The Strongman
4
Portals of Opportunity
IN SIX YEARS of training, no girl ever expressed the least bit of interest in me. The girls on the cheer squad tolerated my presence, about the same way they’d treat a table if they had to stand on it. They had parties and went to events together, but I was never invited to go along. It was too much like asking a boy out, I guess.
I’d once been working out in the gym when one of the coaches called to me.
“Paul, please go spot for Andrea. I don’t want her trying this flip without a spotter.”
“Sure, coach.” I dismounted the parallel bars and rushed to the vault where Andrea was set to try a new vault.
“It’s okay,” Andrea said, waving me away. “I don’t think I’m ready for this today.” She turned around and headed for the locker room.
“That wasn’t directed at you, Paul,” the coach said. “Andrea’s been having some confidence issues lately and it was just the idea of someone other than me watching her that set her off.”
“Yeah… um… sure. No problem,” I said. Except it was a problem. It was the typical shun I got from girls. She had her hands chalked and was bouncing at the start until the coach said my name. Then she spun away so fast she must have left her shadow on the mat.
I don’t get it. What was so terrible about me that girls couldn’t stand to be around me? I showered daily—most of the time twice daily. I’d always been polite and tried not to stare at any girl. I mean… shit, I was eighteen. I couldn’t help but notice girls. I just wanted to be treated like a human being, you know?
“I came to Minneapolis for just one reason, Paul,” Tara said. “To work with you.”
“Uh… What do you mean work with me, Miss White?”
“Oh, please, Paul. I’m the same age you are. You can call me Tara. Let the bitches on the cheer squad keep calling me Coach White. It keeps them from sassing me. But I want to be um… friendlier… with you.”
“Tara? I guess maybe you don’t know who you’re really talking to. I have no idea what you mean. I don’t even want to think you might mean what I think you might mean. I’ve only ever been on one date in my life! And it was a disaster. I mean, the date was fun, but she never wanted to see me again. I’m a year older than everyone else in my class because it took me two years to finish tenth grade. I’m dumb as a box of rocks. And I think I’m going to hyperventilate.”
I started gasping for air. What the hell was my idol suggesting? Friendlier? How friendlier?
“I’m sorry, Paul. Wait! Don’t panic. I’m not more experienced at that kind of thing than you and I probably came off meaning something way differently than I meant. I mean sounding like it. I want to work with you. On gymnastics. Together. I need a partner.”
“A partner? Um… What do you mean. Can you still perform? That’s incredible. I’d do anything to see you perform again!”
“Thank you. I’m not completely crippled. I’ve been in physical therapy for hours every day for three years. I’m in PT or training most of the day still.”
“That’s really wonderful! How can I help?”
“I accept that I’ll probably never be the performer I was before the accident. But I want to perform again—even if only once. It will show people that even though I use a wheelchair or crutches, I can still be a coach. But I can’t do it alone. I need a partner who is strong and steady and sure. I need someone I can trust.”
“Why me?”
“I saw you at the Chicago Elite Competition this summer.”
“I sucked.”
“Not so bad. You were less experienced than just about everyone else on the mats. I called your coach and he told me you were working with the school cheer squad. That’s as close to Acrobatic Gymnastics as you can get without actually being in training from cradle to grave.”
“I don’t really know anything about performing in mixed pairs. But if I can help you, I will. Where will you perform?”
“We, Paul. We’ll perform at the Gymnastics for All National Championships and Gymfest. In June.”
“That’s at the National Olympic Trials. I didn’t qualify,” I said. That was a disappointment. I just didn’t have an adequate point total.
“You didn’t qualify as an individual for the Olympic Trials. But the Gymnastics for All Gymfest isn’t an Olympic Trial and it won’t advance anyone to higher level competition. Specifically, we’ll participate in the HUGS program.”
“Isn’t that like for special needs kids?” I asked stupidly.
“Uh… Paul…” she held her arms out to the side. “Who do you think I am?”
I gasped.
“Oh, geez! I didn’t think of… I mean… I thought they were all… You just don’t impress me as being handicapped even when you’re in your chair,” I spluttered.
“Thank you, I think. HUGS stands for Hope Unites Gymnastics with Special Athletes. When I damaged my spine, I became a special athlete. There’s no way I could compete again in mixed pairs, or in any individual gymnastic event. And there is no mixed pairs category in the HUGS event. I’ve petitioned the committee to allow a special demonstration. Pending a review of our performance, they’ve agreed. We have five months to put together our routine and make it work. There’s the Winter Cup qualifier in Louisville in February. We won’t be on the program, and we won’t be announced. We’ll simply demonstrate our routine for the judges.”
