Letters to Nowhere(5)

I tugged on my seat belt five times before accepting its correct positioning. When Jordan backed out of the parking lot and took off toward the main road, I felt my fingers searching for the sides of the well–worn seat, gripping them until my knuckles turned white.

The traffic light in front of us switched to red and Jordan hit the brakes, jolting us to a hard stop. I squeezed my eyes shut, holding my breath and willing away the sound of glass shattering, metal crunching against pavement, screams—high–pitched like sirens.

Please, no more panic attacks. Not now.

The car jolted into motion again. All I could hear were the ten beats my heart pumped out for every single rotation of the tires. Air continued to move in sharp, jagged motions through my lungs, letting me know I wouldn’t pass out.

The car had been stopped for at least thirty seconds when I finally opened my eyes. The sandy–haired boy was staring at me, looking as though he had no idea what to say and like he wanted out of this situation ASAP.

“Um…are you…?” he stuttered without finishing.

My face burned as I flung the door open and mumbled, “Mental choreography. I do it before every practice.”

God, I’m a dweeb. But it wasn’t like I hadn’t seen that look before—the one plastered on Jordan’s face right now. I’d been seeing it everywhere for the last three weeks.

I didn’t give him a chance to respond. My feet moved toward the front doors of the gym, and within a minute, I had my bag stuffed in my locker and had joined my three teammates running around the blue carpeted gymnastics floor.

Normally, on the few occasions I’d ever been late for practice, our second coach, Stacey, would cross her arms, avoiding eye contact, and say sharply, “You’re late.”

Then we’d all find ourselves doing extra sets of pull–ups, v–ups, and leg lifts before getting to our first event. Today, Stacey looked right at me, the sympathy wearing thin but still relentlessly hanging on in her expression, and said, “Glad you made it, Karen.”

And she said this completely free of her usual sarcasm. To be honest, Stacey’s behavior might not have been one hundred percent sympathy driven. She knew Coach Bentley was responsible for getting me to the gym on time now, and Coach Bentley was her boss.

Even though Stacey was a total hard–ass and had no tolerance for any typical girl reactions and emotions when it came to gymnastics, two years ago she might have been a better option than Bentley for providing me a temporary home. But the summer before last, she got married to an accountant and now she had a baby attached to her boob almost 24/7, leaving no time to raise an orphaned teenager.

Gymnastics was a tough sport, especially at the elite level, and I couldn’t make it a day without the support of my teammates, but during practice we were more competitors than friends. That was just how it had to be, and I never appreciated this more than I had in the last few weeks. The dead parents look never entered any of their faces until we were dismissed by Coach Bentley or Stacey. This was one big reason why I was so determined to stay in St. Louis.

***


January 29

Dad,




Since you’re the lawyer and know a lot about anger and bargaining, maybe you can help me with grieving stages 2 and 3 (anger and bargaining). How do I get to 3 if 2 hasn’t happened yet? I can’t be angry with you and Mom. It wasn’t your fault. You didn’t want to leave me. I know that. And I don’t see how I could ever feel any amount of anger toward you. Not for the accident. Maybe I’m supposed to be angry at the world? But what does that even mean? It sounds like those pageant queens that want world peace. It’s not tangible or concrete. Right now, I need concrete.




I couldn’t go home. I know I told you that already, but it was really bad. Grandma had to hire movers. I’m sorry. I know how you always think I’m so strong, but that’s because I do all my crying and whining in front of Mom. I like that you think I’m above all that girly crap, even if I’m not.




Love, Karen




Stacey ended up coaching us the entire evening practice since Bentley had that parent meeting. After the awkward exchange earlier in the day, I couldn’t say I was disappointed by the head coach’s absence.

As expected, right after practice, while my face was still as red as my hair and twice as sweaty, Blair turned back into “best friend Blair” and drilled me immediately with all her concerns. She had no internal censor whatsoever.

“What if you’re, like, walking to the bathroom and Coach Bentley is coming out of the shower or whatever and you get a glimpse of him naked?” Blair had her head flipped upside down as she forcefully ran a brush through her long black hair. “Do you think that image will ever leave your head? How is he going to coach you after you’ve seen his bare ass or worse—”

“God, Blair!” Ellen groaned, “Ew.”

I rolled my eyes. “I’m not going to see him naked. Besides, I’m sure we’re both mature enough to deal with accidents that aren’t preventable.”

Okay, so I was totally not mature enough to deal with seeing Coach Bentley’s unexposed skin, but you could bet I’d do everything I could to prevent the incident from happening.

My clothes were on in record time and I skipped any amount of grooming to make a break for the lobby and end this conversation. By the time I checked Coach Bentley’s office and scanned the parking lot for his car, Blair and Stevie were walking out of the locker room. Stevie (pronounced Stevee—a nickname for Stefani, but I was pretty sure she’d had it legally changed because I hadn’t heard anyone use her full name in years) was my oldest teammate.