Whistle

By Paxton Ackerman, 16, Illinois

Whistling–the faint sound of a tune pleases me. It was one of the little enjoyments after the week I had. “Maybe if I’m not so nice,” I think while kicking rocks on the way to school. All I could think about were my grades and performances on the basketball court. I’ve always prided myself on being a good teammate and helping others, but that hasn’t really worked in my favor recently. 

When I get to school, my friend Jake stops me to tell me about some girl. I usually stop to listen; but not today. I blow Jake off. On my way to class, I get reminded of the whistle in my head. This time it was a little less pleasant, more like crickets when I’m trying to sleep. In class, I don’t pay attention; I’m too worried about my practice after school. Our team has been struggling recently, mostly because of me underperforming. During the school day, I don’t talk much and try to avoid all of my friends to keep my mind right. The whistling still bugs me like crazy and I don’t know how to stop it. During the last hour of the day, my study hall kids ask me for help on homework. “They’re so dumb,” I think while my head rings. Instead, I watch film on my games and get my work done. I can’t be worried about other people; I’ve got to think about myself. 

Right after school I head to my practice, my head fills with thoughts of how I am going to perform. We have to get ready for our game tomorrow–a must-win for us. This entire practice I am playing the best I’ve ever played; I wish I could say the same for our team. Collectively, we are sloppy, but it doesn’t bother me because of how well I am playing. After practice, Coach yells at us for our poor performance or something, but I cannot hear a thing. The whistle is the loudest it has ever been, and I am not sure how to stop it. During my walk home, I talk to my friend Jake about the practice. “We are not going to win tomorrow if we play like that,” he says. Even though I have a hard time hearing him, I agree and tell him how good he did today. If I am being honest, he didn’t play well at all, but I wanted to make up for blowing him off this morning.

Jake starts to discuss the game more, and this time it’s different. I can hear him a lot more clearly now. The whistle starts to turn down for me. It’s nice to not have that sound whistling as loudly in my head. I get home and go straight to bed, no time to talk to my siblings or parents. There is nothing I need to talk to them about anyway. I try to fall asleep but the whistling doesn’t allow it. I thought that it was leaving me, but I guess not. The next morning is rough because I got almost no sleep. It’s a weekend game, so I head straight to the bus. On the bus I lock in on the game and don’t talk to anyone. Finally, it’s game time. I couldn’t hear a word Coach said in the locker room, but it doesn’t matter because I know I’m going to do great.The game goes on; it is very close. There are a lot of ups and downs, but at the end we are down by one with 15 seconds to go. We have no more timeouts left. Up until now, I have been our  lead scorer with 30 points. I have taken all the shots. For the last shot, Coach calls a play from the sideline. I can’t hear him. Instead I try to take a contested final shot that I miss. I later learn that the play was designed for my friend Jake. Everyone is mad at me because Jake was wide open. I don’t care, though, because I played so great. The whistling screams in my head; I understand how it all works now. I understand why the whistling is happening. That night as I lay in my bed, I hear whistling, an excruciating sound in my head that pleases me, because I know that the whistling means I’m succeeding.

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This work is inspired a lot by my own life and the struggles I have treating people the right way. Even though the character in my story chooses his own interest and not being kinder, I would not choose the same. 

Photo by TJ Dragotta