I’ve known since the eighth
grade that I wanted to write books. I have been discovering who I am every day
since.
Writing books, like a whole
series of books. Books filled with short stories, books that are taught in
English classes and on the
Best sellers list.
But I’m not there yet, so I
will have to wait. If I would write a book, it would contain a good story line
about gymnastics and it’s many effects
Maybe I would go into a good
back story about how I chose gymnastics over swimming.
And how the doctor
recommended one of the two because I was born with weak hips.
I can’t help but question if
gymnastics was the right choice for my body? Or did I chose it because my mind
needs it
Or needed it at the time.
Would I have regretted swimming, always wondering what it would be like to be a
gymnast?
Maybe I would sit in on
gymnastics meets, wishing that I could do that cool flip. When in reality, I
already had it in me.
Instead I am that girl who
pushed through the conditioning, the breaks, scrapes, rips, blood, sticky sweat
and tears to become a gymnast.
A strong one, who sits in the
stands at a swim meets and wonder what would I be if I were a swimmer?
Would I still have my Mom’s
butt and my Dad’s struggling hips? Or would it be the other way around?
Actually I would probably
have Mom’s strong hips and Dad’s flatter butt. Would I have been in
cosmetology, knowing the chlorine was bad?
I can picture it now. The
cosmetology lab, and everyday hearing Ms. Bain’s squeaky voice condescend my
sport, “you know that Chlorine is toxic for your hair,”
“you know you can’t
decolorize your hair to blonde, the chlorine would turn your hair green.”
If my swimmers mindset would
be anything like my gymnast mindset, I wouldn’t care. I’d continue to swim,
just like I would continue to give
Manicures, using lotion,
softening my hands. Despite the fact that the softer my hands, the more likely
for my skin to rip off like quarters
And even if I ripped quarter
size skin off my hands, I would tape them up and keep going until I nailed my
desired skill.
I have started to think that somehow
by the end of the summer, when our time was up, we were both under the delusion
that we were better
friends than we actually
were. One month doesn’t build a friendship. Neither does two months. Maybe it
was the feeling, the comfort.
The understanding that we
had, the openness, we were bathing suit bare with each other. Telling our
secrets, leaving some details hidden.
Most of the details were
unnecessary. Though, it was probably the reason we thought we were close, we
told our secrets, making us close.
But never giving away
details, making us decades, light years, hours, miles, states, countries apart.
After reading this, my
roommate thinks that I should write her wedding vows. The fact is, I don’t
think I could write my own vows.
Despite being a writer, I can
never figure out how to put into words how I feel. Instead I have to tell the
Story to make those who read
it feel the same way I do. If I feel betrayed, I put them in that situation. If
my heart breaks, I tell them how, when, where, how badly it hurts.
I let them know if the snow
was falling that day, if it was cold outside, what the toilet smelled like when
I was
vomiting into it during the
break up. That’s how I would tell someone how I feel. I make them feel that way
too.
It’s not a very nice method.
I admit
But it works.
I think that’s the thing,
some people have to see it, experience it to understand it. I did that with
Katie last week, now she understands.
So I am going to tell a
story. Once Upon A time, there was a little girl who lived in Springfield
Missouri.
She was the older of two
children. She always said that she wanted a little sister, until the baby came
along and got more attention.
But that’s besides the point.
One day two women knocked on
the door, and the little girl got her parents, letting them inside. Soon enough
she was getting shipped to her Aunts house in Ohio.
Family services had been
called one too many times for the way the house looked. She could never see the
floor or counters, or sinks; if she moved to Ohio with her aunt, she would be
safe from the house in Missouri.
Fourteen years later, and
still nothing has changed.
The family services call
certainly wasn’t the last time either. She spent many nights wondering if she
would become a foster child. What about gymnastics?
What would happen if she were
taken? No foster family would pay for a cello, 4H, Missionettes, Youth,
Scrooge, Jesus Is Alive. All Gone.
The madness at home was
always worth it if it meant keeping what happened outside the home.
I know that now, and she knew
that then.
Of course, it’s twelve A.M.
and right on schedule the wifi starts being a pain.
