One Day Narrative Essay

My head flips backwards: snap, crackle, pop! Did that sound come from my body or did I just step on some Rice Krispies? Suddenly unable to move my left leg, I crumple to the floor with jelly knees.

Come on, Tayllor, get up I say to myself. Get up! Get up! Get up! Sprawled out onto the basketball court helpless, emotionally numb and looking like Patrick Star lying on the bottom of the ocean, I see my dad running towards me. He gets to me and crutches down to my level with a bewildered expression on his face. Suddenly my thoughts disappear, and I focus in on his scared, ghostly-shaded face for what seems like a lifetime.

“What happened?” he yelled. “Dammit, Tayllor, what happened? What did you do?”

“My knee I finally, meekly say.”

“Oh shit,” my dad yelled at the top of his lungs. The crowd went silent. I lost it completely; Tears began to run down my face for the first time in a long, long time. From experience, I know that once I begin to cry, self-pity tears pour out of me like water gushing out of a

“Everything will be all right.”

“What do you think happened, Dad? Do you think I broke my leg?”

“We don’t know yet, but I don't believe so.”

I see the trainer rush out onto the court. She bends down on both knees and says, “On a scale of one to ten how much pain are you in?”

I don’t respond. I hear her talking. I hear my dad talking. I still do not respond. I lie on the gym floor wondering if I will ever play basketball again?

“Okay, Tayllor,” the trainer said, “we are going to get you up and off this gym floor. Hold your knee up off the ground and use your good leg to walk on. Your dad and I will be like crutches.”

I find out two days later that my anterior cruciate ligament is torn, better known as the ACL. I cry over that disappointing news. Again self-pity is crushing me. Even a day after my operation I feel hopeless until the moment my little brother walks into my room and says, “You will never play basketball