Kind of Like Home

A.N.: Mentions of child abuse - nothing explicit or graphic, but it is there.

It was hard, knowing that she couldn't go home. What was even harder was pretending that it didn't bother her. There was so much that went into it. Logically, she knew what had happened was abuse and that abuse was bad, but there was a part of her that couldn't help wondering if what happened wasn't abuse. It was the way her dad showed affection, it was for her own good, and her dad was so nice when she took it without crying.

She knew it wasn't logical. She knew what happened that night put her entire soccer career in jeopardy. But he was still her dad. 

Trying to explain it to her friends didn't work well. They understood a little, but they couldn't understand that Goldie was okay with the idea that she might lose the court case and have to go back to live with him.

Talking with Coach Danberry was slightly more helpful.

"It's okay to feel that way, Marigold," Coach was one of the only people who used her full name anymore, "you've lived with your father your entire life. It has been so ingrained into you that that kind of treatment is normal. But I want you to remember that it's not."

"I know it's not," Goldie had built up a habit of running her fingers along the ridges of her brace, "you know, he wasn't always like that."

"Neither was my mom."

Goldie felt her eyebrows raise, "Your mom was-?"

He nodded, "Nothing as bad as yours, barely even physical, but her words cut deeper than anything that's ever been said to me."

"Did anyone else know?"

"Not until I went to college and said something's not offhandedly to the pastor who was teaching my theology course the first semester. He had me meet him in his office for a couple of days a week and then brought in a psychologist he knew and I got the help I needed. I don't think you would've liked who I was in college, but now I'm able to be content and comfortable with who I am."

Goldie was silent for a few minutes before she nodded.

“What I’m saying, Goldie, is that it’s okay to not be okay right now. Alright?” Coach said, “And I’m here for you, in your corner, no matter how any of the next few months go down, okay? No matter what you need.”

She swallowed, “Do you think you can take me home, just to pick some things up? I’m kinda tired of borrowing clothes or rewearing the four t-shirts of my own I have.” 

“We’ll talk with the Birches to figure something out. He might still be at the house, and if he is, we might need to contact the police department in order to get over there. I can call Mrs. McKinley and Ms. Smith to try to speed things up. Alright?”

Goldie nodded and went to grab her crutches.

“Think we’ve given them enough time to change and get out to the field?” Coach asked.

Goldie grinned, “Maybe not Maddie, but everyone else, yeah.” Maddie was their resident diva (she was a model’s kid) and she knew it. Where changing and getting to the field took 10 minutes tops for the rest of the team, Maddie was known to take at least 15, if not 20, minutes to get out.

“Alright, tell you what: you get out there and act as Coach with Zach for a couple of minutes and I’ll start making calls.”

“Does Zach have the list of drills?”

“Yes, Zach has the list of drills because I always manage to forget. I’ll see you out there, Kid.” 

Goldie situated her crutches under her arms and exited the tiny office that was wedged back behind all of the other athletic offices and the gym. Coach Danberry, while being one of the longest standing sports coaches at their school, still had the smallest and hardest to get to offices on campus. It was supposed to have renovations done a month or two back, but nothing ever came of it. 

If nothing else, the long walk was pretty good for self-reflection, even if all the time on her feet made her armpits ache from the crutches. 

Talking with Coach often did help. She still refused to see an actual therapist, even though Mrs. McKinley had offered to put her in touch with a handful of good ones. It was something she’d always done, protected herself without needing help from anyone else. It was the reason she hadn’t told the other three of the Four or Zach about her dad, why she so stubbornly kept it a secret, because her dad had said that asking for help meant weakness. Showing pain was weak, crying was weak, anything that made you less self-sufficient was weak.

When the rest of the Four and Zach had surrounded her on all sides back at the beginning of the season, it caught her off-guard, but she had let it happen. When she had found herself telling them all what was going on after that game, they hadn’t said a word until she was done and they squeezed her tightly to make sure no pieces fell out of place and thanked her for telling them and promising to help her however they could. And when her father had pushed her down the stairs and tore her ACL, they had been there for her during every step of the healing process. They made sure she wasn’t hurting, that she did her stretches (both before and after surgery), that she could make it to every PT session, and that the team didn’t ask too many questions but made sure that she knew she was still an important piece to their strategy. 

She would be forever thankful for all of them. Without their care, she wouldn’t have been able to keep her sole ticket out and away from town: a scholarship. Somehow, she had been able to keep a handful of great schools with great sports management and med programs and soccer programs that NWSL teams regularly scouted and picked from. She had a little bit of time before she had to decide anything, but at this point, she was grateful that she had options at all. 

Zach was waiting for her by the gate. Like she and Coach Danberry had assumed, the majority of the team was already out. Sav was jumping on Emma’s shoulders, exclaiming loudly and making the other girls laugh when Emma toppled over, got up, and began to chase Sav across the field.

“Hey, Golds,” Zach had apparently heard her crutches and turned around in enough time to open the gate for her. 

“Hey, Zach, who are we waiting on?”

“Mads, of course,” Zach fell into step next to Goldie as she crossed the track and crutched her way towards the team on the turf, “And we’re missing two others, but I can’t figure out who.”

Goldie surveyed the group, taking silent role calls of each class. Now all of the Four and Zach were present, and three out of the four of the juniors were there with Maddy in the locker room. Their starting sophomore, Anna, wasn’t there, but the four other sophomores were, and their freshmen trio was missing a girl: Chrissy. 

“Have you reached the same conclusion I have?” Carine asked from her place between Sav and Emma.

“Mads, Anna, and Chrissy?”

Carine nodded and addressed the group, “Has anyone seen Anna or Chrissy today?”

“Christina was out sick,” one of their other freshmen, Lily, piped up, “I don’t know about Anna, but I didn’t see her at lunch.”

“She said she was feeling sick too,” Jane said, “I haven’t seen her since this morning.”

“Thanks, Jane, we’ll ask Coach if he knows anything when he gets out here,” Zach said.

“I’ll go get the other two from the locker room,” Goldie was on the way before any of the others could say anything. 

Another way for her to be able to just think. Anna was the one player on the team who got sick the most often, but she was an excellent midfielder, one that Goldie could count on to be open and ready to shoot. Anna had the ability to skirt past defenders or go completely unnoticed and pop in exactly where the forwards needed. And aside from her skills on the field, she was a sweetheart with a gift for making the entire team laugh with a single joke.

Maddie came out from the locker room with one hand holding her ponytail and the other clutching her cleats.

“Is Anna in there?”

Maddie looked slightly caught off guard to see one of the seniors waiting right outside the door for her, but shook her head, “I heard she went home.”

Well, at least that mystery was solved, “Thanks, Maddie. Now out to the field before Coach gets out there.”

The locker rooms were painted white, maroon, and black with tiny accents of silver. The overflowing lockers were maroon and held maroon team bags from all of the teams practicing. On the wall free from any lockers, next to the whiteboard that held the basketball team’s game plan, a giant mural of the school name and mascot lived: the CLHS Lady Nighthawks. 

Goldie had sat in front of that mural countless times and stared at the larger than life painting. She couldn’t put her finger on what it was that drew her to it every time. Maybe it was the fierce pride in the bird’s eye that reminded her of the way that Carine would look when she watched the team together. Maybe it was the dark paint of the feathers, so much like Emma’s hair and cleats where she would station herself at the left side of the defensive line. Or, maybe it was the outstretched wings that made her think of the way that Sav would throw herself onto the unsuspecting shoulders of her friends and drape herself upon them. 

Sure, the locker room was kind of like home. But it wasn’t quite her home. 

Goldie sat down on the bench, put her face in her hands, and sobbed.