Once I felt the ligament pop, I knew that my season was over and that I was in for a long and painful spring and summer rehabbing by knee. What I did not know at the time was that I was also in for a remarkable journey with someone who has always been close to me, but went largely unnoticed.
My name is Jack. I am a college sophomore at a junior college in Western Florida. I stand 6'2" tall and am in good shape from playing basketball in high school and college. Since I was a late starter playing guard in high school, my plan was to put two years in at junior college and hope to attract some interest from a solid four-year program. Things had been progressing nicely, and I had even had some scouts talking with me about transferring, until that fateful game in late February.
It was basically a meaningless game, we were finishing out the year with a decent record with one final out-of-conference game before our conference tournament. It was in the middle of the third quarter, as I made a cut to the basket, that I felt a pop in my right knee and it suddenly went out from under me. Although I had never experienced it before, I knew what it was right away, a torn ACL. Perhaps the most difficult injury to overcome in basketball.
I had surgery the following week and, given the modest size and resources of my school, was left on my own to follow a rehabilitation schedule. The calls from scouts dried up instantly and I returned to my parent's home outside of Tampa with a profound feeling of loss and depression. I was met by my parents and my younger sister, Janie, with words of consolation and encouragement, but I wasn't ready to face the prospect of recovery and spent most of my time alone in my old room.
After a few days, Janie came to my room one morning as I was just beginning to wake up. She knocked lightly and, after I did not answer, opened the door slightly and peered cautiously inside.
"You've been living in this room since you got home and it sure looks, and smells, like it," she said quietly as she surveyed my room from behind the door.
I opened my eyes to look at her and followed her gaze around my room. There were clothes everywhere and the smell that even I was beginning to notice was probably due to old pizza boxes and half empty beer cans taking up most of the surfaces in the room.
"Yeah, guess I haven't felt much like socializing," I said as I sat up in bed. I still had to be careful not to twist my knee, which was currently laying atop two pillows, when I moved.
"Can I come in?" she asked as she moved clear of the door.
I motioned for her to sit at the foot of the bed. As she walked by I noticed she was dressed for the gym in short athletic shorts, a sports bra, and sneakers. I looked at her abdominal area and was impressed by the definition in the muscles there. Janie was about 5'5" tall and was in excellent shape. She had taken up doing sprint triathlons in the last year and it was beginning to show in her body. She was solid and muscular, but still young enough to have the post-pubescent curves of a girl who is just embarking into womanhood. While I had inherited the brown hair and eyes and mostly darker features of our mother, she had inherited the blond hair, blue eyes, and fair complexion of our father. Even though it was March, her skin had still tanned a bit from the Florida sun and I could see some light freckling across her shoulders. One place that Janie had not completely matured (and probably never would judging from our mother) was in her breasts which were an A cup and hardly noticeable in her sports bra.
"Listen Jack, I hate to think of you in here sulking after hearing you over the years talk about your plans of playing basketball at a major program. I can remember how you used to tell me about that dream when I was still in middle school when we were alone, like it was our little secret. I used to love the idea that you didn't talk to many people, even our parents about it, like it was a special dream that I shared with my big brother. Seeing you achieve so much, inspired me to start training and doing triathlons, and I feel that I should be encouraging you now to get better."
I remembered those talks I had with Janie when I was in high school, and she was right that I didn't tell too many other people about my goals. What she didn't know was that I did that so that I wouldn't have to live it down if I failed. I told her because I needed to share it with someone, and my little sister seemed the least threatening person I could tell. But the way she sounded so sincere and grateful just then, I didn't think it would be a good idea to share that information. I was also somewhat touched that my own ambition had spurred her on, especially given her impressive results.
"Thanks, Janie but I'm not sure what you could do anyway. This may be a process I just have to go through myself."
"I guess I can understand that, but I want to be here for you in any way that I can. I've started training for a full triathlon in June, so if you need someone to go to the gym with, or to help with your rehab...."
"Thanks, kiddo. I guess you're all grown up now," I kidded with her.
"More than you know. Remember you've been away at college and preoccupied with basketball for a while now," she said with a smile. Her smile was sweet and I could tell she was kidding, but there was something in it that was unfamiliar. This may have been the first time that she ever offered to help me in such a big way. I was impressed, and I felt myself regarding her a little differently as she left the room.
After wallowing in my room for about another week I began to get a little cabin fever. My knee was still sore and a little swollen, but it didn't hurt to move that much and I could even hobble around a little.
Janie continued to visit with me in my room during that time. We would talk for hours and I realized that we had a lot of catching up to do. We talked about school, teachers, our parents, and her plans for college. I began to find our conversations to be very interesting. I used to tease and torment her a lot when we were growing up and she would try to get back at me, often ending up just getting herself more angry.
Sometimes she would come into my room after being at the gym or out for a long run. She would sit on my floor and stretch while we talked. Although I wasn't purposely looking, at least not at first, I began to notice how in-shape she was. Her legs were lean and muscular, not bulging, but firm. He stomach was tight and her arms, though not big, were nicely defined. When she was turned away from me stretching, I would look at her tanned body and the way that her perspiration would cause a sheen on her skin. I'd follow her legs up to her shorts, her stomach up to her athletic bra, and I began to wonder what lay beneath the fabric of her material.
Of course given that she was an eighteen year-old girl the subject of boys eventually came up. We had always been open with each other, so one day, while she was stretching before a run, I decided to ask something that had been on my mind for a while.
