tori III

At her funeral, her basketball coach delivered a eulogy. 

He spoke of one of her most memorable plays.  He mentioned the school they were playing, and how Tori's defense had been an asset to them in this game.  In the play he most remembered of her, Victoria had taken a hard charge from a girl.  When she got up and was back on the sidelines, he said he high-fived her and said, "Great work, Tori, taking that charge, wow."

If I hadn't watched that very play he described, I had most certainly seen her do this before.  She was so small to me, but she just stood there, feet planted as another girl ran at her full speed to attempt a layup.  As we witnessed the impact on the bleachers, our family took a collective breath inward, my mom gasping the loudest.  She hated this type of defensive strategy. My mom couldn't bear to see how beat up Tori would get during those games.  Victoria broke her nose once during a basketball game.  She had battle wounds I couldn't comprehend. I'd never broken a bone in my life, and Tori was always bruised, blistered, beaten. I wasn't a good athlete, because more than I wanted a point or my coach's approval, I wanted to remain in tact, pain-free, unbroken.

I asked my sister and brother-in-law, in my parents' kitchen the night after it happened, should we have known, watching her play basketball? remember how she was always willing to get hurt? to take pain in those games like it was nothing? I just thought she was so tough.

Days after I learned that Victoria had stepped in front of a train, after her funeral and burial, I would recall the coach's eulogy, his memory of Victoria taking that charge, and I would remember her flying from the impact, her crumpled against the gym wall...

The charges she took in basketball gained a haunting symbolism.