Yes, her and I got away. We
are now at college, enjoying life, being independent, but now confused about
what it is like to now go “home.”
That was the story that was
my life. Every couple of years, family services knocking on the door, demanding
to come in.
I’m not going to pretend that
it was ever easy at home. There was rarely a good day. Maybe that’s why my
sister is struggling so much.
But in al honesty, I had it
worse than she did, and she’s breaking down daily. Does that mean that I am
stronger than her?
She talks to me more than
ever now. She’s talking to me right now, during lecture. I’m trying to talk
some sense into her.
I did the same thing she is
doing. Sophomore year I felt like I had no friends, so I stopped going to
youth. It only helped my gymnastics,
Not my lack of close friends
that were left.
Getting off this subject.
Onto the next, Tower Inn fundraiser is tonight after practice. It will be nice,
but I’m not sure I want to go
First I have to get through
biology.
I feel like this Creative
Writing assignment is going nowhere
Now I’m going to talk about
Deshawn and “how awesome” he is.
And he is awesome, don’t get
me wrong, but there isn’t much to say about him. I guess I could go back to
some moments with him.
The first time I talked to
him was at the beginning of freshman year. I asked him about his tattoos, one
was a coy fish up and over his shoulder.
I didn’t know his name though
until the “No Pants” party. Katie said we were waiting for Deshawn and I had no
clue who that was.
He came down, tall, thin,
dark skin. It was the guy with the fish tattoo. What did Katie say his name was
again?
By the end of the party, we
were cool. I had no reason to like him, but I had no reason to hate him either.
Right now we are at Tower Inn
with the team. Dave, our teammate rested his head on Deshawn’s shoulder,
Deshawn looks down and says,
“You know, I know another
Assassin, I mean… Asian named Dave.” Dave lifts his head off Deshawn’s shoulder
and gave him a glare. The whole team laughed
Deshawn joked saying Asians
are sneaky assassins. Just a generalization.
For some reason I was not too
fond of him until after Christmas break. When we were working together to pass
out those stupid coupon books.
We have been here for an hour
and a half and we are just now getting our checks. I wanna go home.
If it wasn’t for Deshawn
though, we would not have gotten all 16,000 coupon books passed out. It was the
worst job I have ever had.
We were freshman, with no
cars, in the middle of winter. Carrying around 25 lb boxes full of coupons.
Can I emphasize? Worst Job
Ever. And freshman who have crazy schedules was the worst.
I am currently at work, and
for their conditioning I had them try to carry me across the floor. Keep in
mind these are 80 pound girls.
The pressure is off for all
of us to make a name for ourselves. Jesus has already made a name for us.
Mason complained about being
left out of this project. So I’ll talk about him next.
Now he’s complaining that he
is in it. It’s too late, but make up your mind next time.
So Mason, this guy has been
one of my best friends on the team since day one.
We would spend time after
practice, every day, at the eateries. Talking about every little thing in our
lives.
Once the relationship with
Tyler, was over, because of The Ultimatum that he gave me, the idea of Mason
seemed pretty nice.
He said he’s going to hold my
crush on him against me for the rest of my life. Then he said, “I forgive you.”
Umm…
Mas, wouldn’t my crush on you
have been a compliment? I pushed him into the wall. Arrogant. Slightly.
He’s always complaining, he
even made me change the way I spell his nickname. Isn’t the point of a nickname
is that
someone else comes up with
it? The creator comes up with the spelling, and pronunciation. Anyway, last
year we went to Tower in on a double date.
Sorry, “double-date” anyway.
We got into our usual argumentative discussion about something I don’t
remember.
Actually now that I think
about it, I do remember what we were arguing about. But that doesn’t matter.
That day was when the famous quote,
was said, “well Becca, I’m putting
this friendship in a box and leaving it at Tower Inn,” he didn’t leave it
behind and I’m glad that he didn’t.
I just realized, that it’s
only when you have a partner on beam, do you realize how much your balance
depends on staring at the end of the beam.
Anyway, Mason actually became
one of the only guys that I highly respect, and seems to truly respect me. He
coaches me, encourages me, and honestly helped me
Get through, out and recover
from that awful relationship I was in last year with Tyler. How many guys do
you know that would do all of that?
