Sunny(11)

Swimming.





Dear Diary, It’s Technique Tuesday, and usually at practice I would be working on my stride, but now I don’t really have a stride to work on. So it was weird. I did the usual stretches, and while I was touching my toes, and Aaron was counting out the numbers, and while Coach and Whit were off to the side looking at the clipboard, probably putting a line through my name, Lynn, who also runs the mile, asked me why I was even stretching, since I’m not a runner no more. But the way she said it, it was like she gave each word teeth.

I told her I’m still a runner, I just don’t run.

She said that don’t make sense.

I wanted to tell her sense don’t have to be made. It already exists.

She would’ve said that’s stupid.

She also said I was the best in the whole league and that I’m stupid to quit. So I got the stupid anyway.

And that’s when Patty jumped in, and before she could shoot her own teeth-words at Lynn, Lu jumped in to calm Patty down. Then he made a speech to everybody about how sometimes things change in life. And how I’ve made a change. And how I’m still on the team and should be supported. I appreciated that.

But then Brit-Brat called him Dr. Phil. It was a joke. I kind of appreciated that, too.

And then Aaron challenged Lu. Told him he should run my race since he’s so supportive. He said “supportive” in a not-very-supportive way.

Then Coach came out of nowhere and yelled at everyone, shutting it down. And all I could think about was how there is no way—zero way—Lu can run a mile. NO WAY.

NOOOOOOoOoOooOOOOOoo WAY!

But . . . I think he’d try.





Dear Diary, All this time I had no idea there was a concrete circle on the field. Let me explain. The track goes around a field. And in the field, down by the first two-hundred curve, there’s a concrete circle. Like a bald spot. Never noticed it before. I guess the grass has always been just tall enough to disguise it.

Coach said that bald spot would be my new home. He said all my greatness is going to come out of that small space, and that what I do in that circle will affect how far I go outside of it. Or something like that. You know Coach. Actually, Diary, you don’t know Coach, but if you did, you’d know that sometimes he be speaking in Shakespeare.

Since it’s Technique Tuesday, and because I don’t know nothing about throwing the discus, Coach wanted to just walk me through the steps. He kept telling me it was just like dancing, and to remember the whoosh part of my dance. The spin. Except it was going to be a double spin. A whoosh whoosh.

Actually, a whoosh whoosh, then a release. That’s what Coach said.

So, a whoosh whoosh aah, I corrected him.

He just nodded. Took my word for it, then showed me the steps.

1. Stand straight, bend knees just a little.

2. Spread arms like wings.

3. Wind body back and forth with hands straight and stiff, cutting the air.

4. Count to three.

5. On three, spin right leg 230 degrees around. (Coach said, not 360, but not 180. I told him, 230.) That’s the first whoosh. I repeated those steps, again and again and again and

again again again again

until practice was over. Coach said the second whoosh was coming tomorrow. I asked him, when do I actually get to throw the discus? He said first I gotta learn how to whoosh whoosh, and then my wish will be granted. Aah.





Dear Diary,

Darryl asked me how practice was, which was a good sign that the mad was maybe unmadding, and I told him about the discus and the whooshing and the whoosh whooshing and how Lu stood up for me and how Aaron told him to run a mile and how there’s no way he could ever run a mile because he’s never run for longer than ten seconds at a time and to run a mile like me you have to be okay with running for forever. And then Darryl cracked a little smile. Not enough to be a real smile, but still a crack in the stone.

When we got home, I made a TV dinner. When I say made, I mean microwaved. It was chicken, mashed potatoes, and peas. It all tasted like chicken, mashed potatoes, and peas, if chicken, mashed potatoes, and peas were made of plastic, and were melted. Darryl made one for himself, and while we were eating, Darryl said Gramps called him.

What he say? That’s what I said.

Darryl said Gramps said he should talk to me about why I quit.

And as I tried to find my words, the doorbell rang. I can’t figure out if the doorbell loves me or hates me. If that was an interruption, or some kind of bailout.

It was Mr. Nico at the door.

He came in like he usually comes in, singing, Do you believe in life after love? by the lady, Cher. Mr. Nico is the reason I even know who she is, because he’s always singing that song, and whenever he does, it’s in a jokey-joke way as a sign to let my father know that he’s going to ask him about dating his sister, Ms. Linda. And that meant that Mr. Nico and my father were going to step outside and smoke cigars and talk in private, and I hate the way cigars smell, and I hate the way my father and Mr. Nico talk, so I went into the family room to work on the puzzle by myself.

So far we only had the border complete, and the top of my mother’s head and forehead. And I was trying to find her eyes. But, Diary, you would be surprised how many puzzle pieces look like eyes. Or parts of eyes. Eyelashes. Eyeballs. But I got the whole left one done, and most of the right, then went upstairs to my room to try and close both of mine.