Chapter 33 #2
“Yeah, but what if it’s still not enough?”
“Replace that it with you . And then ask yourself that again. And keep asking yourself that question until you get to the same answer I would give you and I know Vale would give you. He sees you. And I know that he would do anything to convince you that there is not a hurdle in this world you cannot overcome. I know they’re big.
But you’re bigger. And I realize how that came out, and we’re going to ignore it; we will not be getting off topic.
We’re especially not getting off topic to talk about your … yeah.”
Leana hops off the gate, tossing the ball onto the bed and giving me one last look, her gaze as intent as ever.
She holds her hands out and clears her throat when I take more than two seconds to realize she wants me to grab them.
“Soccer—football, whatever—is your dream, Gabi. Don’t let other people define it for you.
Don’t let anyone tell you what your dreams are.
They’re yours . Shape them into the reality you want for yourself.
Otherwise, who the hell are you even getting out of bed in the morning for? ”
She lets my hands go and starts walking back toward her apartment. Taking a few steps before shouting, “Jesus—I was supposed to go get an ice cream from the Valero. Futbolistas always distracting me. You want to come with? You’re buying for the pep talk.”
And I smile as I hop down too, her words still ringing in my ear. But, also, “You want ice cream when it’s this cold outside?”
“Cold weather always makes me want ice cream. Now answer the question. You coming?”
“Yeah. Sure. Let’s go get you an ice cream.”
I want to look at myself and see the me that Pops sees.
That P é rez and Kat see.
That Leana sees.
That Vale sees.
I stand in my bathroom, my hands on the counter, and look at myself in the mirror.
At tired, lost eyes. At someone who wants to fight for all the parts of me I’ve always known and loved and been defined by just as much as the parts that I’ve only recently learned were there. Parts that deserve love too.
What if it’s not enough?
“What if I’m not enough?”
Why do I believe that so intensely?
“What if I’m not good enough?”
I want to be.
It will be so hard.
Nuestra gente, nos padres, nos t í os, nos primos, none of them are going to want their kid wearing a kit with the name of a maric ó n on the back of it.
“What if I’m not good enough?”
You always have been.
“What if I’m not good enough?”
You’re going to be a person lots of kids want to be.
“What if I’m not good enough?”
You are as good as people say you are.
“What if I’m not good enough?”
I want to be.
You think I’m like the guy who escapes and sees the sun?
You’re better than any of them, Gabi.
I need air. Again. More.
I wipe the tears off my cheeks, do a dirty sniff, sucking up the mocos in my nose, and wash my face before heading out, grabbing my keys and a towel, rushing down the stairs, telling Nguyen I’ll be back later tonight when he looks up at me while in the middle of playing FIFA.
And I start driving, home and school and my city getting small behind me.
And I keep driving for about thirty minutes, finally turning into the lot of an empty, hidden beach.
It’s windier now, months later than my last time here. Colder. But I still take off my hoodie, my shirt, my pants and shoes and socks, leaving the chonies on this time.
And I start walking. When my feet hit the water, I keep going. My knees, my waist, my stomach all go under.
I want to be good enough.
I want to be whole.
And then I dive in. I go under water, this time alone.
No teammates with me or cheering me on from the sand.
But I need to do this by myself. I need to do this without any of the people who have my back.
I need to come in and out of this having my own back.
Believing in myself. In all of me. Being a person I can be proud of.
Last time, I dived in and came back up as a real member of the A&M Corpus Christi Islanders Men’s Foot— Soccer team.
This time I want to come up as the real me.
As the me who has nothing to be ashamed of.
As the me worth fighting for. I don’t want to lose this part of me that has never, for one second, felt wrong, even when it scared me.
It’s not broken. I’m not broken. I’m me, more completely.
Maybe my story doesn’t have to end like the guy in the Allegory.
Maybe I don’t have to stay chained. Maybe I actually could write that part two.
Maybe I can be like that Australian player.
Maybe all I have to do is want it, and I’ll realize there were never any chains in the first place.
Maybe I can stand in the sun again. For me. All of me.
It’s not impossible. I’m good enough to.
Finally, just as it’s getting almost too hard to keep holding my breath, I come back up, breathing in the salt with a loud gasp that turns into a yell that no one hears except me.
That no one needs to hear except me. I yell again, louder, fiercer, with as much passion and drive as ever.
And I walk back onto the beach knowing one thing for sure.