Not many men would stick
around when you vomit in the toilet, when you cry the whole time at practice.
They wouldn’t send you massive
Paragraphs, when your
roommate had just crossed too many lines. She betrayed my trust, was pressuring
me, and gave me what she thought I wanted
but actually it was something
that put our friendship on hold. Through it all, Mason was there to talk about
it, and talk me through it.
That kind of friend is not
someone you find everyday. With everything between this year and last year, he
never tried to hurt me.
His only instinct was to
protect me, and that is why he is one of few people that I trust most in the
world.
I think that a lot of girls
that turn him down are missing out. He doesn’t deserve to come second in anyone’s
life.
Sure he can be… extremely
weird… and awkward… and ruin your videos when you’re trying to plot revenge…
and never let him eat those God-awful potato chips that he loves so much.
Especially if you are on your
way home from the Ohio State Meet, with the heat blasted and his butt is in the
vent.
Nobody could breathe, and to
celebrate that moment at the end of the year, Shannon bought him adult diapers.
I just took a quiz to figure
out what my love language is. I got Acts of Service and Quality
Time. Gift giving got a zero, but I give gifts all the
time, so I wonder if it is that I receive love when someone
spends quality time and does acts of service for me, but the way I express love
Is through physical touch and gift giving…. something to ponder.
I seem to have become a very private person lately. I think I
blame my writing, and social media. And boys.
It has become extremely clear that he has broken any emotional
attachment that I had to him. So what now?
I have been on Facebook today more than I have this whole month
and I’m already depressed.
Back to my break.
A little over a week ago, I made a jump from the rafters of the
gym into the deep pit. As I was falling, I recognized the free fall feeling.
At first I thought it was from roller coasters, but that wasn’t
quite it.
Then I thought it was from jumping off the high dive when I was
younger.
Nope.
The last thing that I thought it was, jumping off that bridge
the summer between Junior and Senior year of high school.
Nope.
It wasn’t until I accidently sent my Mom the wrong screen shot
on my desktop today that I realized where that feeling came from.
The screen shot read, “I would love to say that you make me weak
in the knees, but quite upfront and completely truthful, you make my body
forget it has
knees at all” that was when I put the jump into the pit and it’s
feeling together.
The falling feeling reminded me of when I screamed and ran in
the opposite direction. The first time we shook hands, the shock of that
very first hug. How I just stood there motionless wishing
someone else had witnessed it. Then wanting to run out of the room and freak
out for a solid minute.
The falling was from stopping my thumb from rubbing against your
hand during prayer. Getting to know you these past couple of months.
You made my cheeks turn red, despite the chill of fall. You made
me believe for the first time in a long time that it would be okay.
Every part of my life is now just like jumping into that pit. I
just knew, in no way can I get hurt. So I jumped, and plugged my nose on
the way down so I didn’t have to breathe in the moments that
have stopped my aorta from pumping oxygenated blood to the rest of my body.
But honestly, my lack of breath may have just been from the wind
ripping through my sanity.
But we aren’t going there. I’ve told the story too many times,
Professor Halpern knows the whole thing, and he probably thinks I’m crazy as
well.
Just like everyone else.
I know I make it sound like there is some special guy right now.
But there hasn’t been one for a very long time.
The first one was Tyler, and the last time I felt safe and
unharmed with him was probably prom. The beginning of our second shot at a
relationship.
Or maybe it was the day he picked me up when my parents kicked
me out of the house. I guess I felt safe for most of move in day freshman year.
But the only one I know for sure is prom night.
And that beautiful day when I got kicked out.
Keep in mind that was seven months before our relationship
ended.
I guess I felt safe when he stayed with me and sprained my ankle
on the slopes. But eventually, he took me home. So in reality, he put me
back in harms way. Even then, I wasn’t safe.
I would talk about the other young man. Who painted rose pedals
on my cheeks, and was the reason I enjoyed my jump from the rafters.
But I have already told that story so many times, in every way
possible. There is no new way to tell it. You already know the story.
So I will not go into it.
