Sarimah’s mind was racing. She was so close to finally playing football on a real pitch. She didn’t want to push her father for an answer too quickly. But she didn’t want to give up, either.
Then she thought of the refugee camp.
“Papa, remember what you said to me in Turkey?”
He was slowly stirring the tea. “I told you many things.”
“It was when we heard that our old neighbourhood had been attacked. You said it was the worst day of your life. You wanted to know why you couldn’t provide a safe home for your family.”
She could see he remembered, by the look that crossed his face. He poured two cups of tea and joined them at the table. He passed one cup to his wife.
“I will never forget that day,” he said sadly.
“You said you would do anything for me, to make me safe and happy. Papa, playing football will make me happy. I want this more than anything I’ve ever wanted before. I will be safe. I won’t let it interfere with my school work.”
The only sound in the room was the ticking of their clock. Sarimah counted forty-four seconds before her father said anything.
“You are precious to me. Our only gift from God,” he said. “We risked much to get here. So I don’t want anything to happen to you now. You are getting older. Just because we are in Canada now doesn’t mean we forget where we came from . . .”
Sarimah stood and walked over to her father. She was worried he wouldn’t let her play without covering up and showing proper respect to Islam.
“Papa, look. I will be dressed respectfully.”
She showed him the running pants, the long socks and the long-sleeved shirt. He patted her shoulder.
“Yes, that is important. But you have always been respectful to our faith,” he said. “I am not worried about that.”
Sarimah was confused. She didn’t understand why he was hesitating. He turned his attention to his tea again. She could tell he was thinking.
“This girl, the one from the school,” he said after awhile. “She doesn’t like you? How are the others treating you? And where did you get all this equipment? We don’t need to accept all these gifts.”
Now it was Sarimah’s turn to think. She didn’t want to worry her father. But she also had to be honest with him.
“You mean Tamsen,” she said. “No, she is not kind like Izzy. Everyone else has been very nice, though.”
He took a sip of his tea and placed the cup gently down on the table. “You think playing football with her will help you? It doesn’t seem possible.”
Sarimah started to feel better. Maybe her father was warming to the idea. He hasn’t said no yet, she thought. “The last time we played soccer, we were on the same team. She even said I made a nice pass to her.”
Her mother shifted in her seat. “Football, always football,” she said. “Your schooling in the refugee camp was not good. You must catch up.”
Sarimah was ready with an answer. But she paused, not wanting to sound anxious. “It’s only one practice, Mama. And soccer helps my English. You have to speak quickly on the field. I’m learning words that I wouldn’t get to use in school.”
Her parents looked at each other. Her mother finished her tea and poured some more. She sighed and stared at Sarimah’s father.
“Okay, I know that look,” her father said. “I guess it will be up to me. When are you supposed to be leaving?”
Sarimah’s heart skipped a beat. In her mind, her father not saying no was just as good as “Yes, you can play.” But she tried to stay calm.
“Izzy is hoping to come for me in about ten minutes. We will be back just after eight o’clock.”
Without saying a word, Sarimah’s parents walked down the hallway to their bedroom. Sarimah sat at the table, not moving. She figured if she didn’t say anything — if she didn’t make a sound — she might stand a better chance of getting permission.
All she could do was count the seconds on the clock and wait. She lost track at 222.
What can they be talking about? she wondered. Why don’t they just tell me, already?
12
Select Few
Sarimah sprinted out the door. She didn’t turn around. She kept moving forward, in case her father changed his mind. She jumped happily into the car.
“I guess this means you are allowed to come?” Izzy asked her. “Or, you’re running away from home, and this is the getaway car?”
Sarimah laughed loudly. She couldn’t remember laughing like that since before she had left Syria.
“Yes, I can play,” she said. “My parents say we will talk about it some more. But right now, this is good enough for me.”
When they finally approached the indoor sports centre, Sarimah couldn’t wait to get inside. She jumped from the car and led the way into the building. She grabbed the door handle and stepped inside. She was stunned by all the activity.
Izzy led her through the lobby and down hallways. “There are four soccer fields, a bunch of volleyball courts and lots of dressing rooms,” Izzy said. “We’re down at the end. There are lots of places to watch right on the field, or you can watch from up here.”
Most walls had notices or sign-up sheets for soccer, volleyball or football. Sarimah stared from the viewing area as kids of all ages criss-crossed on the turf below. All of them wore flashy orange, blue or yellow shoes. They all had matching jerseys and kicked shiny new soccer balls at nets that were bright with orange mesh.
Izzy and Sarimah weaved through moms, dads, coaches and players to find Izzy’s teammates. They were gathered at the field level, putting on their cleats. The group looked over at Izzy, and then to Sarimah.
“Hey, everyone, this is Sarimah,” Izzy said. “She goes to our school and Coach K invited her to practise with us. She moved here from Syria.”
Sarimah raised her hand and then brought it down again. The girls were all wearing yellow shirts that said ‘Blizzard Under-13 Girls.’ They waved back at Sarimah. Some of them came forward to welcome her. Sarimah tried to remember all the girls’ names. She scanned their faces until she found Tamsen, who was standing near the coach.