“Tara, I’m flattered that you think I could do this with you. Why don’t you want a real competitor to work with you? There are several guys in the gym who are a lot better than I am,” I said.
“Honestly? No one of a higher rank would be the least bit interested in working with a cripple. It would take time away from preparing for their own competitions. Paul, you aren’t a last resort, but you’re my best hope. Please say you’ll work with me.”
I just wanted to pick her up and carry her around—be the legs she didn’t have working. Do whatever she wanted. All I could do was nod my head yes.
I wasn’t expecting her to wrap her arms around my neck and give me a hug. I really wasn’t expecting her to pull herself around until she was sitting on my lap. I about passed out when she kissed me on the cheek. Then she whispered in my ear.
“And I won’t care if you squeeze my butt when I’m sitting on your hand,” she giggled. “I might not feel it, but I won’t care.”
What have I done? I just agreed to work with a national champion mixed pairs acrobatic gymnast who only has partial use of her legs. And I’ll have to dedicate the next nine months to her. And still get through school and cheerleading.
This whole thing had catastrophe written all over it. I needed to talk to my sister. That would be the smart thing. She was living in a dormitory on campus, but she never turned her cell phone off. It was almost dinner time, so I was pretty sure I could catch her when she wasn’t too busy. She never missed a meal.
“Mikey! I’m glad I caught you. Can we get together?”
“You mean in person? Hmm. Yeah, that would be a great idea. It’s Friday night. I know you don’t cook on Friday. Meet me at the Lucky Dragon buffet in half an hour. We’ll have dinner.”
“Wow! I didn’t expect you to be so fast. Especially on a Friday night.”
“I’m trying to slow down on dating so I can keep track of guys’ names,” she laughed. “I’m at the library right now and a librarian is giving me the stink eye. I’ll see you in half an hour.”
“Okay.”
Whatever the subject or the mission, my sister could take over and get it organized. I guess that was what I was hoping for. I hadn’t been anywhere near as organized this fall since she moved over to campus. I needed to make sure I left time this weekend to get my statistics assignment done. I only had four classes to complete for my diploma. That was due to taking school at a slower pace, but having class year-round.
My English course was focused on reading comprehension. We had to read something and then answer questions about it. A lot of the kids in that class were non-native English speakers, but it was a pretty good course. I had statistics for my math course. I was pretty good at math as long as I didn’t skip any steps. I was getting along in world history. The biggest problem with it was having to read so much. And then there was my US Government class. We joked a lot about it being almost obsolete since our government was abandoning the constitution and legal precedents of cases. But we’d all be eighteen and able to vote before the next general election, so the course was taught from that perspective.
I got vocational credit for my gymnastics work. That was cool. I had to sign a paper that said I was working toward a career in gymnastics and had to list ten jobs that a gymnast was qualified for. That stretched my mind a bit. And it made me think about what I was going to do with my life. I started gymnastics to get strong, but now that I was strong, I was doing gymnastics because I loved it. It didn’t feel like I needed a big goal. I would keep training for national competition and hope to advance next year, and eventually compete in the Olympics. I was teaching a Saturday morning toddlers’ class, but that didn’t really pay much.
I jumped off the bus at Seven Corners and walked quickly to the Lucky Dragon. College students loved this place. It wasn’t badly priced and once you were in, you could just keep eating as much as you could hold. I’d have to restrain myself so I didn’t overeat. The food was good.
Mikey ran to meet me outside the restaurant and give me a hug. I thought that was a little more demonstrative than we usually were. But we hadn’t seen each other in a month, so I guess it wasn’t that strange.
“They have the best spicy string beans here,” Mikey started at once. “The food in the dorm is all bland. I miss your cooking!”
“I miss having you at the table,” I chuckled. We went inside and immediately stacked plates with our first round of food. “How come you’re available on a Friday night? I figured you’d be out with some guy for your usual date and I’d have to settle for seeing you for breakfast sometime tomorrow afternoon.”
“Things change, Paul. After a few weeks of dating college guys, I kind of swore off. They just want to fuck a seventeen-year-old like they never managed in high school. It’s like, if I want to actually watch a movie, I need to go alone or with a girl. And some of the girls I don’t trust much. I just quit dating unless I want to fuck. Then I’ll choose a nice enough guy and go out with him. We do just enough to convince him that he deserves to have me put out, then we screw. I go back to the dorm and I’m fine for a couple of weeks.”
