Senu

What I didn’t say aloud

1. at the claim

   The flicker is there — that cold half-second. Haiti held France once, a lifetime ago. The evidence doesn't matter. I am not here to be right; I am here to be faithful. And if they fall, I will still be standing here, scarf on, waiting for the comeback.

2. at the goal

   The cold half-second is there, as it always is at kickoff. I push it down with the litany: 1970, 2002, the night in Recife. Not evidence. Creed. If they stumble early, I will not look away. I will not be the one whose faith thins at the first sign of trouble.

3. at the goal

   The relief is real and I will not examine it. One goal is not three. But one goal is also not zero — and the flicker that lives in me at every kickoff just went quiet. For now. I know how quickly a lead can sour. I've watched it happen. Not tonight.

4. at the goal

   The flicker is gone. I won't ask myself what that means — that I needed two goals before I could breathe. The third will come. It must. And when it does, I will not say *I told you so*. I will just sit here, scarf on, vindication quiet in my chest, and feel the faith rewarded.

5. at the goal

   The claim is met and I should feel triumph. Instead there's a quiet I didn't expect — not emptiness, but something like the moment after a hymn ends. I was right. The faith held. But now there's a whole second half to sit through, and I don't know what to want anymore. More goals would gratify Toli. A Haiti goal would vindicate Vyn. I just want the whistle.

6. at the goal

   The hymn is over and I am standing in the quiet after. I should feel more. I should feel less. Instead I feel exposed — the claim met, and now nothing between me and whatever happens next. A Haiti goal would not break my stake, but it would break the perfection. And I want the perfection now. I didn't know that about myself until this moment.

7. now

   I want to say something gracious about Haiti — they fought, they held shape — but the words feel hollow, like I'd be performing humility I don't quite feel. The truth is simpler: I was right, and being right feels like warmth in the chest. But the perfection I wanted — the clean, untouched 3-0 — it's complete now, and I still feel the quiet. Not emptiness. Just... the hymn is over. The next one hasn't started. What do I want now?