Chapter 7: Special P.E.

My little brother was frustrated, but big changes were coming for him. He explained everything to me after it all happened.

Ken was in the middle of his physical education class. Going up for a rebound, he collided with all 6-1/2 feet and 240 pounds of Tank Brewster. Other students described the impact as bicycle vs. pickup truck, with Ken landing underneath the basketball net directly on his arm and spraining his wrist.

Bad weather kept the students inside for their physical education classes, with girls and boys using opposite ends of the gym. The old building had tiered rows of permanent bench seating on one side of the court. (Newer gyms had retractable bleachers around both sides, folding out as needed.)

Today, a day after the collision, Ken stayed in his regular clothing and parked himself up in row three, about six or eight feet above the floor. He wasn’t alone up there; down the same row, a pretty girl watched the other end of the court.

“I can stay over here feeling sorry for myself,” he thought, “or I can take a chance and go talk to her. Being shy has gotten me nowhere.”

“Hey, I’m Ken, short for Kendall. Do you mind if I sit with you?”

“No, have a seat. I’m Abby, short for Abigail. How did you get out of running around down there with those other guys?”

Ken held up his wrapped wrist. “How about you?”

“Um, I can’t tell you. My mother would kill me for saying anything. But maybe I can risk this: I’m having a problem between my chest and my knees.”

Ken puzzled over this, and then he noticed that Abby’s face was unnaturally pale, and not from lack of sunlight.

“Oh, I think I understand. Is there anything ... I have a protein bar in my backpack. Would that help?”

“No, but thanks for offering. Wait, I think I recognize you now. Turn around and face the other way. Yeah, I sit behind you in my English class. The bald spot is familiar.”

“What?!”

Ken whirled around and saw her smile.

“I’m teasing you, doofus.”

They went on chatting for a time while admiring each other’s looks. Abbie’s hair was blonde like Kara’s, but curly. Her eyes were light blue, and her lips were a very light pink with no lipstick and no makeup, either. Her shoulders and arms were covered by a garment (he learned later it was called a “tunic”) that fit her body loosely and extended down to her thighs. Underneath it, she wore loose pants, ankle socks, and inexpensive tennis shoes.

For a teen in their school, Abby’s outfit was very conservative and also concealed her body’s shape. Ken wondered about her figure but her body shape wasn’t his focus. He didn’t know the word, but his English teacher would have said he was “smitten.”

What Abby noticed was his smile, his tall and lanky body, and his perceptiveness. Most guys would not have picked up on the hint of her monthly issues. In fact, she’d collapsed from anemia symptoms during an earlier P.E. class. That’s why she was sitting in row 3 of the bleachers when she met Ken.

Their first meeting seemed far too short, as the period was ending. Down on the gym floor, the coaches sent off the students to their locker rooms.

“Ken, I look forward to seeing you here again tomorrow. Or do you have lunch period next?”

“I do! Can I buy you lunch?”

“Wow. Sure.” Abby blushed, imagining unexpected possibilities. Up until then, no male had shown so much interest in her.

“If I wasn’t so conservatively dressed, maybe more guys would have noticed me,” she thought. “It doesn’t help that my uterus is trying to kill me.”

Meanwhile, Ken noticed the excitement in her face and thought it was the cutest thing he’d ever seen.

A few minutes later, Kara and I were eating lunch together as usual, trying to be cool in front of the other students. We sat side-by-side so we could sneak food from each other’s trays. Gently, she elbowed me.

“Check out Ken; he’s not alone.”

“That guy looks like my brother, but it can’t be him. He’s talking to a girl. He’s even looking up at her face instead of down at the floor. Oh, wow, she’s smiling at him. She’s cute, too. It’s a miracle!”

“Maybe he’ll stop mooning over me, then.”

“I hope so. But I can’t blame him for that. You deserve worship as a goddess.”

“Shut up, Connor.”

“Yes, princess.”

“Idiot. You can’t call me both goddess and princess.”

“Sure, I can. It’s not my fault that you’re perfect.”

“That’s just your penis talking.”

“Is not!”

“Is too!”

Kara ended the silly argument with a furtive kiss. We still needed to comply with the school’s “public display of affection” rules.

At home that afternoon, Ken told me the story of how he met his new girlfriend while seated in row 3 in the gym. He raved about her for a while, saying she was sweet, smart, beautiful, etc.

“So, Abby is going to have an overnight with you here Friday, just like Kara and I will?”

“Oh, bite me. It’s our first day, Connor; we just met. But don’t you see how beautiful she is? I can dream, can’t I?”

“Did you take her picture? Mom will want to see her.”

“Oh, fuck! I feel stupid. Tomorrow for sure.”

Abby and Ken enjoyed a week with this same daily pattern: during P.E., they sat in the gym bleachers looking down on the basketball court, then stepped into the hallway on their way to the cafeteria for lunch.

Thrilled by Ken’s attentions, Abby momentarily forgot the extreme restrictions she lived under. She had been taught to avoid all unnecessary contact with males so that she could be presented as virginal and obedient to the husband her father selected after high school.

As we learned later, Abby was having so much fun with Ken, her first boyfriend, that she foolishly confessed she was spending part of her school days speaking with a boy.

Overreacting to this, Abby’s mother screamed at her for 90 minutes, labeling her daughter as a slut, whore, harlot, and filth. She relinquished Abby to her father when he returned home. Instead of yelling, Abby’s father used his fists, targeting parts of her body covered by her clothing.

According to his beliefs, Abby violated the strict purity rules and regulations imposed on young women her age. Doctrine defined her prescribed punishment as whipping her with a cane—enough to draw blood. While Abby sobbed in her bedroom, her father congratulated himself on his moderation and restraint. He knew the wicked outside world wouldn’t respect a father’s proper role in disciplining his children, so he was careful to avoid injuring her face.

Later, while reconstructing the sequence of events, we learned that injuries to her abdomen that night increased the existing bleeding in her uterus from her menstrual period which her depleted body was ill-equipped to handle.

The next day, Kara and I watched the two of them at lunch. Their mood was opposite from before; Abby’s pale face showed pain and defeat. They talked for only ten minutes or so, then she abruptly left, clearly close to melting down. Ken stumbled over to our table, grieving. I put my hand on his arm for support.

“Ken! What happened?” Kara asked.

“Her parents told her she couldn’t date me, actually, or date anyone. She has to be 18, and even then, she can only date under strict supervision with older men who they select.”

“The hell? Why?”

“They are religious fanatics. For example, only after a bitter battle was she allowed to wear pants at school. Abby is only enrolled here because her parents can’t afford the girls-only private academy approved by her family’s sect. That’s not the worst of it.”

Ken’s voice was pitching up, strained. I’d never seen him so distraught, almost panicking.

“She’s in danger. She’s bleeding—it’s her period. She been bleeding badly, heavily, for nine days, and today there’s even more blood flow. This can’t be normal. She’s never been to a doctor, only to someone they call a practitioner. For ‘treatment,’ they’re giving her only tea and some herbs.”

Shocked, Kara asked, “Did you say nine days?”

“Yeah. She said the last couple of monthly cycles were also bad this way.”