Letters to Nowhere(2)

Last year would have been my first year as a Senior National gymnast, but I had surgery and sat out most of the competition season with a shoulder injury, competing only in bars at Nationals. Last summer, after my shoulder had healed and I’d been given clearance by my doctor to train full–out again, my mom and I were practically at each other’s throats arguing about my gymnastics future. After Coach Cordes presented his plan, the tension in my house got even worse. So, my dad made Mom and me sit at the kitchen table with him and each of us separately wrote down a one–year plan for my gymnastics and academics.

Mom’s looked like this:



Sign letter of intent to compete for UCLA next year

Go to regular high school for senior year

Train with the level 10 team instead of elites thus reducing practice hours from 40 to 24/wk

Graduate from a real school with a cap and gown and let Mom throw a big party

Head to California in June to train with Team UCLA (Go BRUINS! Remember, blue is one of your best colors, Karen)





My plan looked like this:



Train full–out with my elite team and be ready to show routines on all 4 events at the first National Team training camp this fall

Finish all required high school courses this year so that I can focus on World Championships 100% next fall

Make the American Cup and/or Pan American Team next Spring

Receive my high school diploma by mail (I have no desire to parade around in a cap and gown)

Place high enough at Nationals next summer to make World team trials, make the World team, win a medal with my team (preferably Gold)

Decide which college to attend/compete gymnastics for (UCLA is my #1 at the moment)





Dad took both lists, studied them, then reminded me of the probabilities of some of my more extreme goals, as Coach Cordes had drilled into my parents’ heads already. Then he asked Mom and me if we trusted him to come up with a fair compromise based on both our lists. We had to swear to agree to it no matter what.

So we did.

And this was what Dad had come up with:



Karen signs letter of intent to compete for UCLA

Karen lets the new coach know of her college plans but is allowed to continue taking classes online and training as an elite

Karen is allowed to attend any and all National Team training camps that she’s invited to until June of next year

If Karen makes either the American Cup Team and/or Pan American Team she may represent her country in those competitions next spring

Karen receives high school diploma by mail but will agree to one photo in a rental cap and gown for her mother

Karen heads to California in June





My mom had cried but didn’t protest, mostly because we’d already agreed to accept the terms. I’d been completely elated. All I’d heard was that I could keep doing everything as I’d been doing all along, at least until next June, which had seemed like forever to my sixteen year old self—plenty of time to change their minds. Nothing would change for almost an entire year.

If only I’d known how untrue that statement would become. Everything was different now.

Bentley knew about UCLA all along, of course, but he never discussed college routines with me. Maybe that wasn’t his job?

Maybe I’m only thinking about all this to distract myself from dealing with my parents being gone.

“How does your wife feel about having Karen stay with you?” Mr. Johnson asked Bentley.

Coach Bentley looked down at his hands, twirling the gold band on his left ring finger. “My wife passed away years ago.”

“I’m sorry,” Grandma and Mr. Johnson both said.

I finally made eye contact with my coach. Why didn’t I know this already? Or maybe my mom had mentioned it and I had tucked it away as information not important enough to remember?

“I’m sure you can understand some concerns people might have with a young girl staying in your household,” Mr. Johnson said, his tone flat and unemotional.

My face immediately flamed and I dropped my gaze to the coffee table. I did catch Bentley rolling his eyes. “I have a son. I’m a father. I understand what parents do.”

He’s got a kid? “You have a kid?” I blurted out, ignoring Grandma’s stern glare.

Bentley gave me a half smile. “It’s not a secret, Karen. He’s not a baby, so I don’t cart him around everywhere. Jordan’s in high school.”

Grandma’s face had changed from skeptical to eager at the mention of not having to take an orphaned child back to New York with her or figure out what to do with me. I’d already been back to the gym to work out and it was the only place where my head felt clear, where I could forget everything, at least for a few hours.

Suddenly everyone’s eyes were on me. Mr. Johnson waited a few moments before saying, “Well? What do think, Karen? Is this arrangement suitable for you? Or would you prefer—”

“I’ll take care of her finances, bill payments, and any legal matters needed from my home,” Grandma said.

The doorbell rang, saving me from having to answer without the chance to make a pros and cons list, to think it through. Both Grandma and I rose to answer it. Glancing outside through the kitchen window, I recognized the car from the funeral home. Grandma opened the door, allowing the cold January wind to sweep inside. A man in a navy suit stood on the doorstep, a cardboard box in his arms, and I knew what would be inside.