Love.
The everlasting flame,
Of the heart.
The one thing,
That can keep one alive.
If the flame is blown out
There is death.
A broken heart
Shattered in a million tiny pieces.
But,
If the flame is kept,
Anything,
Anything
Can be accomplished.
Walking over burning coals,
You'll do whatever it takes
To keep that flame called love
Alive.
For some, it's not everlasting.
Fickle
Like the moon.
For others it's the real
Head over heels love.
Nothing can keep me,
From the one that I know is my other half
Kind of love.
For me,
I haven't had the chance for that
Awe-inspiring
Breathtaking
Thing called love.
Pahola "Princess" Almonte
The Flame Within
1
The scars… the wounds… the welts… the marks. How can I not think about them? When I go inside and change into my leotard, how can I not see them? When I go out on the gym floor and go out there in front of everyone—the coaches, my teammates, the judges, the crowd—how can I not wonder if they'll see them too? And if and when it is all over, when the last name is called, will my name make the list or will these scars and marks wound me some more? Will I have to feel their pain again?
Before I can fight back, I am already there again, reliving every single wound. I am back in the basement, staring up at my mother as the Darkness consumes her and she becomes the Darkness and the Darkness becomes her. It has been almost three years now and still it is fresh, vivid, sharp, and deep. The memory—well… memories and wounds, plural. How can I come here and not think of them?
Robyne tightens her grip on her gym bag and takes a deep breath as she makes her way across the half-empty parking lot.
It feels like a lifetime ago when I first crept around to the back of the building to sneak a peek inside the gym. I wasn't sure what I was going to see. I didn't even know why I was really here. I just knew I had to get away. I just had to find some place to run to. I wasn't even paying attention or even thinking about where I was going. Mom was on a tear. Her eyes were hot blue-white and her face was tightening and her skin was darkening. The Darkness was visiting her. The Darkness was trying to consume her.
I was eight years old. I was scared. I was terrified. I was lucky though.
I was lucky because I got out and found a place where no one would think to find me.
I took a peek and saw a girl in a pretty, shimmery purple leotard flying in the air. She was swinging on and off the uneven bars. I watched her flip in the air and knew at that moment I wanted to be just like her. I saw the look in her eyes when she stuck her landing. She was fearless.
Gymnastics wasn't just a sport or hobby for that girl. Gymnastics was something deeper, more meaningful, more… everything. I saw it in her eyes, I saw it in the way she clutched and gripped those bars and launched herself in the air. I saw it in the way she flew. She was striving for something more profound than just a score on a card or the applause of her friends. She was trying to get above something—some problem, some emotion, some stress in her life—something only she could understand because it was something only she could feel or know. She was trying to fly over some deeply personal anguish. I saw the look in her eyes. I saw the way she stiffened and lifted her chin up and raised her arms up at the end of her routine. Her mind was somewhere else, somewhere deep and sacred.
I wanted to feel what she felt. I wanted to know that calm she had. I wanted to know what it felt like to be fearless.
Robyne makes her way into the lobby and pauses.
This is a shrine for the fearless. I see trophy cases full of medals, plaques, trophies, and statuettes. I see gold, silver, bronze, and fancy ribbons of every color. Each of these things represents a girl or team that proved to be fearless. Whatever their troubles, whatever their obstacles or issues, they managed to fly above them, kept their balance, dance around them, or vaulted to a place where their problems and troubles couldn't reach them.
Hanging on the walls are framed posters and photographs. Each picture or photo or poster is of a fearless girl. Some are Olympic stars and legends. Some are gymnasts from right here in this gym. Some have retired, some are still here competing or working out. All are recognized for their fearlessness.
Above me, I see the bright banners and pennants for every team that has ever claimed a state, regional, or divisional championship of some kind. Banners for different levels of achievement and accomplishment hang from the rafters. Yet what I really see are declarations of deeper victories… achievements of deeper things.
I look all around me though and know and feel something is missing. I think from the moment I stole my first peeks into this place, I knew something was missing here.
