I remember the first time I saw a friend get an award. It was a college sports banquet. It wasn't a big award, just one of those "best booster of everyone else's confidence" things that they give out to sweet, gentle guys with only mediocre athletic skill but who give completely of themselves so that the team does well. The kind of award which is given out to someone who would never win a contest of physical prowess, but someone without whom life would be empty and grey.
I watched him get his award, and I cried. When he came down off the stage, I got up and walked over to him and threw my arms around him. I cannot describe what I felt. Joy? Too small an emotion. Love? Not pure enough.
I let him go. There was a look on his face. Like he was going to cry. But also a look like he wished with all his heart that it wasn't over. We'd gone through torn tendons and bitter athletic contests and long evenings of working out with no one caring if you did it. But it was over. A his face was full of bittersweetness. I've always suspected that it's like when a play is over, that intense sense of loss you feel. Like you are suddenly deeply in love with these people, and you can't let it end.
But it was over. He smiled a little at me, blushed, and sat down next to his mom.
Tell us how you felt, poet. Because prose can't convey it.
I remember the first time I saw a friend get an award. It was a college sports banquet. It wasn't a big award, just one of those "best booster of everyone else's confidence" things that they give out to sweet, gentle guys with only mediocre athletic skill but who give completely of themselves so that the team does well. The kind of award which is given out to someone who would never win a contest of physical prowess, but someone without whom life would be empty and grey.
I watched him get his award, and I cried. When he came down off the stage, I got up and walked over to him and threw my arms around him. I cannot describe what I felt. Joy? Too small an emotion. Love? Not pure enough.
I let him go. There was a look on his face. Like he was going to cry. But also a look like he wished with all his heart that it wasn't over. We'd gone through torn tendons and bitter athletic contests and long evenings of working out with no one caring if you did it. But it was over. A his face was full of bittersweetness. I've always suspected that it's like when a play is over, that intense sense of loss you feel. Like you are suddenly deeply in love with these people, and you can't let it end.
But it was over. He smiled a little at me, blushed, and sat down next to his mom.
Tell us how you felt, poet. Because prose can't convey it.
Posted by: Tim1965 | January 19, 2005 at 04:26 PM
OK, she's at the door, knocking...dragging the sorry, slumped-over ass out into the light once again. (Or is she?)
Posted by: Juan (a.k.a. LaWanda Paige) | January 18, 2005 at 02:52 PM
I'm worried now.Come back Corey we miss you.
Colby
Posted by: Colby | January 15, 2005 at 06:18 PM
G00D LUCK in every thing you do
Posted by: Luis | January 15, 2005 at 06:03 PM
your site is genious
Posted by: clay | January 14, 2005 at 11:17 PM
sweetie, I hope this is just a vacation!
Posted by: M@ | January 14, 2005 at 12:58 PM
So... Um where are you going?
Posted by: rocka | January 14, 2005 at 10:42 AM
Beautiful mug shot! got prison? :-P
Posted by: Chris | January 14, 2005 at 07:14 AM