The Soccer Ball in Prague
The soccer ball on the partially frozen Vltava River taunts the two boys. They find long, useless sticks and poke out at the ball. The ball, much too far away, isn’t moving for such silliness. It lies on the ice like an unrepentant dog eating a stolen lunch, growling when you come too close. The boys throw rocks at the ball, but it makes holes in the ice, sending their ball further away.
My friends, Jamey, Pat, and Ben, and I aren’t too concerned; we’re enjoying the spectacle and reminiscing about a childhood of solving big problems which we later learned were small. But these boys’ hairless, flushed faces are different than our memories. The ball, a tattered old thing with ripped panels, is dying, leaving, drowning – never coming back. We read their faces: “the ball is not easily replaced.” Without words we tell them – “we will get your ball.”
We gather rocks and throw them violently, splintering, cracking, and smashing the path of ice leading to the ball. The ball now floats in the water surrounded by chunks of ice. In a frenzy of shrieks, screams and yahoos, we launch rocks passed the ball and create a current. Urged by an onslaught of waves, the ball meanders teasingly to the river wall. The boys grab the now invaluable sticks, pulling the ball closer. Five feet below us the ball nuzzles the wall. This is no longer just ball retrieval – it’s a caper. We are finding lost treasure, recovering an object of unfathomable value, and we feel like adventurers, like children, like heroes.
We pull a boy over to the edge and he smiles the kind of knowing smile thieves must make when they silently come upon an unexpected stash of cash, the kind of smile friends make when they come to the same conclusion at the same moment, the kind of smile that does not need words. Jamey and I grab the boy’s legs and slowly lower him down, headfirst. His hands reach out like an arcade claw reaching for toys and stuffed animals. We grip his legs tight as he grabs for the ball, but it eludes his grasp. We lower him further and squeeze. He claws. Finally, he has it. A small group of spectators and passersby cheer. We yank the boy up as he holds his tattered toy in one arm and navigates the wall with his free hand – the boy and his ball are safe. The boys jump up and down and thank us. Today is a good day, I think to myself, the kind of day I must remember to never forget.
For Sean and his family - embrace the memories, embody her spirit