Its clear now—especially now—that something is missing from me and my life—not just missing from this place and this shrine. I don't see my photo or poster on the wall. I don't see my symbols of fearlessness in any of these trophy cases. I don't feel like I belong here. I feel like I am dishonoring this place with my presence. I have walked through the lobby and through these halls many times over the years. I have worked out in this gym. I have taken classes. I have been to a few meets. I have learned to take flight, balance on the beam, dance my floor exercise, and launch myself off the vault… but have I gained fearlessness? Have I actually earned anything? Have I flown over what my mom did to me? Have I balanced my life or danced with my emotions? Have I vaulted past these scars and wounds?
* * *
Robyne walks past the flyers, signs, posters and banners and makes her way into the locker room. She ignores the signs and posters because they just merely scratch the surface. There is a lot more going on here than just team tryouts. Her purpose and goal is much bigger than just a tryout and spot on a team. Maybe a spot on a team means the world for other girls here, but for Robyne at least, it is just the tip of some massive iceberg. Making a team is only a step or beginning for her. There is a mountain still left for her to climb.
There is a past she must get beyond, scars she must see past, a future she must find, and a life and identity she must reclaim. These things can't happen until she takes the first step. She has to claim the things that will make her fearless.
"Hey there Robyne! I'm looking forward to seeing what you can do out there. I hear you've been working out on your own—
Robyne walks past the face, voice, and figure offering a pat on the shoulder and walks into the locker room. Whoever that was and whatever they wanted are of no concern to her right now. Her mind is trying to navigate between the past, present, and future. Her mother's voice is still echoing in her head. Images and memories are still clawing and digging into her. All the possible outcomes of this tryout are playing themselves out in her mind. She is battling for control. She is trying to find her center and regain the straight and narrow path towards clarity, balance, and stability. She's not there yet and won't be there until she gets changed into her leotard, walks out onto the gym, and mounts the balance beam.
* * *
2
Amy Cavanaugh leans into the table and studies the flashcard in front of her while her specialist, Dr. Lilly Chen, takes notes on her clipboard. Amy is pretty sure she knows the number printed on the card but she has some doubts. She looks over at the pile of pennies also on the table and rubs her cheek thoughtfully. There seemed to be a lot of pennies to consider as well.
"Amy, can you place the right number of pennies on this flashcard?" Dr. Chen repeats.
Amy hesitates before nodding. She then reaches for the pennies and takes a few into her hand then pauses once more. She looks at the pennies in her hand and counts them in a soft whisper to herself.
"One… two… three… four… five… six," she whispers with a nod. She looks at the flashcard, picks it up, holds it close and studies the number printed again. The number she sees is 6 but she is not so sure because maybe the card was upside-down when she picked it up… maybe it's really a 9. Or maybe she doesn't have six pennies. Maybe she miscounted.
Amy puts the card and pennies back on the table and looks up at Dr. Chen with a pained, pleading expression.
"Let's try a different flashcard then," Dr. Chen offers, replacing Amy's card with a new one. "Do you know this number? Can you read to me the number you see?"
Amy took a deep breath and looked at the card. She leaned back in her chair with a moan. The number on this flashcard was just as confusing as the one on the other card. The card offers Amy the number 7. It all seems so straight-forward and simple until Amy looks over at the pile of pennies waiting to be counted. It was like the last few flashcards. The numbers on the cards seemed to be so easy to read if she could tell what was a 6 and not a 9 or a 1 and not a 7 or a 4 and not a 9. Some numbers looked a lot alike in her head. Then counting the pennies… it was hard to know how many she needed if the flashcards appeared to be so confusing. If she took a pile of pennies and placed them on the card, would that me too many or too few? How many were just enough?
"I think this game is hard. Do I have to keep playing?" Amy asked softly, lowering her head shamefully. "This game hurts my feelings."
Dr. Chen sighed and reached for the box of tissues and handed them to Amy as tears began to well up in her eyes. It was clear Amy was frustrated and flustered. It was also clear that Amy was feeling particularly sensitive today.
"I'm sorry Amy. Let's take a break now. We'll try a different game."
