Friday, November 15, 2013

And Today, I'm the Coach

This passage was written in my personal composition notebook hours after the event, describing the actions. All the names are real, this time, as I feel that changing the names would take away so much from their character. 

"Twenty-one, fourteen," I call out, watching Derek intently as the music stops. Somewhere in the dusty reaches of the gym, Mrs. Wheeler, blows her whistle, silence soon overcoming the murmur of dissatisfied student volleyballers. Derek drops the ball, and we all sit. The week of net-based trials is over. Even I adopted into a team of five boys - Derek, Turner, Landon, Walker, and Yee - sport a win that I helped achieve. Yee, the center of boyish attraction, lays on the waxed gym floor, sighing in relief and wiping his brow of sweat. One by one, the teams call their results. A loss for team one, I see, as their teacher-eleted captain scowls through the announcement. Team two won, per usual. We had faced a horrid defeat the match before.
"Team three?" Wheeler calls out. My chest puff in glory.
"Win," I saw, beaming,. The team smiles in agreement. After the other teams announce their losses and victories, Wheeler reads the list of teams down in ranking order. We come in sixth place, better than I had gotten. The team that I had gotten separated from in an issue of size had come in last, without a single win.
"Nicely done, gentlemen," Yee says, then turning to me. I fear the joke of my out-of-placeness being brought up again. But his face is softer, more genuine. "And you, Coach."
"Coach," I sigh in relief, "I like that." I stand with the rest of the students, and turn back to Yee. "Hey, man. Thanks for accepting me." I extend my hand. He shakes it, his other hand touching my forearm in his actor-ish style. It's warm.

My entire P.E. experience revolved around exclusion and injury from overexertion until this week.

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