Mikey was always pretty blunt about her activities. I knew she’d been screwing guys for a couple of years while she was in high school. I’d never really gotten used to hearing her talk about it.
“Well, I’m glad you’re on an off week,” I laughed. “I think I got myself in over my head.”
“Whoa! What? Is someone picking on you? Can’t you defend yourself now? Just having dinner with you will be good to keep guys away from me for a week. You’re strong!”
“Yeah. That’s the problem, I guess. It’s a girl. I don’t mean the classic girl problems—except that I can never say no to one. There’s this super gymnast who I practically worship and she’s asked me to be her partner.”
“Partner? You mean live together?”
“Not that kind of partner. Mixed Pairs Acrobatic Gymnastics. I’m afraid I’m nowhere near good enough.”
That got us started and I told her all about Tara and the idea of being her partner for a demonstration of a partially disabled woman still doing gymnastics. Tara had showed me a few moves in the afternoon, and even though I had to lift her in order to get her to stand, she was pretty stable once she was on her feet. What she couldn’t do was walk without support. Mikey came right to the point when I told her about the HUGS program at the Nationals.
“Hmm. You spent thirteen years of school struggling through classes and regular curriculum when you could have had assistance by being classified as a special needs student. You did that because that kind of classification would follow you all through your life. But you’re considering entering a demonstration in a special needs gymnastics program when you’re perfectly capable of doing full performance artistic gymnastics at a senior elite level? Would people start looking at you as though you were one of these ‘special athletes’ who needed to be patted on the back and told you’re wonderful?”
“Wow! I didn’t even think of that! I was more worried about whether I’m really capable of doing what’s necessary. What if I can’t support her right? What if she got injured again because I dropped her. You know, her last partner killed himself after he dropped her.”
“Oh, man! Whatever happens, you just have to promise me you wouldn’t do a thing like that. I would never forgive you,” Mikey said.
“She doesn’t talk about it much, but I gather Tara never forgave her partner. For killing himself. I think she forgave him for dropping her. She is so strong and fierce that she didn’t let it stop her from getting back on the mats to perform. She did a handstand on her crutches this afternoon. But she can’t really walk without support, so all the usual tumbling routines are out. She can hold her legs in a position—though not as perfect a position as she used to. But she can’t use them to propel herself. No pushes, jumps, walks, or running,” I explained.
“You always made fun of the girls in pairs acrobatics. Even your partner in cheerleading, Penny. If I remember correctly, you said they looked like twelve-year-olds with too much makeup trying to act grown up.”
“That still gives me the shivers,” I laughed. “I guess I’ve kind of gotten used to Penny, Lana, and Melina on the squad. To them, I’m just furniture. There’s a new freshman on the junior varsity squad and I’d swear she was ten. I’m glad I’ll be out of school before she wants to be a flyer for varsity cheer. But Tara… Um… I try not to be an obsessive boy, you know? I mean…”
“I see. Tara has boobs,” Mikey said.
“Yeah. Really nice. They get flattened down in her sports bra and leotard, but… Oh, God! I asked her.”
“You asked about her breasts?” my sister exclaimed in disbelief.
“She started it. She asked what bothered me about working with the cheerleaders. I told her about the twelve-year-old thing and she started laughing. I said, ‘You’re not like that!’ And she was all, ‘No kidding!’ She said that after the accident, she was laid up with no exercise for nearly a year before she could start really working. Her breasts grew when she wasn’t working out.”
“And they came to stay,” Mikey laughed. “I bet that was something to get used to. How old is she?”
“Nineteen. But I’ll be nineteen in the spring. It’s not much of an age difference.”
“I wasn’t thinking of that. I started becoming aware of my sexual characteristics way back, even though they didn’t develop fast. I was this big two years ago. I’m just imagining her being my age now and having not developed, then suddenly having them thrust upon her, so to speak.”
“I’m sure it was an adjustment. She told me she wouldn’t care if I squeezed her butt when I lifted her, though she might not really feel it. That was unpredictable. She didn’t say it was okay to squeeze her breast,” I said, blushing.
“Don’t try it. She might have lost some feeling in her legs and butt, but there’s nothing wrong upstairs.” Mikey paused and looked at me curiously. “Is that why you want to work with her? I don’t mean, like, I think you’d try something with her because she’s crippled. I mean you really like her, don’t you? Paul, are you in love?”
“How would I know the answer to a stupid question like that? Yeah, I like her. She’s beautiful and smart and funny. And… um… she kissed me. I mean, on the cheek, but still.”
