The ‘Shuffle’ button on my iPod isn’t working. It’s not finding the right songs. I need a solid, strong, loud piece right now… one that will distract me. All it’s finding are old pop and country songs that I wish I had never bought. I can see that my parents are talking to me… well… trying to. I pretend I can hear them, even though my volume bar’s circle is at the very top. I wish it could be louder.

I can read my mother’s lips because she talks so precisely. Every single sound she makes that I can’t hear… I can hear them in my mind because I know exactly what she sounds like, how she expresses her feelings for whatever she’s talking about. Once I see the words, “Do you understand?” I just nod my head and attempt to push as much emotion as I can into my face. Apparently it works, because she’s patting my leg sympathetically. I don’t need that though. All I need is to be out of this stupid car, and onto the field.

Our car hits a pothole and my side of the car dips down harshly. My shoulder hits the window and I feel a tiny prick of pain, but it’s tiny… so I don’t care. I see my mother ask me if I’m okay. And I nod and give her a thumbs up. She smiles faintly and turns back around. Right as this happens, my cleat rolls onto my foot. I look down and see that the rip in my old, patched up, soccer bag is spreading.

“Great…” I say out loud, even though I can’t hear myself. I see my father ask what’s wrong. And I don’t answer. I know he said that. But, even if I could hear him, I wouldn’t answer because I don’t want to.

My stomach shifts as I see the signs to my tournament. The rip splits even farther as I shove my cleat down into my bag, but I don’t care. I’m here. And as soon as I click my iPod back on, I realize that Eminem has been rapping “Lose Yourself” into my ears for the past five minutes and eighteen seconds. There’s two seconds left. But I’m already out of the car, and the music’s still playing in my head.