It
was a hot summer day in August of last year when I first laid eyes on Harlie
DesArmo and her sister Courtney. We were about to start tryouts for volleyball,
and this required enduring the sticky smell of hot pavement blended with the
fresh smell of mowed grass. The DesArmos were getting their first whiff of
small town air after flying in from Wisconsin, and all of us eyed them like
vultures as we sensed the fresh blood of possible new additions to our team.
Harlie had never played volleyball before. Given her solid athletic ability she
found herself a swing player for the Castle Rock Volleyball Squad. Harlie was
quiet and a bit reserved at first, but after practicing with our team for a
while she quickly livened up to our silly humor and playful teasing. She was a
positive presence on our team. She brought excitement, enthusiasm, and
encouragement wherever she went. The team needed her.
At
the volleyball state tournament I saw the fan that wore the red shirt I had
made for Harlie. It had a white motorcycle drawn with bubble paint along with
the words “On the road to victory” with her last name written in large letters
at the top. Through my wall of focus on the court I faintly heard her cheering
in the championship match. I felt her warm hug with tears streaming down my
face after the victory.
After
the emotional and heartwarming experience of winning the state title in
volleyball, it was time to move on to the next sport. As my friends and I
already knew, our dear coaches Don Misner and Sherry Allen were eager to hear
the sound of all the basketballs pounding on the gym floor. To our enjoyment,
Harlie also played basketball. She earned a spot on the varsity team and my
friends and I had the pleasure of hearing her witty sarcasm in the locker room
while dreading practice the next day. Like volleyball, this was also a season I
will never forget. Together the Castle Rock Girls Basketball team took the
league title and, for the first time in history, the district title. We
dribbled, fouled, and shot our way to the state championship game. Unlike
volleyball, my teammates and I did not take the state title and we left the
court knowing that we would never play on a basketball team together again.
Mixed tears of joy and sadness fell down our cheeks and soaked into our sweaty
jerseys. Yet again, I felt Harlie’s warm hug with puddles of tears in my eyes.
This
time, I just feel tears in my eyes without Harlie’s hug.
Harlie
was my teammate, and my friend. I ate food with her on beanbags in Mr. Maples’s
classroom. We, along with the rest of the team, sang badly in the locker rooms
before practice and games. We jokingly made fun of each other and shared many
laughs throughout the school year. She was brilliant, funny, and a genuinely
kind person.
As
I get ready for volleyball practice here at Gonzaga University, I look at my
teammates in a new light. I must cherish the time I spend with these girls
because any one of them could be taken away in an instant. Harlie believed in
me. She believed in our coaches and in our friends. As I struggle with
carrying on I continuously remind myself of Harlie’s trusted belief in her
teammates, and it helps bring me peace knowing that she is still cheering for
me.
My
thoughts and prayers are with the DesArmo family.
Volleyballs in the air
Basketballs of leather
Teammates we will always be
We’ll always stick together