Amy wiped her eyes and looked away from Dr. Chen, wishing she were home with her special plush toy "Bunny". At home she could hide in the comfort and safety of her bedroom. She would wrap herself up in her blankets and hide as best she could and hope and pray for Robyne to come and find her. Things would only feel better if it was Robyne looking and finding. Only Robyne seemed to understand her feelings and thoughts. Robyne had a sort of magic about her that made things clear for her. Robyne always somehow knew what she was trying to explain or express. She could somehow read Amy's innermost thoughts and pluck out her every deepest feeling or emotion. Robyne always knew what to do and what to say to cheer her up and make her feel warm inside. Robyne was smart.
The pennies and flashcards were cleared away. No more numbers, no more counting. Dr. Chen scribbled some notes and brought out a small bucket of crayons and markers and several sheets of construction paper. Amy looked over these things and quickly brightened. Crayons and paper! At last things she understood and knew all sorts of things about! Crayons and paper meant coloring, making pictures, drawing things, and being artsy. Being artsy was something Amy knew how to do very well. Amy was the best at drawing pictures!
Dr. Chen fanned out several sheets of construction paper. Each sheet was a different color. There was red, yellow, blue, green, orange, and purple sheets of paper—plenty of colors to choose from and plenty of paper to draw on. Amy pushed in her chair and leaned into the table eagerly. Dr. Chen scribbled a quick note then took a handful of crayons and markers and set them beside the papers.
"Okay Amy. This game should make you feel better. This one should be an easy game. Let's start by having you draw a big red circle
on a yellow piece of paper."
Amy smiled and reached for a handful of crayons and took a sheet of construction paper and began to draw. Amy heard big red circle on yellow paper but… well, Amy knows how to draw more interesting things than just plain old circles and… well… red was just one color… and well… Amy's favorite color was purple.
Amy knew about all the
different colors. She was going to draw Dr. Chen something better than just a plain old red circle on some yellow paper. Amy had the perfect picture in mind.
"Stop Amy. Let's try this again," Dr. Chen gently interrupted, patting Amy's hand very softly. "Just draw me a big, red circle on a yellow sheet of paper."
Amy froze and looked up from her barely started picture. Her heart skipped and fell down into the depths of her stomach. Amy stared at Dr. Chen and dropped the crayons she held.
"Amy that was a good try… but let's try it again."
"But I was drawing a nice picture!" Amy protested. "It was going to be better!"
"Amy… I am sure it was going to be very pretty… but I asked for a picture of a big red circle on a yellow piece of paper. Let's try again, okay?"
"You're hurting my feelings!" Amy cries, jumping from her chair to run for the door. "This is not nice!"
"Amy please have a seat so we can finish the game," Dr. Chen softly encouraged. "I'll say sorry and we can try again."
"No! I'm smart and you're making me feel dumb and stupid!" Amy cries. "I am not stupid! I know lots of things! I am not retarded you know! I can know lots of things—a lot! These games are hurting my feelings and you don't care!"
* * *
Beverly Cavanaugh read Amy's school progress reports several times already and leafed through them again with even more disbelief than before. Each report seemed like an act of betrayal. How could these teachers, aides, and education specialists tell her one thing then say the exact opposite in so short a time? For years now they have worked with Amy and had nothing but high praise for her. They said she was attentive, well behaved, fun to work with, and showing remarkable signs of improvement in many of her subjects. She was reading third grade books now, doing pretty good with her numbers, colors, and shapes, and in her life skills lessons Amy was supposedly showing the greatest improvements of all. Yet here she was with this pile of reports now saying Amy's scores had dropped significantly. They say that in a matter of a few months all her years of progress have taken a nose dive. They say she is easily frustrated, easily confused, showing signs of misbehavior and an inability to concentrate and follow directions.
Everyone knows Amy has special needs. Everyone knows she is mentally challenged. Why then are they still trying to compare her with the average fourteen-year old? Why not take her as she is and make her better instead of making her something she can't be? Better doesn't have to be the average girl for her age… it just has to be better for Amy.