“Come on, team. We’ve only got forty-five minutes. Let’s get moving,” Coach K said.
Sarimah sat down and brushed her hand over the artificial turf. She was amazed at how bouncy it felt. She put her shoes on and joined the team for fifteen minutes of warm-up exercises. She was sweating, but happy to be moving without heavy winter boots. She was able to bounce on her toes and pass the ball with ease on the flat surface.
The coach grabbed red pinnies from the team’s equipment bag and tossed them to half the team. Sarimah and Izzy got pinnies, which they put on over their shirts. Tamsen was with the girls who wore just their yellow Blizzard shirts.
Finally, Sarimah thought, a game.
“It’s seven on seven. Red jerseys at this end with me,” Coach K instructed. “I’ll play goal here. Marty will play goal for the yellow team.”
The coach grabbed a game ball from the sideline and dribbled back to his goal crease. “Okay, let’s go!”
Sarimah sprinted hard toward him, looking for an easy pass. But the coach booted it the length of the field to Marty in the other goal. Sarimah could only watch as the ball sailed high over her head.
“Your team starts,” Coach K said to Marty.
Okay, so we’re on defence, Sarimah thought. She turned and made her way slowly up-field.
The six attacking players on each team divided into three up front and three in the back. Sarimah found herself along the sideline in defence, at left full-back.
Team Yellow knocked the ball back to the goaltender. She reversed it to the opposite side, away from Sarimah. She tracked a Yellow forward toward her goal as Tamsen smacked a crossing pass toward Coach K in goal. Sarimah jumped as high as she could, but she wasn’t able to reac
h the ball. The forward was much taller than Sarimah. She managed to head the ball on goal. It spun wildly off her head, forcing the coach to dive to his right to make a save.
“Nice header!” he said after corralling the ball.
Sarimah was angry with herself. She had been in the right position. But she was the shortest girl on the field. She stood no chance against a taller opponent.
As everyone clapped, Sarimah spun and found some open space back on her left wing. She wanted to prove herself. The coach saw her break and he faked a clearing pass. He rolled the ball to Sarimah, who controlled it and took two big strides. She looked up to see Giorgianna streaking up the middle. Sarimah slammed a hard pass through the centre of the field.
Giorgianna split the defence and was wide open, but the ball scooted past her. Sarimah’s pass was too hard. She hadn’t expected it to roll so fast. The ball went right to the yellow team’s goalie.
“Gotta watch that fast turf,” the coach shouted.
“That’s two mistakes!” Sarimah scolded herself.
Team Yellow pushed some passes around before charging forward up the right wing. This time, Sarimah was ready. She bumped shoulders with Lisa, hoping to keep her from leaping for the ball.
Tamsen’s cross came, but this time there was nobody to connect with it. The ball scooted out of bounds.
“Hey, Sarimah bumped me. That’s a foul!” Lisa shouted.
Sarimah looked at Coach K.
“You can bump shoulders. Play on,” he said. “You have to be tough, Lisa! Fight through those defenders.”
Sarimah ran to the sidelines to retrieve the ball for a throw-in. She picked it up and tossed it ahead to Molly, who hit it back to Sarimah.
Sarimah took a step back with the ball and passed it to Coach K in goal. Tamsen was right there, so the coach had to slam the ball up-field in a hurry.
“Argh!” Sarimah shouted. She had almost turned over the ball right in front of her goal. She hadn’t seen Tamsen sneaking around.
That’s three mistakes, she thought. They’ll never have me back.
She looked up-field. The yellow team was trying the same play. Sarimah stuck to their team’s forward, and Tamsen didn’t try a cross. Instead, Tamsen passed the ball back to the defence. They were coming to Sarimah’s wing.
Sarimah shuffled across, following the ball. She waited for the pass along the sidelines.
Suddenly, Sarimah saw a flash of yellow. Tamsen was making a run through the middle, behind her. Sarimah looked up again to see the other team’s defender preparing her pass. Sarimah darted into the middle of the field and intercepted the ball.
It was right on her foot, right in stride.
She charged forward, glancing up to see Marty at the top of her goal crease. Sarimah didn’t think twice. She dug down deep and smashed a shot that curled high into the air. It looped over the goalie’s head. Marty ran backward, trying to get into position.
The ball dipped under the crossbar and scored. Sarimah jumped in the air and pumped her fist. She heard the people in the balcony give a surprised shout. Everyone watching — the parents and the other coaches — clapped. She looked up at the balcony, and then down at her feet. She was just across the halfway line.
“I like this turf,” she said.
13
Papa’s Old Shoes
The doorbell rang and Sarimah grabbed her soccer gear.
“There must be a fire in there,” Izzy said as Sarimah rushed out the door.
“We must hurry. Practice must start on time. If we are late coming home, then Papa becomes . . .” Sarimah paused “. . . like the monster in the trash can.”
“Oscar the Grouch?”
“Exactly. Papa becomes the grouch.”
They raced to the car. Izzy scurried to the other side while Sarimah grabbed the closest door handle and flopped into the back seat.
“Step on it, mom.”
Izzy’s mother turned. “What’s the rush?” she asked.
