Heartbreak

Four years ago, I was about to turn sixteen. A lot of things were similar, I liked The Ramones, was vaguely interested in punk rock at large, owned a lot of Converse shoes, enjoyed reading and listening to my iPod, and I had a summer job. It was 2006.

Some things were different, though. Now, I am well accoustomed to not living at home, being an independant (in fact, as I write, I'm waiting on my laundry to finish so I can go back to my apartment to cook myself some dinner and then wash the dishes) student; however, in the ripe year of 2006, I had just had my first away from home expereince, at the Denison University Jonathan R Reynold's Writing Camp. It was an eight day experience of heartbreak, writing and a taste of what was to come on the other side of three more years in high school.

I came home to family and friends, but mostly, The World Cup. Finally, an atheletic event that my brother and I could bond over, jokingly fight over, and enjoy together. I can't remember who Steve rooted for, but it was at least always againt my guys: the French.

The Cup wasn't the only time he and I shared though, we also enjoyed employment at the same cafe and catering company. Far cry from Summer Conferences here at Otterbein, working at Chapter's under the Poland library was always a long, steady day's work. Not all bad, our days were often made short and fun by the incredible people that worked there. Unique and all having strong personalities, washing dishes and serving weddings was never a chore.

There are several days that I can vividly recall and walk through, but one stands out today. The day of the final game in the Cup, France versus Italy. Zidane was my dude, and I'd been following them for most of the Cup.

This year my loyalties were all national.

At any rate, the final game was on a Sunday morning, I know this, because I worked Sunday mornings. Lynn and Claudia, our bosses, left early to an offsite catering job, leaving myself, a few servers and Sarah Sexton, one of my favorite line chiefs, in charge. Of course, as soon as they left I called Steve, begging him to bring a radio. It arrived around the same time several piles of dishes from the party. As I listened, I plugged away at my stacks of table ware. I was focused, one dish in, one dish out, keeper blocks, striker kicks, and so on and so on.

Then it happened. I can still hear it, something like "Zidane headbutts Italy! Red card! He's out of the game!" He was null for the shoot out to come, and Italy won 5-3. Horrid.

Of course, today, I am still toiling at work during the Cup. For USA's previous games, I had to sprint from across campus to catch nail-biting ends, including just making it for Landon's 90th minute goal. Fantastic stuff.

Until today. The American dream for World Cup gold is over, and perhaps in four years, a job or two later, I'll be ready to once again set myself up for, another heartbreak.