“Oh, my! My brother has a crush on a girl! Go for it!” she said suddenly. “Treat her like a princess. Do the routine she wants you to do. Talk to her and be friendly. I’ll bet she hasn’t had many guys trying to pick her up since her accident. You might be just what each other needs.”
“I don’t need a girl. I’ve done just fine without. I mean, I still like her. She’s sweet. But I don’t need her.”
“Okay. Forget I said that. I still think you should do it. There’s something different about you when you talk about her and what you can do together. I think it’s worth a go,” Mikey said, pushing herself back from the table. “Those cream-filled red bean buns are to die for. You’ve never thought of beans for dessert, I’ll bet. Whatever they do to them, they’re as good as any Danish you’ve ever had.”
We got dessert from the buffet and it was every bit as good as advertised.
“Let’s try this from a kneeling position now, Paul. Penny, approach from behind and spotters assist her as she steps up to Paul’s shoulders. Good. Balance! You both have to be steady. Paul, hands next to your shoulders, palms up. Penny, use your spotters to steady yourself and step out to put your foot in his hand. Good! Good! Deep breath. Feel your stability. When you feel you are stable, release your spotters and take your position with arms out to the side, then up in a vee.”
Tara gave us instructions at cheer practice. When Penny was standing on my hands with her arms raised in a vee, the whole squad cheered and applauded. Tara nodded at me and Penny didn’t even notice as I pressed my arms up until they were fully extended. She was standing two and a half feet above my shoulders when she realized she was up in the air.
“Spotters!” Tara barked. I lowered my arms and Penny wobbled off her platform to jump down, assisted by the girl on each side of us.
“Woohoo!” Penny shouted. “I did it!”
I clapped my hands for her, even though I wasn’t sure what she was so proud of. All she had to do was stand there. I was the one who did all the lifting. Penny was all anyone would really see, though, if we did that kind of lift in a routine. I’d watched every acrobatic cheer and gymnastics routine I could find online. No one ever noticed the base. They saw the top, way up in the air, posing in a victorious stance. I wondered if Penny could do the move on one foot. Could I lift her with just one hand? Yeah. That wouldn’t be a problem.
Of course, both Lana and Melina wanted to try mounting and standing on my hands. I got a real workout lifting and pressing the weight of our lightest cheerleaders. It was kind of silly, but I was really having fun. Tara made sure of it.
My four morning classes were out by eleven and I ran to Hennepin Gymnasium. The weather was getting pretty darn cold as we approached November, but we hadn’t had snow yet. I went straight to the locker room and changed clothes. I was on the mat stretching and warming up by eleven-thirty.
Tara was already in the gym and I could tell she’d been working with her trainer already. Once I was stretched and warmed up, she hobbled over on her crutches and smiled at me.
“You’re here early!” she said. “You don’t usually get here until after cheerleading.”
“Well, this means I’ll have to be back in two hours for practice,” I said.
“So will I,” she said. “I’ll give you a lift.”
“I’ve decided,” I said in a rush. “I’ll do it if you really want me to work on a routine with you. It was never really a question, I don’t think. I just had to talk myself into believing it. Tara, I’d love to work with you.”
“That makes me very happy, Paul!”
She lifted her crutches so she could wrap her arms around me and we hugged. Wow! I had never had much experience hugging someone with breasts. Or anyone else, for that matter. I could have held her like that all afternoon.
“Uh… Paul? If we’re going to work together, maybe we should stop hugging and get started.”
“Oh! Yeah. Sorry. I just… Never mind. Where do we start?” I asked.
“This isn’t so far from what we should be doing. We need to learn to move together. You need to learn how my body moves, and I need to trust you to keep me from being injured.”
“How do we do that?”
“Dance. A lot of Acrobatic Gymnastics overlaps with Acrobatic Dance. I’m wearing my knee braces. That seems to be where I’m weakest. Jennifer—my therapist and coach—says that while I’m weak in my legs, my core strength is still good. Or is good again. Let’s start with a basic promenade. I’ll move my legs and you’ll be my crutches.”
And that was how we started. I held my right arm around her waist as she had her left arm around mine. We held hands with the other arm across our middle. And we walked. It didn’t take long to figure out what she meant by being her crutches. She could move her legs, but she couldn’t move them and support her weight as she came down on them.
I’d never been in physical contact with a girl—a woman—for as long as I held Tara that afternoon.
Please feel free to send comments to the author at devon@devonlayne.com.
