I remember a girl in gym class. We were in like 7th or 8th grade. Made us like 12 or 13 yrs old, I guess.
But before I go on about the girl, let’s talk about gym class when one is in the very early teens.
Terrible place.
We’re always wondering about where hair was (or wasn’t) growing, whether or not an odd odor came from our sweaty pits, socks, musty gym clothes, or someone else’s effects.
Then there were always the kids who were more muscular, fit, quicker on the run, or had the confident air about them so the lack of any of the essential gym class skills wasn’t a problem.
That would be me in the former instance and definitely not in the latter.
Our coach at the time wasn’t particularly bothered about ensuring everyone was toned and fit. He mainly just cared if 1) a given student was dressed for gym class and 2) there were enough kids playing on the floor to make teams. He didn’t need many teams – only two really, and he was happy.
So I learned very early on that a) if I dressed for class and b) walked verrrrrryyyy slowly out of the locker room, all the team spots would be taken and I’d still get credit for class.
Nice.
So that offered many opportunities for me to wander around, visiting and generally not participating in class, but still getting counted as being present.
Well I learned there’s a third element the coach really really liked – c) those who weren’t active in sport had better be sitting quietly on the bleachers. Or else.
We still got pops on the backside in those days. The coach had a paddle with holes drilled in them to provide less air resistance. I learned that the hard way.
Lesson quickly learned was that after walking slowly enough to not be selected for a team one, had to still walk quickly enough to get a good seat on the bleachers. One where one could chat quietly without being noticed by the coach.
It was an art, and I like honing my craft.
Within a couple of weeks, we all had the routine down. Jocks vault into play first, those who didn’t want to sit still for 30 – 40 minutes follow after them, and the rest of us fall neatly into file-and rank procession in our unofficial dedicated spots. All’s well with the world.
Then one day I felt something on my arm. Something warm.
I looked down and there it was.
The girl’s hand.
On my forearm.
I looked up at her but she was casually and intently looking at the two teams playing whatever game the coach selected for them. Carefully not looking at me.
“Eh,” I thought, “why not?”
So I reached out and held her hand.
The rest of the session was just us watching the players do their thing. Folks talking smack to each other, celebrating their wins and tripping each other on purpose. We were the spectators, enjoying the entertainment they offered. Holding hands, silently.
Then the buzzer went off and we all went our merry way. Because I wasn’t hot, sweaty, and adrenaline-filled, I could just swap gym clothes with street clothes without having to deal with the showers and towel-snapping that went along with that mess.
The next day came and went. Same scene.
And the next, and the same.
And the same.
We did this for weeks.
I never presumed she would want to hold my hand; she would always put her hand on my arm as the signal for me to reach out. And we would never chat more than a few words at a time, and then, only about what was taking place on the gym floor.
She never asked for my name. Likewise, I never asked for hers. We were in no other classes together; the school was large enough that we never crossed paths outside of that 4 foot special place on the gym bleachers.
We danced that polite, gentle dance until the semester ended and our schedules tossed every classmate all over the map.
Looking back I’ve always thought this to be an odd arrangement.
Odd in may ways – not just those stated, but these as well:
No one EVER teased us for holding hands in the middle of class. I’ve been in the midst of the “Johnny loves Sally” crowds, and have thrown a few shouts out myself from the sidelines before then (and after then I must admit). But this seemed natural to all around – like watching a sparrow leap from a branch into the air. No one stares at shocked amazement for THAT event, and no one did for ours.
We never sought each other out outside of class. That was part of our unspoken understanding; this was a special time where we were safe. There was no pressure to follow up on anything after that. We were free to come back the next day and be in a warm and gentle place.
We calmed each other in the midst of one of the most stressful times in a young (pre)teen’s life without saying anything meaningful. Not because we were “soulmates” or were “destined” to be together. Simply because we were both polite, respectful, and dependable.
I often think about that young lady.
Not because I want to find out about her, nor do I long for her hand-holding.
I just think that – and maybe this is a silly, romantic wish – that she’s found her safe place in the adult world, where she can simply BE and be pleased with that.
Not BE AWESOME
Not BE AMAZING
Not BE WITTY, ENTERTAINING, DA BOMB
Not BE EPIC WINNING
Just BE.
BE Happy.
Photo credit: https://www.flickr.com/photos/jrproductions2012/4629817118/sizes/l/
Some rights reserved by JordanAnthony