When I was in my teenage years…Moments before gym class had started my “boyfriend” dumped me because I was too weird and he remarked that I was “getting too fat.” He did so in front of the entire class and everyone who saw it just looked ashamed and turned their faces away.
A couple of people laughed. I felt immensely ashamed. There I sat in disbelief and sadness, and he just ran around like nothing had happened. We were put on opposite teams, only making the chasm between us greater.\
Now, I am possibly the worst person at sports, wiffleball being no exception. I stepped up to the orange rubber plate, the bat heavy in my hands. The Ex was pitching and called out to everyone in the outfield
“Don’t worry about this one, she can’t hit anything.”
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I was embarrassed. I was heartbroken. Mostly, I was pissed. I said nothing, watching as he casually cocked back his arm. His eyes gleamed as the ball flew from his grip, careening towards me. I raised my bat and swung with all of my measly strength.
The wiffle ball met my bat with a dull, plastic WHACK. Next, the wiffle ball met The Ex’s balls, square on. I watched as he crumpled to the floor, a wailing heap. My team cheered for me as I ran around the bases, greeting me with high fives as I cleared home.