If Amy started reading fourth grade books, that was better and if Amy was happy with that, that was all that would matter. If Amy learned all her numbers, letters, shapes, and colors and was happy with that, why push her? Everyone knows she has limits—that's what these reports are apparently about. So why not work with them? Why not make what she does know better, more useful to her?
Beverly readily admits that there is so much she doesn't understand about the mental and physical challenges her daughter has. She is no expert in any field of psychology, neurology, or special education. All she knows is how to be Amy's mother and how to love her daughter regardless. She knows what makes Amy feel good and special. She knows how to bring a smile to Amy's face. She knows there is a whole world of things Amy can do and accomplish. There is so much potential in Amy, despite these limits and barriers and challenges. Beverly wishes she could tell these people they are all wrong about her daughter. They've got it all wrong. Amy knows what she's doing. She knows her numbers, colors, shapes, and letters. She can follow instructions and do what she's told. She can focus and concentrate. Amy has great manners and is very affectionate and caring and conscientious.
So what if she'll never be as smart or as capable as an average fourteen year old girl? There is so much about Amy that is better than average. Amy is a better person when she's herself and not like others. The things that make Amy who she is should be applauded, rewarded, and nurtured—not turned against her, or turned into some sort of competition.
A wailing cry snaps Beverly from her thoughts and just as she looks up, she sees Amy running down the hall towards her with Dr. Chen and a nurse chasing after her. Rushing with open arms, Beverly catches Amy and holds her and embraces her.
"Mom-mm-mommy they hurt muh-mm-my feelings!" Amy stutters and weeps heavily, pressing into her mother desperately. Her whole body shakes and trembles, her face is flush with shades of embarrassment, shame, and humiliation. Tears streak from her soaking eyes.
"I have you now Amy… you'll be okay," Beverly soothes, holding her daughter firmly in her snug embrace. "No one will hurt your feelings anymore."
Beverly hushes Amy gently, already knowing what Amy feels, what she's expressing, and what she wants. She looks up as Dr. Chen and her nurse approach. "She's done for the day. I'm taking her home. I don't want her tested any more. I know who and what my daughter is. I don't need some diagnostic test or some doctors to tell me that."
Dr. Chen simply nods and backs away. There was no arguing a mother's love.
* * *
3
"Go ahead and warm up, you can stretch out on the mats over there first if you like," Coach Weaver kindly offered.
Robyne simply nodded and walked briskly towards the balance beam. Although Coach Weaver was new here, she had loads of respect for her. Coach Weaver wasn't the drill sergeant or slave driver Coach Wysocki was. Coach Weaver, in just the few days Robyne worked with her, seemed to have an entirely different approach. Something clicked between them—a very deep understanding. Maybe she can read minds or something. If there was a secret, private, all-inclusive file on her—The Story of Robyne's Life— maybe Coach Weaver read it and absorbed it. In any event, she understood her and wanted her to succeed. She had no problem teaching and coaching her outside of the gym. She had no problem meeting Robyne where she needed to be—even if it was at a playground or at the community center. And the scars? Coach Weaver didn't seem to see them or notice them or care. That made her different and worthy of much more respect than she might give to other coaches—Coach Wysocki would never have been like that.
"You really should stretch and warm up before you go to the balance beam. Robyne please?" Coach Weaver asked, hoping to catch Robyne's attention.
Coach Weaver was right —Robyne doesn't mean to be forceful and doesn't mean to shrug her off or dismiss her. She wouldn't have come this far without her and a lot of the other coaches—but she had already decided from the moment she stepped onto the gym where she was going and what she was doing. She has this whole tryout mapped out in her head—locked tight. No one was going to tell her what to do or what to think or how to do what she knows how to do. Not today. Today was about more than just a tryout for the elite team. The whole point of her being a gymnast was to be free and expressive. Gymnastics was her escape, her way out, her means of getting above and over and around things. She didn't need anyone telling her how to cope with life. She just needed the tools to do it. Give her a leotard, a balance beam, a shot on the uneven bars, and some decent music for her floor exercise and she'll show everyone she can take anything the world wants to throw at her.
