She got to the locker room early, dressed, ran and sat in the stands. Again, Eduardo sat with her and quietly held her hand. As the South team passed by her, some of her former AYSO and club teammates said hello, but she gave them only a hard stare. After the game, she would talk to them, but now they stood between M.J. and the championship, and M.J wanted that to be an uncomfortable place. Because both teams were from the same town, and because it was the final, the stands were pretty full. Before the game, M.J. scanned the stands and saw Eduardo sitting with some of the boys’ team. She saw her mother and Gwen, and, surprisingly, her father. She was more excited, because her father rarely came to the games. Coach Benson called the girls together and said, quietly but seriously, ‘I don’t have much to say. You know those girls better than I do. You are the best team that I have ever coached. You have a chance today to do something special, something extraordinary. But to do that, you. That's painful. The cacophony of emotions begins to make a little more sense to me. There's that quivering strand of confusion running through it all - betrayal. The absolute, fundamental, world-inverting betrayal you only get when you are deceived by that which you relied upon most. Its a gut-wrenching, sickening feeling that makes me nauseous. Not nauseous enough to counteract my own sick feeling of arousal though, dammit.Shit, I can feel bile in the back of my throat and its not just the absinthe. These always give me flashbacks to my first trip ... If that weren't bad enough by itself, having two violent flashbacks at the same time is overwhelming even for me.I gasp for breath. Once the trip's started, there's no easy way to get out of it. Best I can do is see it through to the end. I try to push the memories of my first time out of my mind though. By sheer misfortune, that one's still one of the most brutal experiences I have seen. Perhaps this one won't be nearly so bad, at.
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