Because I haven’t posted any new content in so long, I decided to give a preview of a non Fiction essay I was just transferring to my computer.
Hope you enjoy my attempt at fitting in!
I have soon discovered that I have entered a never-ending game of catch-up around age six.
If Jansen gets a SEGA Genesis console, I will get one two-three months later, without a game. When a certain clothing brand starts trending, I acquire something similar maybe six months later thanks, usually, to my dad’s brother, Frank.
For about a month, I would see Jansen socialize with a group of boys I’ve never seen at school before. He and his older brother, Justin, have grown a fan base overnight and it is steadily killing our play time together. I have already made a few attempts at joining the groupies and eventually, I unwittingly become the butt of a few jokes.
The other kids would question my friendship with Jansen, wondering why he’d bother even talking to me. Being the friend he is, he has asked me, begged me to come with him on a Saturday morning to a park he and his brother visit.
I reluctantly oblige, and show up wishing I could have recorded my cartoons before leaving.
“Oh grow up, D.J. Look, the coach is already here!” Jansen replies to my troubles.
“Coach?” I look around, “coach for what?”
At this moment, a tall man carrying a bag of brown balls and a large stomach calls my friend and his brother as he throws a ball high into the air. The brothers take off, pushing each other as they race down the way. I half expect their tongues to hang out their mouths as they run. Justin outruns his younger brother and catches it, then for some reason he throws it back.
“Go ahead and catch that for me, young blood,” the coach says as it rotates slowly in the air.
Being new to this idea, I realize I have no idea what to do and I panic. My eyes grow as the fear-seeking missile points its nose at me; accelerating after identifying its target. Holding back my very manly scream, I throw both hands palm-side out, ready to embrace the rocket…
I feel weightless, a strange and curious sense of floating grabs my attention as I hear a voice echo across what feels like miles of nothingness.
“D.J.! Get up!” My eyelids struggle to open as I feel a hand continuously slap against my cheeks.
“Did I catch it?” I ask, blood trickling down my face with my glasses which are bent inwards.
“I think you should try being a tight end,” the coach declares.