The fact that gymnastics had its rules and strict Code of Points and rigid structures and formats and scripts did not escape Robyne's attention. She knows gymnastics has its very controlling, rigid way of doing things. She knows that the world of gymnastics is its own world of precise choreography, strict discipline, and rigid controls. Yet for her, this world offers her freedom. She can live with these rules, structures, and strict controls—so long as they are not her mother's rules, structures, and controls. Gymnastics gives her the means to be someone other than a shadow or clone of her mother. Gymnastics is her way of getting out from under her mother's veil of dominance. If gymnastics can make her feel whole and complete inside, she can respect the rules and controls the sport places upon her.
Gymnastics has yet to betray her or tear her down. Gymnastics has yet to fail her or leave her hanging. Everyone here in the gym at one time or another has been there for her. The coaches have trained her and given her the skills and knowledge and guidance to build herself up. They have given her the agile acrobatic weapons and confidence building shields she needs to fight and defend herself against her mother's demeaning, controlling, overbearing attacks. The coaches have trained her to be agile, balanced, strong, resilient, focused, confident, and flexible. The spotters and assistant coaches have been there to catch her when she slips, catch her when she falls or takes a bad tumble, and more importantly they have rescued her from her own recklessness and stubborn, headlong passions. They've taught her trust, self-control, and discipline. They have made her aware of what it means to accomplish things with a cool, calm, receptive head.
As for the other gymnasts? They have given Robyne encouragement and a sense of belonging and acceptance. They have given her shoulders to lean on and encouragement that lifts her up and dusts her off. They have been a lot like a whole other family for her. When she feels at her worst, they have been there to lift her up and hold her.
"Robyne? Please warm up and stretch first… will you do that for me?"
Robyne looked back over at Coach Weaver. There was a patient smile and gentle expression on her face. There was a softness to her whole appearance.
"I'm sorry. I have to do something first. I have to go on the beam."
Their eyes meet and lock for a moment. In that one look Coach Weaver gets it and gives Robyne a knowing nod.
She has my back. She understands. She knows why I am here. She's not like the other coaches from before. She's new. She replaced Wysocki. She knew I couldn't come back to the gym right away. She knew that my scars were holding me back. She cares about me… really cares. She would not have met me in the playground or at the community center to train me and help me work out if she didn't care. I am in shape because of her. I know what I need to do because of her. When this is over, I will have to thank her for everything and show her how important she is.
Robyne approaches the balance beam and adjusts the seat of her leotard and smoothes the little wrinkles on her sleeves. The balance beam seems to represent how precarious Robyne's life appears to be. One slip in any direction and she takes a fall. A slip to the left, she eats mat. A slip to the right, she eats mat. There is only one way to walk the beam and that way is about the same way she wants to get through the craziness in her life. She just wants to walk the straight path.
* * *
4
Amy clutched her plush rabbit, "Bunny" against her chest and pressed against the window, hoping and praying that Robyne would come soon. Robyne would understand the inside hurts and pains. Robyne would make her feel smart, special, and happy again. Robyne was her best friend in the whole world. Robyne was like a big sister to her. She stood up for her when the bullies called her "retard" and made her feel icky inside. When they first met years ago, during Girls Summer Adventure Camp at the community center, when no one would help her or show her where to go, Robyne took her by the hand and spent the whole day with her. They had "Fun Time" together and went swimming together and played Connect Four and did hopscotch later. When everyone else didn't want to be friends or be nice, Robyne was there. That's how they became best friends forever and secret sisters.
When Amy's bullies took her lunch or snacks from her, Robyne shared her own; and when Amy started taking real ballet classes over at Madame Rosalie's Dance Studio, Robyne was there to watch and make Amy feel like a real ballerina. When bullies were picking on her in ballet class, Robyne joined the class and protected her. Even though Robyne hates wearing dance tights and doesn't like ballet, she still dances with her. Why? There is no why with Robyne. Robyne just does things because that's what best friends forever and secret sisters do. They just do what friends are supposed to. They help each other, love each other, and be there for each other. You don't even have to understand love to be that kind of friend. It just comes naturally—at least for Robyne it comes naturally.
