The Rabbit’s Foot

“Swyneth.” A woman’s voice, like an echo underwater. “Wake up.”   Chaos. Sirens. Static.   “911, what’s your emergency?”

When did my life become this?  

I used to think fate had me on speed dial. That I was born under the right star. It was always about who was lucky and who wasn’t. I thought I was the lucky one.

 I guess I was not. 

Flashback

  “Has anybody seen my purse?” I’m half-dressed, cleats in one hand, eyeliner in the other.   “Let’s go, girls. Field in one minute!” That’s my sister. Also my coach. Also the reason I’m here.

I was the youngest. The “lucky” one. My two older sisters swore our family was cursed — bad grades, bad boyfriends, bad timing. But not me.

The popular boys liked me. Girls wanted to be me. I was THE GIRL.   Athletic, straight A’s, never had to try. I didn’t need luck. I was luck. It was like fate carved out a special lane just for me and greased the wheels.  

Until my sister took it.

 Literally.   

But I’ll get to that.  

Game day. Three years ago.

  “Swy, you ready?” My sister’s eyes didn’t match her smile.  

 “Always.” I tossed my purse into my locker. Didn’t lock it. Why would I? Nothing bad ever happened to me.    

We won. MVP. After, my purse was on the bench. Unzipped. My lucky rabbit’s foot, (the one I’d had since I was seven) was gone.   

 That’s when the losing started.   Torn ACL. Scholarship gone. Boyfriend gone. Friends gone.    

Meanwhile, my sister? Promoted. Engaged. Happy. She started wearing a little fur keychain on her whistle. White. Worn. Familiar.  

I confronted her.   

She just laughed. “Swy, it’s a rabbit’s foot. Maybe you were never that special. Maybe you just ran out of luck.”  

So I proved her wrong.

   For two years, I worked like hell.   5 AM rehab sessions when my knee still screamed. Showing up to open gym when nobody knew my name anymore. I iced, I studied, I bled.   No charm. No shortcuts. Just me.   

 And it started working. I walked again. Then ran. Then played. D2 colleges sent letters. Not the dream, but mine. Earned, not given.   

 I finally understood: maybe I was never lucky. Maybe I was just good. And maybe that was better.    

Until last week. I saw her whistle. That stupid fur keychain. And I snapped.   I stole it back. It reminded me of everything I’ve suffered. 

 I put it in my pocket and walked out of the gym feeling invincible for the first time in years. Like the old Swyneth. Like fate was back on my side.

But what would I know that while walking home. 

The girls I used to call friends would try to steal what was mine.  

My luck.  

All I remember was Sandra the person I used to call my best friend told everyone about the stupid rabbit foot and how I got the luck from there.  

So, Gabriella the girl who wanted to be me the most. Saw me taking the rabbit’s foot from my sister’s. Deciding she also wanted to be the lucky one. Try to scare me by following me home with her car until I gave her what she wanted but I ran so she speed up and in a sudden impulse I stop and she ran over me.  

Present   

“Ma’am, can you hear me?” The paramedic’s flashlight stabs my eyes.   Metal tastes like pennies. My leg is at the wrong angle.   “911, what’s your emergency?” the voice repeats from someone’s phone.

The EMT digs through my pockets for ID. He pulls out three things and sets them on the gurney beside me:   

 Lip gloss.  

 Lip balm.  

 And a rabbit’s foot.