Trapped

Confined in this wheelchair, body trapped by insidious disease, mind trapped by body, I watch the world go by, as I often do from this sunny perch on my porch. I cannot engage the world on my own terms. Sophisticated computer technology enables me to read, write, scan the internet, and look at photographs. I find myself often staring at this one photograph...a group of young kids in their golden soccer jerseys and black shorts, getting last minute instructions from their coach. I wonder about this one girl with her short, wildly red hair, marked by the #6 on the back of her jersey. Half step back from the group, obviously confident, no need to listen. A striker for sure with one mission, to secure the ball on a breakaway and with a confident sharp strike send the ball to the back of the net. Am I reading too much into this picture, which seemingly shows so little? Perhaps, except that I was that #6, confident striker, the one serving up the goals. Now, confined in this wheelchair, body trapped by disease, mind trapped by body, a future entrapped by memory...