"Is Robyne going to come home?" Amy asks, leaning over the small couch to watch the street.
"Robyne is at her gymnastics Jelly Bean. She'll come home soon and when she does, I know she'll cheer you up," Beverly replies.
Some day Robyne and I are going to be real sisters. My Mommy and her Daddy are in love and they will go to the church and we'll be a big family. We'll live happily ever after I hope. Mommy talks about Robyne's Daddy all the time. We had a long summer vacation at the beach and we had a big dinner and everyone was happy so I know we'll be a family soon. I can tell.
"Mommy? Will Robyne think I am stupid or… or… well will she think I am retarded now?" Amy asks.
"Amy! That word is not a good word. You know better. No one is 'retarded' and if someone calls you that you know better. You're not that word. You are so much more special and better and smarter than that word."
"But I did bad at those tests… I know I did. Dr. Chen made me feel like that word. I heard her and some other doctors say that word about me. Am I dumb or stupid? Am I really like that word? Does Robyne think I am dumb or stupid? I don't know… I'm hurting and sad and something hurts and I think I am scared and worried that maybe Robyne won't like me anymore today."
Beverly settles beside Amy on the small couch and takes her in her arms and runs her fingers through her long waves of strawberry blonde hair. "Amy, I don't know how to explain the love Robyne feels for you. That's between you and her. I just know that she loves you very much. I know because you make her smile. You make her laugh in a good way. You make her face brighten when you dance. When you two are together, I hear the giggles, the laughter, the whispers, and the wonderful thoughts and ideas you both share… I know it has to be love."
"Do you think Robyne will think I am dumb or stupid today because of what happened at the hospital?" Amy looks up desperately.
"Has Robyne ever made fun of you or ever hurt your feelings?" Beverly asked.
"No," Amy lowered her head thoughtfully. "I don't think so… I don't remember."
"Then I think you have nothing to worry about. I think when Robyne comes home, she'll understand and she'll figure things out, and she'll make you feel better."
"I can't wait for her to come home and I want to be her real sister," Amy whispered. "When will everyone be a happy family?"
"We are working on it Jelly Bean. It takes time to plan and prepare a wedding," Beverly smiled.
"I wish it was today," Amy pleaded, clutching her "Bunny" tightly. "That way Robyne and I can be real sisters."
"As far as I'm concerned you and Robyne are real sisters. This is her home too."
* * *
5
Robyne studies the remaining length of the balance beam. All that is left now is her big dismount. The arabesques were flawless as were her walkovers, cartwheels, flips, twists, and leaps. She danced up and down the balance beam and owned it, controlled it, and became a part of it. The path was hers and no one else's. She did not fall, she did not slip, and she never hesitated or paused to check herself. Every movement was sure and steady. Every motion was smooth, fluid, and graceful.
I can be feminine if I want. I can be pretty and graceful and be like a ballerina if I want to be—but in my own way, by my own rules. I have to be myself and no one else. I have to follow my own music and my own rhythm. I have to listen to my own heartbeat and my own pulse. My movements and motions have to be my own. Otherwise I am a shadow, a clone, a fake person.
I am not here to be like my mother. I am not here to be her possession or ornament or piece of jewelry to show off in front of everyone.
She's gone now and I shouldn't have to listen to her voice in my head. I should not have to feel her grip on my shoulders or her hand slapping across my face still. I should not have to remember how she beat me and cut me and sliced into me or whipped me. I should be able to walk or dance or run or leap to my own path away from hers. I should be able to fly without her hanging over me. I should be able to cut the leash and lose the chains that bind her to me. I should be able to fly and be free.
She stopped being my mother when she stopped loving me as her daughter. She stopped being my mother the moment she slapped me and… and… cut me deep.
I will have a new mother soon. Beverly. Beverly is kind, gentle, loving, and understanding. She is a real mother. I see how she is with her own daughter and I know she is everything a real mother should be. Even though Amy has challenges and even though she is special and different than other girls, Beverly doesn't stop loving or caring or encouraging. Beverly fights for her daughter and stands by her. Beverly doesn't want to change Amy or fix her or make her into something she's not.
