Catch Flights Not Crutches

By Kali Salazar-Perez ’24

Sprinting across the pine green turf of Hebron Academy, as my team and I approach our victory against our rival school Kents Hill, the smile on my face could not be wiped away. The wind blows my unruly braid away from my face just as it blows the rest of my troubles away; it feels as if I’m flying. The only thing that matters at this moment is the field hockey ball and the net. As I write this, I can once again feel the euphoria of my endorphins pumping. Except that never happened. I did not get to play, my troubles were never blown away, and that illusion of flying never came. Instead, I was left with the colossal weight of my crutches dragging me down.

The first time these specific crutches made an appearance in my life was when I was about nine years old and my father was hit by a car. Every time they have re-entered my life since, my life seems to freeze before my eyes, and never return to how it was. With their five-and-a-half pound aluminum build, scratches along the sides, and purple phone pouch attached to the right handle, their chilling aura never fails to disconcert me. When my father recovered from surgery, I thought I had escaped the burdensome anxiety of these crutches, but even after five years, they could not seem to leave me alone.

With the feeling of flying racing through every joint in my body as I passed a lacrosse ball with my best friend, nothing could’ve been more perfect. I might mention that I was new to this sport and I honestly had no idea that catching a lacrosse ball in the tiny weaved pocket of a lacrosse stick could be so difficult, nor that it could hurt so much. The sun began to set as we started getting into more difficult drills with the rest of the team. With pink, purple, and orange hues painting onto the sky and the breeze flowing through my tightly braided hair, my first practice was going better than expected. This was until my teammate was injured. I distinctly remember the feeling of my heart plummeting to my stomach as her knee made a wretched cracking sound. The thunderclap of her knee folding over initiated the darkness that began to smudge the colorful hues that the sky once showed. As the practice ended early and our teammates carried her to the car, I felt like I was frozen. I watched her dad panic about how much the medical bills at urgent care would cost as her little sister started crying at the sight of her now purple knee. I later found out that her ACL had been torn, and that she would not be returning to practice. This accident was once again followed by the dreadful crutches I had seen my father use before. No matter how fast I tried to run, the crutches latched on to me just as my knee brace had.

Fourteen months after this incident, I step onto the field for a game against Kents Hill. Although I am without crutches, my heart no longer pumps with the endorphins of flying. I am left with the needless fear, anxiety, and depression that heightened as I was ridiculed for being the “knee brace girl.” Stepping onto the field,

“Image of Crutches.” Clipart Library, http://clipartlibrary.com/pictures-ofcrutches.html.