allie

I think of allie while I’m coaching at gymnastics: the tight curls of her hair swept up in a pony tail, blondeness, and glasses, somehow managing to stay attached to her head throughout tumbles and flips of the bars, vault, beam and floor.

"allie, you're doing well!" I say encouragingly, her legs tightening w/ the bar in her hands: so strong, the weight underneath her as if air is as trustworthy as wood or metal. I wonder if she feels fear.

of course, all of her responses come in grins and/or giggles which is enough for me; girls below 9 are fickle: they are either so talkative they'll talk their heads off or so quiet that words are bigger struggles than getting an A on a spelling quiz.

then, I think of all of what could happen to allie as she gets older: will boys be nice to her? will she conform? become lost? lose herself in this crazy world that spits junk at us by means of television and explicit song lyrics? her body that is strong enough for her now- will she wish it could have bigger breasts or better hips when she is 16 as opposed to now, when all she cares about is if her stomach will get crushed against the low bar?

the last day of class: handing our certificates: her eyes widen as the time approaches when we'll call out her name, shaking her hand as she gives a gymnastics stretch in front of the audience. "I’m scared," her shaky voice calls out, "I can't do it."

I wonder if blue eyes will someday outdo her; if she'll fail; if life will just regurgitate it's remains on her plate; if she'll lose like so many others, a weaker, more frail allie than she is today. but then I see her gallop over to the bars, arms pumping as she gets closer to the apparatus, legs, arms, all a tangle until she gets to the top: body tight and strong, and I realize that like gymnastics, she'll be fine. just as long as she never gives up.