It was almost Friday — My day. The biggest game of the season was approaching, and we were facing our rivals: ElSalle. I wasn’t too worried though. This had been our best season yet. Actually, it had been my best year yet — period. I basically had the world in my hands. Star football player. Hometown hero. Girl of my dreams by my side. Life could not have been better.
I made my way into town to meet up with my girl, Polly, and grab some dinner. Suddenly, I heard a voice call my name.
“Bobby, hi! How are you? It’s been forever,” a familiar voice exclaimed.
I hesitated, then turned around and greeted the girl from my past. She launched into a long speech about the music she’d been working on. Cleary bored, I started to walk away.
“Bobby wait! Can we talk about what went down between us? Please?” she called out to me, her voice cracking.
I turned and said flatly, “It does not matter what “went down between us” because I’m with the girl of my dreams and can’t waste time talking to a low life nerd like you.”
Her face fell. She looked completely crushed, but I didn’t care. She kept rambling about how I led her on, but I didn’t want to hear it. I walked right past her and headed toward Polly.
I finally made my way over to Polly. We sat down and began to discuss our weeks. I mostly went on about football, hyping up the big game. I even bragged a little about the new play we’d been practicing — the one that was sure to seal the win against ElSalle.
Then, out of nowhere, she said, “Do you want to come to this philosophy cafe thing with me. I’ve been going for a few weeks. It’s actually really interesting — we talk about theories and the big questions of life. It’s this Saturday and I was really hoping you would join me.”
I laughed, “Polly, come on. You know I think all that mushy life stuff is stupid. Besides, the guys are having a party this Saturday. You should come to that instead.”
Her smile faded. She rolled her eyes and went quiet for a moment. Then she stood up.
“You know what Bobby? I am sick of this!” she snapped. “I heard how you talked to that girl earlier, and that’s not okay. You dismissed something I care about, and that’s not okay either. You’re arrogant, close minded, and plain mean. Once you get over yourself and try something new, you can let me know. Until then, we are over!”
The restaurant fell silent. Everyone was staring. I sat there in utter disbelief. Who did she think she was? Anger surged through me. I slammed my utensils down and stormed out of there.
I started the drive home seething with rage. By the time I pulled in the driveway, the anger had turned into tears. I was absolutely crushed. I loved Polly more than anyone. Hearing how she really viewed me — arrogant, closed minded, mean — it hurt. I didn’t even understand half of what she said. Maybe I was a little full of myself, but the rest? Nonsense. What was I supposed to do? Start quoting philosophers and questioning the meaning of life? That stuff was for people with too much time and freakish voids to fill. I didn’t need to know anything new. I knew plenty. I knew everything I needed to. I knew I wanted to win that football game.
I wiped my tears and looked in the mirror. My reflection stared back — confident, charming, untouchable. Bobby Vono. Star football player. Hometown hero. Who cares if I lost the “girl of my dreams”. I needed to forget about it all and focus on the one thing I truly loved: football. I gave myself a pat on the back and went to bed as if nothing had happened.
The school day flew by, and it was finally time for the game. We ran through warmups and pep talks, the usual routine before games. I looked at my reflection one last time and told myself, I could do this.
The bright Friday night lights lit up the entire city. Thousands of people filled the stands, roaring with energy. This was it — ElSalle. The rivalry. The game everyone had been waiting for. Victory was so close I could practically taste it.
It was a close game — fourth quarter, tie game, less than two minutes left on the clock. It all came down to one last play — the one we had been practicing for weeks. My play. My time to shine.
I lined up behind our quarterback; my heart pounding a million times a minute. The ball snapped. The quarterback faked left, then swiftly handed it off to me. I held onto that ball like my life depended on it and took off.
The crowd erupted with cheers. I saw the opening — a perfect lane down the sideline. My cleats tore through the turf as I approached the endzone. Ten yards. Five yards. End zone in sight. This was it — my moment. The one that would prove to everyone I didn’t need anyone but myself. Then — crack.
A defender banged into my side, jolting me with force. My body twisted midair before slamming straight down to the ground, the ball flying from my hands. Pain shot through my ribs. A hush fell over the stadium.
This is what true failure felt like. I was completely defeated. My teammate reached for my hand to help me up, disappointment written all over his face. But I didn’t take his hand; I just laid there for what felt like hours. I had lost everything. I lost Polly, the game, and myself. Eventually, I rolled onto my side, facing the endzone.
That was when I saw it. It was cracked. Hard. Gray. Run down. It was a rock. Just a rock. But I couldn’t stop looking at it. Something about it felt like me. Strong once, maybe. Now weathered. Beaten. Barely holding together.
The bus ride home was silent and heavy. We had lost, and it was all my fault. I wanted to shut my brain off; to stop replaying the moment I dropped the ball, but my mind kept wandering back to the rock.
When I got home, I immediately went to my room. After the day I had, I just needed to get some sleep. I laid there in the dark, staring at my ceiling, still thinking about that stupid rock. I finally fell asleep, but that’s when things got strange.
I knew I was dreaming but it felt so real. I was back on the field; in the exact spot I had fallen. Suddenly, a man descended from the sky. He was tall with broad shoulders and an athletic figure. His beard covered the majority of his lower face, and his eyes were gleaming with wisdom. He stepped onto the turf and picked up the rock I had been so fixated on.
“YOU KNOW WHAT THIS IS, DON’T YOU?” the man boomed.
“Um yeah… It’s a rock,” I replied, confused.
He chuckled a bit, “OH BO, WE BOTH KNOW IT’S SO MUCH MORE THAN A ROCK.”
I froze. Who was this man? Why did he call me Bo? How did he know I had been thinking of the rock. I walked closer to the man, prepared to confront him with these questions.
Before I could speak, he said, “I AM PLATO. I CONSIDER MYSELF TO BE SOMEWHAT OF A PHILOSOPHER. YOU, BO, COULD BE TOO. OPEN YOUR EYES TO THE ENDLESS POSSIBILITIES OF LIFE AND LET ME SHARE MY WISDOM.”
Plato. That old philosopher Polly was obsessed with. I almost laughed then remembered, I had nothing to lose.
He pulled out a big brown sack from his shoulder and dumped a pile of rocks onto the turf. “TELL ME WHAT YOU SEE.”
I crouched down and studied the rocks. Some were chipped, others rough and worn out. They were all flawed except for one. It was smooth and perfectly shaped. I couldn’t look away.
YOU NOTICE IT, DON’T YOU?” Plato said, smiling. “THAT IS THE PERFECT ROCK. IT EXISTS IN THE REALM OF TRUE FORMS — A PLACE BEYOND THIS WORLD. EVERY ROCK YOU SEE HERE IS JUST AN IMITATION OF THAT PERFECTION.”
I blinked, trying to keep up. He went on to explain that everything we see in the physical world — including trees, rocks, animals, and even people — are imperfect copies of one perfect, eternal form that exists in a higher realm of truth. The rock I’d seen earlier was one of them: eroded, broken, struggling.
“LIKE YOU, BO,” he said softly.
He was right. I was like that rock — broken, flawed, and constantly changing. But unlike the rock, I could choose to grow and change. Plato told me my purpose was to strive toward my highest form — to become the best version of myself so that my soul could reach something higher.
It sounded so foolish at first, but in a strange way, it made perfect sense. Talking with Plato felt real. A wave of peace and curiosity washed over me. For the first time ever, I didn’t feel angry or invincible. I just felt… alive.
Just before I rose from my sleep, Plato said to me, “BE BRAVE. BE BEAUTIFUL. BE BO. “
