And Then You Blinked

By Marisa Cimbal

You miss her.

You brushed her hair and

pulled it back.   You gave her a hat

and made sure she wore gloves. You

bandaged her cuts and bruises and

removed grass from the skin torn by

cleats.  You waved to her from the 

bleachers, shorts so long and socks 

so high, you could barely her knees.

She smiled at you, white chicklet teeth 

peering out from her pink lips. 

And then you blinked. 

Where is my uniform? Can’t find the hairbands.

You knocked on her door, took deep breaths

and entered the room.  Clothes strewn all

over the floor and draws opened.  You 

bit your lip and looked in her knapsack.

Searching for secrets, you found empty

water bottles, dirty socks, tampons and

Chapstick.  You sneaked in an energy bar.

You kept talking, hoping for more than

one-word answers. If you asked her to put

the phone down, she glared at you.  On the field, 

she stood in formation among a sea of ponytails,

jumping in place, legs had springs. You did 

not need to see the number on her shirt.   

You could tell the minute you saw her tall, 

lanky body move like a gazelle through the field.

A familiar voice spoke to her teammates, who has #12? 

and yelled at the ref, that was offsides!  You listened as 

she dissected her performance but never said a word. 

You knew better.  You admired her and her courage.

When she took a shot, you closed your eyes and 

whispered please go in, please go in, please go in.

You willed it to happen. You walked by those 

same fields every day, saw formations with different numbers,

and heard unfamiliar voices.  You wished you were

back in those bleachers, clapping, cheering

and hoping for a brief glimpse of that smirk and a quick 

nod of the head.  Then for a moment, you saw the gazelle

running across the field, she keeps running until we can’t see

her anymore.   

Marisa Cimbal lives in Hoboken, New Jersey with her husband and dog, Elsa, and is the mother of twin daughters. She works in New York City in healthcare communications and is now fulfilling her dream of being a poet and a writer of nonfiction.  Most recently, her work has appeared in Rat’s Ass Review, Sad Girls Diaries, The Ravens Perch and Humans of the World.