“How did this happen again! That’s the third time--third time!” My mom’s mom-powered-voice muffled the car engine’s roar. I pushed myself further into the cushioned seat, wishing I’d submerge and disappear. 

Of course that didn’t happen, and a few quiet words slipped out of me: “I didn’t do that ba--”.

“Orion, you almost got last place; again. Start working more productively, instead of running through fencing practices like water; work to improve every second.” 

I wish my mouth were glue shut, but teenager hormones operate on their own terms. “What d’you expect; results to appear out of thin air! (one long rant later)....What’s up with this criticism anyways? You’re acting like I don’t work hard at practices!” Let’s see her try to counter that! 

“No, you don’t work hard; that’s pretty obvious. Orion, if you’re so adamant to not do this, I’ll make sure you do.”

“Oh, so now you’re forcing me to do things?”

“Riiiight, because I want to be a fencing national and international champion.”

A “good” rebuttal to boost my thirteen-year-old ego didn’t appear. Could this end! How does a fifteen-minute drive home feel like hours? I guess a mother’s fury freezes time too; great….

….“How was your practice today, Orion?” Mom’s voice grazed my ear. I threw myself into the car seat like a ragdoll--sat limp. 

“Well I’m really, really--really--tired, and I think my legs are gone.” The thunderous car engine won the duel against my voice, which didn’t want to talk after the most grueling practice I’ve experienced. If I wanted to sink into the car seat to escape from the conversation, my body couldn't move to do it. 

“You spent six hours at the club and had a private lesson; good-work!” I love how my mom only gives me credit after I’ve survived my intense practice that she enforced. How does she not feel ridiculous after saying “six hour practice!”

“I’m sweating out of places I didn’t even know existed, because of your pushing!”

“Well, keep it up!” My mind unwillingly fast-forwarded to the future; I pictured months and months of training getting harder and harder--I couldn’t take it. I slammed back into the present. Back into my body that was on fire.

Great….

….“Orion, are you ready--first tournament after you’ve started committing to harder practices!” Her voice eclipsed the car engine, though it was from excitement. I was the exact opposite. 

“Yeah, I’m r-r-ready.” Why won’t my heart stop trying to leap out of my chest? I’ve been to tournaments before! So what if this is a bigger event? Still, my body sank deeper and deeper in the car’s seat; was it quicksand?

“I believe in you; ‘least you can say you’ve really tried your best this time.” This situation felt all too ironic. I can’t believe the support she’s giving currently; now I’m going to feel guilty if I compete poorly; great….  

….“Orion, you did so well. Top sixteen regional!” The car engine was silenced by the voice. 

“Thanks mom!” I was totally fine keeping my body twelve-inches from my seat, as I excitedly bounced about. 

“I’m so proud of you; super-job Orion--great!”.... 

….“Way to go! Eleventh in the national!” There was no car engine for her to overwhelm. The comfort of home after being away for a week hit me; but not as quickly as the neck-breaking hug from my mom. 

“Who? Got! Eleventh! In a national!” Oh gosh, my mom’s doing her excited-mom-thing now. 

“Mom! Don’t make a big deal out of it.” My heart definitely disagrees with this statement. My body was blazing on the inside; not just from knife-stabbing soreness as a product of the tournament, but from the love my mother gave throughout--though I never realized it. By learning from my mistakes, mistakes I only acknowledged thanks to my mom, I’ve gone so far in one year. Now….the future awaits! 

Excellent!