“We must be home before six. My father is at English class,” Sarimah said.
“Is that bad?”
“Well, he does not like English class. If I am home when he gets home, I can help him. Then maybe he will let me keep playing football. He calls English the language of . . . well, I should not say. It is not nice.”
“Tell us!” Izzy said.
“He calls it the ‘language of farm animals.’ He says it would be easier to learn how to speak with cows and sheep.”
Izzy’s mother burst out laughing. She was still chuckling when they arrived at the Soccer Centre. Sarimah didn’t think it was that funny. But she knew she still had things to learn about English, too. Especially what people thought was funny.
Once they arrived, the girls sprinted into the Soccer Centre. They rushed through the change-room door and collapsed into a corner of the room, laughing the entire way.
Izzy threw her track pants into a heap. She pulled her socks up so fast she heard them rip. Sarimah stepped into her cleats and yanked at her laces. They headed out as fast as they had arrived, leaning on each other. They barely fit through the door, and spilled onto the turf like a couple of puppies.
Sarimah’s shin pads were almost falling out of her socks. Izzy’s shirt was inside out.
“I don’t want to know,” Coach K said, looking at them. “You two should take some laps to get warmed up.”
“We have been running already,” Sarimah said. This triggered another bout of giggling.
The leftover laughing didn’t help them kick the ball. Sarimah’s shots sailed high. Izzy’s passes dribbled wide. Sarimah stopped laughing once she stubbed her toe. She bent down to rub her left foot.
“Maybe if you weren’t wearing your father’s old cleats, you’d kick the ball better,” Tamsen said, trotting past.
The more Sarimah thought about the insult, the angrier she got. She stared at the other girls on the team. They all had bright yellow or electric-blue shoes. They were so bright she thought they must glow in the dark. The other girls had shiny soccer shorts and extra-thick shin pads.
Sarimah looked down at her own legs. She looked at the heavy black cleats. She saw shin pads that looked like they wouldn’t protect her from a light breeze.
Who cares? she thought. In Syria, I would play barefoot if I had to. In Turkey, we had to play barefoot. No one brought shoes when they escaped from Syria.
Sarimah could feel her chest tighten. She clenched both her hands into fists.
Finally, it was her turn in a three-on-two drill. She exploded from the line.
“Here I am!”
Her shout startled Giorgianna so much she passed to Sarimah without thinking. Sarimah took two strides and blasted the ball as hard as she could.
The ball dipped and swerved, and hit the back of the goal.
“Yeah!” She remembered how well she played when she was angry.
She jogged back into line. As she passed Tamsen, she slowed down a little. “I guess there are still some goals left in Papa’s old shoes,” she said.
Coach K blew his whistle and divided the team into two. Sarimah and Izzy were together, with Tamsen and Kaelynn.
“You’ll be the Thornton School connection,” the coach said as he tossed them the red pinnies.
The teams separated and the play started. The yellow team kicked the ball all the way back to Marty in goal. Sarimah wanted the ball. When the yellow team put the ball into the centre of the field, Sarimah took a chance. She sprinted up to double-team Rosy and then stepped in front of a pass for an easy steal.
“Sarimah!” Tamsen shouted.
Tamsen was on a full sprint up the field. Sarimah could see a wide-open lane and she hit the ball. Tamsen collected it and charged into the goal area. The defender slowed Tamsen enough that Sarimah had time to catch them.
“Tam
my!” she yelled from the right wing.
Tamsen passed to Sarimah, who faked a shot. She passed across the goal to Kaelynn on the left wing. Kaelynn scored into an empty goal.
“Why didn’t you shoot, Sarimah?” Marty cried, throwing her hands in the air. “I was ready for a shot!”
“Nice play, everyone!” Tamsen said.
Sarimah smiled at Tamsen and Kaelynn as they headed back to their side of the field. Their team went on to win the game 4-0.
Sarimah noticed a difference in her teammates after the intense practice. In the change room, they asked Sarimah what she liked best about Canada. She asked them about soccer in the summertime. Sarimah felt like she belonged.
“I love your hair colour,” she told Molly. “It is like the sun setting.”
“Oh, okay, that’s awesome. You’re my new best friend now.”
They were chatting happily when Coach K shouted into the room.
“I need Tamsen, Marty and Izzy out here, please.”
“Team captains,” Izzy said. “Let’s go.”
“What are they going to talk about?” Sarimah asked Molly.
“Probably something about the city finals,” she said. “They’re coming up soon.”
Sarimah finished changing and walked outside the change room. Some of the parents had arrived on the field level.
“Great playing out there,” one woman said. “I’m Lisa’s mom.”
“Thank you,” Sarimah said.
“We are all happy you’re here and safe. It’s tragic what’s happening to your country.”
“Yes, it is. But I am thankful for Canada.”
“Are you going to play on the team?”
Sarimah’s heart skipped a beat. “That would be nice. But I have never played on a team before. Maybe I am not ready.”
Many of the parents laughed.
“You sure have us fooled, then,” Lisa’s mom said.
Sarimah was confused at first, but then it dawned on her. The parents thought she was a good player. She held her head high as they left for home — with plenty of time to spare.
Snow Soccer Page 5