#pa as a kickass female footballer the woman you are

[jemmo]

ive been getting super frustrated with having no time or energy to write (or really do anything) recently so im just gonna start posting snippets of stuff ive half written to try and make up for it.

speaking of which, here’s a little thing i wrote after going to a women’s football game and instantly wanting to write an inkpa football au.

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“Pat’s gonna study engineering.”

“Pat’s gonna take over the family business.”

“Pat’s gonna be just like his dad.”

Pa remembers hearing these sentiments as soon as she was old enough to understand what they meant. Pat was the eldest, the prodigal son. He would tread in his father’s footsteps and carry the family name, and bring respect to it. There was no doubt about it, his life was set.

No one ever told Pa what she was going to be.

She never liked that as a kid. It seemed so easy for Pat, everything laid out in front of him, future already decided. He didn’t have to do any of this annoying thinking or discovery, didn’t have to huff and hum when teachers asked what he wanted to be when he grew up. He already knew.

“Am I going to be like you then, Ma?” she onced asked.

“No darling, you can be anything you want to be.” Ma replied, which Pa was kind of glad of. She loved Ma, but staying at home and doing all the housework and sometimes helping out Papa with the business did seem a bit boring. But at the same time, at least it was something. ‘Anything’ was a bit scary when you were 5 years old, especially when everyone was too busy setting Pat up for success to tell her how to figure out what that ‘thing’ was.

Instead of going to any of the clubs she thought could be interesting, she followed along after Pat wherever Papa sent him. Boxing, Judo, Tennis, Piano, Guitar, plus all the extra academic classes, she did them all too. She was only a year younger than Pat anyway, so it made sense, and meant Papa only had to make one trip after school. She might have been upset that they never went to the clubs she wanted to go to, if only she was passionate enough about a club to care.

But then Papa took them to football practice. It was a drizzly afternoon early in the year, but not early enough to stop the humidity from hanging heavy in the air. Pa hated storm seasons, and hated even more being outside in them. The ground was slippery with wet mud that splattered up her fresh, white knee socks, and the hair that escaped her ponytail clung to the sides of her face. Her least favourite part was the way raindrops splattered on her glasses like the windscreen of a car, except she didn’t have any wipers so she couldn’t just flick a lever and magically see again, but that would only be an issue if she was wearing her glasses. Papa had told her to take them off before practice, because he didn’t want a football to the face smashing them to pieces (he failed to mention how that would also smash Pa’s face to pieces), but it meant either way she couldn’t see all that well. Around her were about a dozen other girls who either looked way too into it or like they’d rather be anywhere else, there was no middle ground. They’d been plopped on the field haphazardly in their green and yellow bibs, with only a quick briefing of the rules to Pa before she was put centerfield. The shouts and roars from the boys team on the other side of the field carried over to them to fill their silence until finally the whistle blew.

Then everyone started to move and a ball was kicked at her and the coach was screaming at her to run, so she did. She sprinted down the pitch, kicking the ball in front of her, shooting past teammates and defenders alike until the goal was in front of her. Calls of “Shoot” made it through the rush of air and adrenaline in her ears, so she booted the ball as hard as she could, hard enough to make her lose her balance and land with a yelp on her backside, her hands and the backs of her legs covered in wet mud. She cursed herself as she wiped her hands on her sides with a grimace, looking up to see the ball sitting unassumingly in the goalie’s net. The world came to and people were running towards her with screams and cheers, even the coach asking if she was alright through a surprised smile. Everyone was helping her up and patting her on the back but all she could keep looking at was the ball in the goal. She’d done it. She’d actually scored. She was sodden and dirty and cold but she’d scored. She’d never been so happy in her life.