6 Up Early

Sarimah spent the whole night thinking about how hard it had been to play soccer in the snow. Even with all her schoolwork, the cold weather and making new friends, soccer was all she could think about. Before her alarm even went off, she awoke from a soccer dream.

She had already changed for school and was eating her breakfast by the time her father appeared in the kitchen. He poured water into the kettle and found the tea in a cupboard.

“Why are you awake this early?” he asked her, in Arabic.

“Papa, we should be practising our English,” she said, in English.

He grinned and paused. She could tell he was searching for the right words.

“Okay,” he answered her. “You are too good. I need time.”

“Five more years, maybe,” she said with a big smile.

He laughed.

“Yes, maybe,” he said. “But why are you here so early?”

“I’m just excited.”

He pulled a mug from the cabinet and sat down at the table. “Well, I am very glad you are starting to enjoy it here, despite the weather.” This time he spoke in Arabic. He rubbed his eyes and yawned. He looked out the kitchen window. It was dark, and he shivered.

“It is okay, if you dress for it,” Sarimah said. “We even play soccer in the snow.”

He looked up at her and smiled. “The snow? Soccer?” he said, back in English.

Sarimah poured more cereal into her bowl and topped it with milk. She dug her spoon into the bowl and brought it to her mouth.

“It is fun,” she said before chewing. “It was hard the first time, and a girl at school says I am not very good. But, now that I think about it, it’s kind of like playing on the sand.”

Her father laughed. “Snow is nothing like sand. There is no sunshine, no heat. Just cold.”

Sarimah’s dropped her shoulders a little. “That’s not what I meant. I mean, the ball does the same things. Sometimes it skips, and sometimes it plunks in the snow and doesn’t move. And you have to run really hard to get anywhere in the snow, just like in the sand.”

He stood and moved to her. He kissed her on the forehead. “You are right. I am teasing. And it takes more energy to run around in those boots,” he said, again switching back to Arabic. “Playing in the snow will make you even better after it melts — if it ever melts.”

She had never thought about that. Maybe that’s why she felt so good, lately. After a week of walking around in snow boots, of kicking the soccer ball in the snow, perhaps she was getting stronger. Then she started to remember all that she’d learned playing in the sand: how to run on her toes and how to use the soft ground to cushion long, loopy passes. Most important, she remembered the ball had to find the right spot. If the ball was in a hole, she had to nudge it out before trying to kick it.

Suddenly, she really wanted to get to the soccer field. She pushed away from the table and rushed to pack her bag. As she turned to get her scarf, she glanced at the clock. It was only 7:30 — too early to be leaving. She was getting dressed for the cold when her father appeared beside her. He put on this coat, hat and mitts.

“Papa, what are you doing?”

“I’m going to school, too,” he said. “For my English lesson. I will walk you to school and wait until my lesson starts.”

When they arrived at the schoolyard, it was still a bit dark.

“You will play in this? It is like the North Pole,” her father said as he looked around.

Sarimah reached into her backpack and pulled out the old black and white soccer ball Brandt had given her. She plunked it on the frozen field near the goalposts. In the frigid cold, it didn’t bounce much. But Sarimah didn’t care. Playing soccer any time felt amazing, even on a snowy, icy field in the early morning.

Sarimah turned and flicked the ball with the toe of her boot. She watched as it skidded from one hole in the snow to another. It sat low, making it hard to kick. Instead, she scuffed it forward and started to run with it. She tried to run as fast as she could while looking straight ahead. The ball bounced and wobbled, forcing her to change direction often.

When she got close enough to the goal, she tried a shot. The ball didn’t go very far, and it moved slowly. She ran after it and turned to run the other way, to the opposite goal. She was nearly tired out by the time she reached midfield.

Instead of just kicking the ball from anywhere, she waited for the ball to settle on a flat space in the snow. She had to put all her strength behind the shot for it to get anywhere.

The more Sarimah tried, the better she got. Soon, she was puffing out huge clouds of frozen breath above her. She was sweating a little, and her cheeks were red and numb. She kept thinking how much easier it would be in the summer sun.

Sarimah noticed that her father was still there, watching her. She dropped the ball and kicked it to him. He tried to knock it back, but it squibbed on a chunk of ice. They laughed together. By the time the sun was finally up, a few more kids had trickled into the schoolyard. Sarimah and her father had been practising for nearly fifteen minutes.