But that pit, even though the idea of heights brings my
menstrual cramps back into my uterus… I would make that jump from the rafters
to the pit everyday if I could.
I like that stomach dropping feeling. Maybe that’s why I loved
gymnastics so much at one point.
Gymnastics scares me enough, that sometimes I pee myself
attempting a new skill.
When you get a new skill, you can feel your heart pushing
against your sternum. You can hear it drumming in your ears. You focus your
vision
on one thing, picture Gabby Douglas doing the skills, and
pretend it is you landing it. You snap your fingers three times and take deep
breaths that fill your lungs, trachea and diaphragm. You stare at the mat,
stare at the bar, stare at the beam, stare at the wall.
And then you run, then you jump, then you swing. Then you go for
it. Sure the first couple of times you will land on your face, your butt, your
knees, your back, your stomach, “and your pride.” But eventually, you figure it
out.
And the fear goes away, the muscle memory kicks in, your endurance
increases. And the one thing that used
to scare you so much that you squeeze every muscle in your body, it becomes
a part of your human nature. The season would end, as it would
become something you could do on command, and then it was time to find the next
skill that gave you nightmares and made you pee your pants.
That’s the reality of gymnastics.
I’m kind of getting bored with this project. It’s supposed to
tell everyone about me. So what? Should I tell you my favorite color is blue?
Or I could mention that I have a scar on my foot from when Rita
DeRaedt stepped on my root in her stilettos. We never did find out if it was
broken.
My favorite bible verse is Romans 8:38-39. Declaring that in no
possible way could we ever be separated from God’s love.
My phone is flipping out. Adam, what kind of product did you
sell me?
The black bracelet I wear is from a sermon that Pastor Cornell
did when I was eighth grade called The Rebelution. Funny story behind it…
Life seems to have it’s own little symbols in it. That being
said, the whole point of the bracelet and the sermon was to rebel against this
world,
and focus on Godly things. “Therefore, do not conform any longer
to the pattern of this world…” Romans 12:2, it’s on the bracelet.
I wore the bracelet every day, from eighth grade to senior year.
Only taking it off for gymnastics meets. Well… I took it off the first meet
Of the season senior year, and gave it to my father to hold, and
Tyler gave me a good luck kiss. We had just started dating. When the meet was
over, I
walked over to my father and asked for the bracelet back. His
face looked wide and blank, “what did you do with my bracelet?” “I put it around
the top of my bottle…”
“and then?” I asked. “And then I threw the bottle away.” I
checked every little place for that bracelet, but it was gone.
Tyler, and I break up, then get back together, we to through
prom and last summer, and I start college. His eyes start wondering. He tries to break up with me, his Mom, and
I don’t let him.
We get through Christmas, and
I sprain my ankle. Then my birthday, January fifth, he comes up to see me two
weeks after school started back up. That was the last time I ever saw him as my
boyfriend. He decides to Face Time me giving me the Ultimatum.
We broke up, and I ignored my
feelings. Fast forward through the mess that I was, and the second part of the
story starts. I go home.
Lauren prays for me, and in a
very crazy way, which I have told many times to anyone who will listen to me, I
found hope.
God called me home this
summer. Apparently there was miscommunication because I was completely wrong on
the reason that he called me home.
But it was definitely where I
was supposed to be this last summer. Right before school was out, I went home
one more weekend. It might
have been the same weekend
that I finally had hope that I would get through my break up… anyway. Hanging
in my sisters room was my rebel bracelet.
She said she found it behind
her bed when she moved her room around. I find it strange how when the Tyler
mess started, I lost the bracelet
that represented everything I
stood for. I became a completely different person during Tyler. Then when I
finally got over him,
and remembered who I was, and
who I was becoming… I found the bracelet once again. Strange… huh?
I find that wanna go home.
It’s time to go home. But where is home?
Sometimes, you just need to
cry. Hard.
I do not miss sleeping with
Buttercup. She’s a bed hog.
I am convinced that I will
never experience a normal Thanksgiving. Not until I have my own family.
Why did I ever think that
this story was supposed to turn out any differently than it did?
Lets see, what did I expect?
My dad would be healed,
miraculously and I would have a huge testimony to share from it.
