Victory Light

I can remember that night, coming home on the bus from one of our freshman football games. This being a game we just happen to have won. I was sitting in one of the old, worn, black fake-leather seats; my pads were in the seat across the aisle from me.

There was this, overwhelming feeling of joy, of tired confidence. The radio was blaring some music from Nelly or Britney Spears; it didn't matter. We were happy and exhausted.

After about five minutes on the road, it occurred to someone that our "victory light" should be on. Now, the victory light was a blue flashing light that sat atop our old white school bus. It much resembled the lights that you might find on cop car, but it didn't really mean anything, or give us any privilege. It was just one, simple, blue flashing light to the entire rest of world. But, to us, it was an accomplishment, a goal, or maybe even a prize. With its solitary blue beam, it announced to the world our triumph. It was our blue ribbon, our gold star.

I can still remember when the chant rang out among my fellow freshmen football teammates. "Victory light!" they said, "Victory light! Victory light!" I even joined in the call. I wanted the world to know what we’d done; it felt so good.

When, finally, the coach flipped the switch at the driver's seat to turn on our victory light, there was a loud cheer. Eventually, things slowly faded back into the quiet conversations that were the tradition of many a long ride home.

I sat, looking out the window, watching that blue light flash onto houses and fences that we passed. It was reflected back at me from windows and car windshields. The bright blue light glowed around us, and we felt like kings bathed in glory.

But, after a few minutes of watching that light, I started to feel something; something inside me was changing. I felt a hole, a hollowness where everyone else seemed to have that overwhelming joy. I didn't quite know what it meant then, so I let it pass. A good song came onto the radio and we all started singing along. And the victory light flashed on above us.

That week at school, we didn't get that much attention from our classmates. After all, we were just the freshmen. But there was this feeling of benevolence from the rest of the school. I was okay because I played football. I just remember people not looking at me with the regular I'm-better-than-you look that I usually got, and that made me happy. But again, there was that hole.

Our next freshman game, we lost. That bus ride was long and quiet. It put me in a state-of-mind that I usually only have when I'm alone in my room at night. My mind began to race with thoughts. Wishes, desires, dreams, all flashed through my head as I looked out the window. And staring at the passing countryside, I realized that there was no victory light. There was no flashing blue beam from above our heads.

Then, another thing came to me; that hole came back. I could feel it inside of me, gaping and black. It felt awful and, even though I tried, I couldn't cover it up anymore. I couldn't push it aside anymore. By the time we got back home, I had made a decision.