Friday Night Lights

Gaby Reyes ‘22, Staff Writer

I stood on the slippery bleachers of the stadium with feet aching. The rain seeped through the
thin coat like dew on a petal, sending chills down my skin.

That was when I became distant. Eyes focused on each step and turn and tumble of the players,
on the rainwater drip drop dripping down the steps, on the people’s chit chat and chatting around

With the swivel of my head and the blink of my eyes, I looked through the camera lenses far too
much in focus.

I spoke to someone for the sole purpose of making sure I could still speak, of making sure it was
not some all too real dream.

Words floated out of my mouth in a lackadaisical manner, a speech bubble hanging over my
head. Trying to focus on one specific conversation felt as if I were trying to take a picture in utter
darkness, and the fuzziness refused to subside.

I wanted to sit down, to leave, to get out of this loud place. And to my dismay, it was not even

So, I opened the mouth that could indeed speak, and spoke. And I looked at the hand and it
seemed so surreal. It was my body. It was like looking through someone else’s eyes. I was a
puppet on a string, playing to someone else’s production.

And as they set the strings down, and curtains close, and all was said and done, I took hold of my
own strings and went on.