Coach Jansen

Benjamin lay still on the hospital bed, staring blankly at the ceiling.

The white walls and the beep of the machines around him were the only constants in the haze that had been his life for the past few days. His parents' voices, his sister's laughter, they were all gone.

He winced as the dull ache in his left leg pulsed with each heartbeat, reminding him of the shattered life he was now left with.

His mind kept going back to the moment when it all happened, he could still hear the silence that followed, a silence that had swallowed everything he loved.

The door creaked open, pulling Benjamin from his thoughts. In walked Coach Jansen. The sight of him brought a rush of mixed emotions in him.

The coach, a man of few words but strong actions. He had this commanding presence even off the pitch, standing tall even though his age was starting to show in the lines of his face and the slight stoop in his posture.

His graying hair and the wrinkles etched deep into his forehead made him look older than Benjamin remembered, but his sharp blue eyes, full of intensity and understanding, hadn't changed.

"Benjamin," Coach Jansen said, his voice low as he stepped closer to the bed. He nodded, his Dutch accent curling around the syllables. "I'm glad to see you're awake."

Benjamin looked away, swallowing the lump in his throat. He didn't feel glad to be awake.

Coach Jansen pulled up a chair next to the bed and sat down. His eyes lingered on Benjamin's casted leg, and for a moment, neither of them spoke. The silence stretched on, becoming uncomfortable before Coach Jansen finally broke it.

"How are you feeling?" he asked, his tone gentle but probing.

Benjamin stared at the ceiling, his mouth dry. How was he feeling? He didn't even know how to answer. Broken didn't seem like a strong enough word. Empty, lost. He wanted to say all of that, but the words stuck in his throat.

"My leg…" was all he managed to croak out.

Coach Jansen leaned forward, clasping his hands together. "Yes, your leg. I spoke with the doctors."

Benjamin's heart sank. He didn't want to hear it, he'd ignored the ramblings of the doctor for the past few days. He wasn't ready for what came next, but there was no avoiding it.

"The injury…" Coach hesitated for a moment, then sighed. "It's a tibial plateau fracture, Benjamin. It's not the worst-case scenario, but it's serious."

Benjamin's stomach twisted at the unfamiliar words. Tibial plateau fracture. He had no idea what that meant, but he knew it couldn't be good.

"The tibia is the main bone in your lower leg," Coach Jansen explained, as if sensing Benjamin's confusion. "The top part, where it meets your knee, is the part that's fractured. It's going to take months to heal, God willing without the need for surgery and after that, there will be rehab. A lot of rehab."

Benjamin's mind went blank. Months? Surgery? Rehab? His head felt numb as the realization of what the coach was saying started to settle in.

"And… will I still be able to play?" The question left his lips before he even realized it. His voice trembled, and he hated how weak he sounded. How desperate.

Coach Jansen didn't answer right away. Instead, he leaned back in the chair and crossed his arms, his brow furrowed in thought.

"It's too early to say, Benjamin. The doctors will do their best, and with hard work, there's a chance you could get back on the pitch one day. But…" He paused, his eyes locking onto Benjamin's. "It's going to be a long road. You're young, and you've got time. But it won't be easy."

Benjamin stared down at the thick white cast encasing his leg. It felt like a prison.

His dreams of becoming a football legend, everything he'd worked for, everything his parents had sacrificed for felt like it was slipping through his fingers.

He clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms. "A long road," he muttered bitterly. That's what everyone kept telling him. He was sick of hearing it.

Coach Jansen sat in silence for a moment, watching him closely. Then, with a sigh, he spoke again. "You've always been a fighter, Benjamin. I've seen you overcome obstacles on the field that most kids your age would've crumbled under. This injury… it's another challenge. A big one. But I know you have it in you to come through it."

Benjamin wanted to believe him. He wanted to believe that he could fight through this, that he could somehow make it back to the game.

But how could he focus on football when his world had just been torn apart? His family was gone. His leg was broken. Everything was broken.

He closed his eyes, trying to shut out the overwhelming weight of it all.

"I don't know how to do this," Benjamin whispered. "I don't even know if I can walk again, let alone play football."

Coach Jansen's face softened, and for a moment, he looked less like a coach and more like a father figure. "I'm sorry, Benjamin. I can't imagine what you're going through. Losing your family… that kind of pain doesn't go away easily. But you're not alone. We'll get through this. One step at a time."

Benjamin opened his eyes, blinking away the tears that threatened to fall. We'll get through this. But it didn't feel like "we." It felt like he had to go through it. Alone. No one else knew what it was like to have everything ripped away twice.

"Do you have any other family here in the Netherlands?" Coach Jansen asked.

Benjamin shook his head slowly. "No. I know no one from my father's side, but my mom is from Nigeria. I and my sister were conceived here in the Netherlands. I don't know anyone else. No aunts, uncles, or cousins here."

The coach nodded, his expression unreadable. "I see."

That was another layer of isolation. No familiar relatives, no one to lean on, no safety net. All he had was football, and now, even that was hanging by a thread.

"What's going to happen to me now?" Benjamin asked, his voice barely a whisper. He wasn't just asking about his leg. He was asking about everything. His future and his life from now on.

Coach Jansen rubbed his chin thoughtfully, "First, you focus on healing physically and emotionally. I'll talk to the academy and the other coaches to see what support we can give you. You'll need time, but we'll help you through this."

"I don't know if I can do it," Benjamin admitted, his voice shaking with fear and uncertainty.

Coach Jansen reached out, placing a firm but gentle hand on Benjamin's shoulder. "You can, Benjamin. I know you can. You've got more fight in you than you realize. But you don't have to do it alone."

Benjamin nodded, though the doubt still gnawed at him. He wanted to believe Coach Jansen, but everything inside him was screaming that it was hopeless. That he was stuck. That no matter how hard he fought, the road ahead was too long, too difficult.

And maybe, just maybe, he didn't have it in him to keep fighting.

As Coach Jansen stood to leave, he gave Benjamin one last look, his eyes full of understanding. "I'll be back to check on you frequently," he said. "And when you're ready, we'll start planning how to get you back on your feet."

Benjamin didn't respond, his gaze fixed on the ceiling once again. The coach's words echoed in his mind, but they felt distant, like the sound of rain tapping against a window. He was too tired to care. Too tired to fight.