Page 4 of Five Things I See in You

When Tina takes charge of the music, the living room stops being a place where you can talk and turns into a makeshift dance floor, with the kids in the middle, so I take the chance to slip out to the garden.

Noa is alone in a corner despite the cold, her glass untouched, staring at some bushes like she’s meditating.

“I see you’ve escaped. I’m not surprised, your teammates can be a little intense at first,” I say, standing beside her.

“I needed a minute, but don’t tell Iris.”

Inside, someone turns up the volume.

“What position do you play?” she asks.

“Me?”

She goes quiet and bites her lower lip, like she’s afraid she’s put her foot in it.

“Sorry, I hope I didn’t offend you. I thought I knew all the players on the team from the videos and the photos. I’m sorry,” she apologizes.

Just as I’m about to explain to her that I don’t play soccer and that I’m the club’s sports psychologist, Tina changes the song and half the team celebrates with shouts.

“I’ve spent a week drinking the worst coffee of my life,” she says suddenly, I guess to fill the silence and change the subject.

“Where have you tried it?”

“Three coffee shops and the machine by the locker room. So far, the machine’s winning,” she jokes. “I can’t find a place that makes a good flat white.”

“Well, ordering that here isn’t very common, but I know a place where they make a really good one, or so I’ve been told. It’s in the Ballard area, wait, let me write the name down for you,” I say, grabbing a paper napkin. “Try it and then tell me if it’s worth it. By the way, I don’t play soccer, I listen for a living,” I add with a wink before heading back inside the house.

***

I prepare a group session for the whole team on Thursday morning, in the room overlooking the main field. I’ve put their names on each chair, because letting this group choose where to sit means risking starting twenty minutes late. I’ve placed Noa in the second row. Not so close to the front that she’ll feel put on the spot, but not so far back that she can hide.

“When you feel the tension, quickly think of five things you can see, four you can touch, and three you can hear. Then two you can smell and finally one you can taste. It takes a little practice before you need it, but it works because it keeps your mind busy with something other than the anxiety.”

I’ve already explained it to half the squad in private over the years, but as a group it’s different.

“I see five things,” says Iris, her hand raised but not waiting her turn: “Tina, Tina, Tina, Tina, and Tina, who’s chewing watermelon gum.”

“Okay, four things you can touch, Iris.”

“The first thing that comes to mind is something dirty, so I’m not answering during work hours,” she jokes.

Half the room laughs. I let them. Iris has sabotaged sessions for as long as I’ve known her, but deep down she helps me, because she loosens up the atmosphere and then everyone gets into the group dynamic more easily. When the noise dies down, I realize Jade is still going through her list, counting them off on her fingers, her hand resting against her thigh, moving her lips. She always does the whole thing. She follows any instruction to the letter.

Noa stays seated near the window with the look of someone just passing through. She nods at the right moments, doesn’t ask anything, keeps her back very straight. Her hands, on the other hand, move every time I say something.

When it’s over, Iris takes half the team to eat at a restaurant she’s just discovered on the outskirts of the city and the room empties in the blink of an eye. Noa stays a moment, pushing her chair back into place.

***

Valeria brings me the report from the individual session the next day.

“She’s polite, says all the right things, but doesn’t share anything remotely personal,” she announces, shrugging. “I think that girl has spent years working with sports psychologists and knows how to handle the situation.”

“Follow-up?”

“I told her we do it at her request, that’s what your protocol calls for. I made it very clear to her and she simply answered ‘Ok.’ I’m pretty sure she’s not going to request it.”

I study her file. Reeves, Noa. Left winger. Three pages of statistics and a few videos, among them one of a goal celebration in the most important game of her life: she’s just scored, she runs with her mouth open and her teammates come up from behind to pile on top of her.