That's the mother I should have. That's the mother I could love with all my heart. If only it were to happen sooner rather than later. If only my dad would hurry up and marry her. Why the long engagement? Why the hesitation and all this talk and planning? They know they love each other. They know they complete each other. What's the hold up?
"You don't have to worry. It will happen," an inner voice whispers inside Robyne. "Beverly will be your mom."
Robyne blinks and snaps back to the present. The dismount. Robyne takes a deep breath and pounces into her last flips.
I know where the light at the end of the tunnel is. I know where my path leads.
Robyne lands with feet firmly planted on the mat. She bends her knees and rises with arms raised in salute. Perfection has been achieved. The voices are gone. The shadows have lifted, the veil has fallen, and now there is only the light.
* * *
6
Elite… the Star Team. Robyne lifts up her new team leotard—shimmery metallic blue, silver, and black—and clutches it in her hands. Her new second skin. Her new armor. She made the team. She is now perhaps the youngest girl in this gym to make it to the elite level. Fourteen and elite… the sound of it in her head sends a warm rush through her body. Well technically she'll be fifteen in October, before the competition season even kicks off—but still, it feels like she has the whole future back in her hands now and there is so much for her to look forward to. It feels like she has a future—something she never thought she'd ever have. And this future is her own.
Most gymnasts don't reach their prime until about sixteen and even then there are no guarantees that they make elite. A girl could compete in the Olympics at sixteen but most really good Olympians are more like seventeen, eighteen, and nineteen or in college. Making elite at her age means she was good enough to stand among the best, among those older gymnasts and future Olympians.
Yet this means more than that. Making elite, holding this new shiny team leotard… seeing her name on the new roster… it means she's accomplished all the things her mother tried to take away from her. It means that despite all her hardships and trials… despite the scars and wounds, she has flown past them and landed with both feet firmly on the ground.
Now she has every right to celebrate this achievement. She has every right to cheer her freedom and independence. She needs to rush home to Beverly and Amy and find her dad and show them this new leotard, tell them what she has done, and tell them who she has become.
Robyne stuffs her new leotards and warm-ups in her gym bag and hops on her bike and races off for Persimmon Hill. She wants to keep flying.
* * *
7
Amy has doubts and fears she can't express or explain. Today was a bad day but just saying it was bad doesn't cover enough of what happened or explain how she feels inside. Bad doesn't completely explain what the doctors said or what they were whispering amongst themselves behind her back in the hallway, behind their clipboards and notes. Bad is just the beginning of what she wants to say and what she thinks she feels.
Mommy is trying to comfort her and hold her and hug her and make her feel better and feel special and warm inside but the warmth isn't there yet. Right now Mommy can't make her feel warm inside. Mommy is only saying the things Mommies are supposed to say. Even if she means it, it is not what Amy wants to hear. Even if it is what Amy wants to hear, she wants to hear it only from Robyne.
"Here she comes now," Beverly suddenly announced, smiling, spotting Robyne coming up the hill on her bike.
Amy leapt up from the couch and rushed for the door. "Robyne's home!"
Amy opens the door and runs outside. Tears stream from her eyes. She cries, wails, and weeps as she sees Robyne heading up the street and turning towards her. All the things she feels inside leap inside her chest and burst out in thick, heavy sobs of anguish and pain.
Robyne spots Amy immediately and dumps her bike in the neighbor's yard and rushes to take Amy in her arms.
"Oh Robyne! Robyne I am hurting!" Amy cries, saying only what words manage to flow from her heavy sobbing and choked up throat.
Robyne feels Amy's grip tightened around her.
"I'm here… I'm here," Robyne softly, soothingly whispers in Amy's ear.
Robyne can feel Amy's tear-soaked face pressing against her chest and feel her trembling body and beating heart. There is desperation and frustration in Amy's choked up voice. There is a heaviness in Amy's body as she holds her and embraces her.
Beverly comes outside to meet them and Robyne can sense instantly that there is something wrong… something seriously wrong.
"We just got back from Amy's testing sessions with Dr. Chen," Beverly explained.
