Pain shot through the left side of my body as the door buckled in and slammed into me. I couldn’t make sense of anything. The truck spun, slamming i...to the building on the corner. I was conscious, but floating, still unable to ground myself in anything that had happened. “Sabrina,” I whispered, blood bubbling over my lips and then the world went dark for me.I didn’t die though. This is not the memoir of a dead man. That’s a catchy title though. If I could write worth shit, I’d make something. After, I walked them both back to their halls and thanked them for the coffee and company.The next few weeks followed a similar pattern. Christina and Diane would come to the home matches, often with different partners in tow. This pissed me off; what did they have that I didn’t, what was I doing wrong? They would be in the clubhouse after the match but often slip off without much of a word. I was definitely missing something; they were all chatty elsewhere but barely said anything at or after. More

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