Instead I am stuck with a
testimony that is not completed yet, and if I tell it to anyone, no matter how
awesome it is, they think I need to be institutionalized.
I expected that maybe one day
he would go back to truck driving, because honestly, I don’t remember what it
was like to have him on the road.
All I remember is this mess
that we have been in for almost seven years now. All I can remember is saying
goodbye to him early in the morning, or picking him up from his truck late at night
in the Meijer parking lot.
I guess I expected to
continue to go to Dayspring for the rest of my life. In doing that, I would get
to raise my children in the same church I grew up with.
My children and my best
friend’s children would be in the same kids church, pastored by Garry Sweet.
I expected to maybe one day
take Ellen’s place in the Jesus Is Alive scene, when the soldier hunting baby
Jesus finally cornered her and her child and she let out that shivering scream.
I thought maybe one day that
would be my child and me. Yes, I do realize that is kind of creepy, but it was
something to look forward to.
Or maybe my husband and I
when we were older could be Mr. and Mrs. Cratchet during The Gospel According
to Scrooge.
Or Mr. and Mrs. Fezzywig,
they always seemed to know how to have a good time.
I imagine whoever my husband
is; we will always be having a good time… even if it’s not a particularly easy
point in our lives.
I guess by now, I expected
that Dad would be some sort of boss of the trucking company, Mom would have a
job and we would actually live in a house.
Not some dilapidated old
duplex that causes ten more problems in the time it takes to fix only one. I
seriously come home, take one look at the place and want to shut down.
I swear family services have
been more a part of my life than any foster child, and I have never been in
foster care. And yes, I am my parent’s child.
I think I expected my
grandmother to still be around, and that the adults would have kept the holiday
traditions going for the grandkids that were left behind.
Don’t get me wrong, I am
extremely blessed, and God has done so much in my life, but I think I expected
more.
I mean, my God is more than
this world. He could do whatever he wants, and yet… he chose this for me?
The big kicker is that even
when he promises me something. He dangles it in front of me. Tells me to come
home for it, I wait two months.
NOTHING HAPPENS. Then, all of
a sudden, when I am confused and doubting everything I thought I heard God say
he shows me why I came home.
But it was never for the… never mind. It wasn't what I thought it was for. Yes, one day it will happen like he promised, but not this year. He had me come
home so that I could watch him work in every area but what he had promised me.
He made me grow. Stretched
me, baptized me, got rid of my guilt, helped me forgive myself. He gave me
friends, literally the day I asked for them. He dug my parents out of a huge
financial hole. Gave me a new starter for my van.
Don’t worry though, with the
areas that he promised me, he eventually worked there too. Oh yeah he did, and
it was great.
I bet your guessing that
there is a But. There is, and it’s HUGE, and I mean MASSIVE like… a mountain in
the middle of the ocean huge. He gave me ONE MONTH, and then I left. No goodbye,
no big finale, no fire works.
There were no magical fairies
that sprinkled pixie dust on me and said, “ta da! It’s a joke! You get more
time!” Then I would throw my head back, and laugh. You got me! Slap my knee and
carry on.
Instead, it’s May all over
again. Where I am second guessing, being strangers, smiles across the room.
I guess I should be thankful
though, since we are one minute into Thanksgiving.
Black Friday shopping is
finally over, and just when I think I get a break, Mrs. Schmitz wants to start
decorating.
Decorating the Christmas tree
with Chloe and Sophia. The last time I did this was during Scrooge
performances.
Can we go back to those days?
Maybe that is why I have such
a desperate need to write, because the moment is great, but sometimes the
memory of the past is great to relive right before you go to bed.
If you think about the
smiles, the laughs, the pictures, the lines, the hugs, the tears, the cheers,
the presents, they are gone.
But never forever, because
being a writer, I have the chance to revive them. I have the chance to help
someone else live in those moments, and make them laugh and cry with me.
And one day, the whole world
will. They will cheer for Tyler, as he makes me happy, and saves me. They will
throw the book at Tyler as he breaks up with me, and as he pressures me.
They will smile as I jump
into the pit, and they will sigh with relief when my wait, our wait, is finally
over.
