.  Just like the golden daisy, I too am a growing flower. Planted on the foul line becoming overwhelmed with the roaring waves of the crowd but I hold my own and sink the shot.

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