Chapter 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.”