Gemotions

Sweat beaded on Coach Ramirez’s forehead, not from the exertion of the practice drills but from the dread that coiled in his gut. He'd been up all night, tossing and turning, the image of little Mateo’s hopeful face flashing through his mind. Mateo was a good kid, worked hard, always hustled. But the team needed a different skillset this year, and Mateo, bless his heart, just didn’t possess it. The noise of the gym, the squeaking sneakers, the thud of the ball, all felt amplified, an assault on his senses.

He called Mateo over after the scrimmage. “Can you come over here for a minute, bud?” He tried to sound casual, but his voice cracked slightly. He watched Mateo walk towards him, his eyes sparkling with anticipation. The coach fumbled with his hat, pulling it lower, shielding his face. The knot in his stomach tightened further, a physical manifestation of his misery.