"They hurt my feelings!" Amy wailed.
"Apparently the doctors feel Amy's scores are much lower than what they should be. They think Amy is severely—
"Oh Robyne they called me a 'retard' and hurt me inside!"
Robyne tightened her embrace and kissed Amy on her cheek. "They're full of shit," she whispered to Amy. "They don't know you the way I do."
"Amy has been waiting for you," Beverly added. "I think you're the only one who can cheer her up. I tried…." Her voice trails off and fades.
Robyne saw the sadness and frustration in Beverly's eyes. No mother wants to hear that their child suffers from severe retardation. No mother wants to see their child in anguish or emotional pain. And no mother wants to feel powerless or helpless or incapable of comfort. What the doctors must have said or done… what the tests must have proven or shown Beverly and Amy was that there was no hope, no help for Amy, no means of comfort. Amy's mind was that of a little girl and the tests said this was wrong, this was bad, this was something that couldn't be helped or improved or turned into something that could be right, good, or positive.
The pain Amy feels was Beverly's pain as well and here she was, rushing to share great news and hoping to tell everyone she had made elite. Robyne was brimming with visions of a bright future and full of all this new confidence and new sense of self. Now, here she is holding her best friend who feels her life has just crumbled and sank to absolute bottom. Here, the mother she has so much respect and love for needs her help, needs her strength.
"You know what? The tests are nothing," Robyne declared. "We know Amy is awesome. We don't need tests. Amy is a genius compared to those clowns at the hospital. No one knows how to color or draw pictures like Amy. No one can dance as beautifully as Amy and no one can live life like Amy does."
Amy eyed Robyne closely.
"Who cares what those doctors have to say? They're not with Amy every day and every night like we are. We know what Amy can do. She can swim, dance ballet, make wonderful art projects, she can sing and hum and play the kazoo, and she can ride her bike, and climb trees—
"I can help Grammy bake cookies too!" Amy added enthusiastically.
"Right; and you always seem to beat me when we play 'Connect Four' or 'Memory' or any of your other games. You also help us cook and set the table at dinner—
"I can do lots of things!" Amy blurted.
"So you don't need any more tests," Robyne concluded. "We're going to go inside now and do what we normally do and forget all about what those doctors had to say. Screw them. We're better than tests."
Robyne took Amy by the hand and guided her back to the house and led her upstairs to her room. Beverly sighed with relief and followed, taking Robyne's bike and gym bag with her. It was miraculous how Robyne thought and inspired. It always surprised her how powerful Robyne was with words and ideas. Robyne had a strong presence and personality—even if she didn't see it or recognize it or felt afraid of letting it out. Yet when faced with something like this… when the ones she held close to her needed her so much… Robyne became this wholly different person. It was when Amy needed her especially that Robyne's greatest strengths seemed to rise to the surface.
Robyne had so much pain in her life—as did Amy—she carried it with her like an anchor chained or shackled to her ankle. Yet she still marched on and still went about her business. She deserved more than the hand she was dealt. Hell, she earned more than the hand she was dealt. Robyne had gifts. She was a gifted friend to Amy, someone who desperately needed a friend. Robyne had a gift with seeing great things in people. She had a gift for perception. She has a gift for empathy—feeling what others feel. Robyne can look anyone in the eyes and just know.
Robyne has a gift with Amy. She can see Amy. She knows her. She knows her feelings, thoughts, and ways of doing things. When others would dismiss Amy, she would prop her up and make her an equal. That took guts and courage especially with kids their age. Most kids don't have that maturity or respect for others—at least not for someone like Amy. They don't see Amy the way Robyne does. They don't want to.
In so many ways Beverly wishes she had what Robyne did in the ways of gifts. She wishes she could be both a loving best friend forever and secret sister as well as a caring, loving, nurturing mother. She wishes she could be everything Amy needed or wanted. She wishes she had the answers Robyne seemed to have. She wishes she had Robyne's strength and courage. Any girl that could survive an abusive, destructive mother… any girl that could rise up from what her abuse tried to break down….
Beverly closes the door and collapses onto the couch. Sometimes it is so hard. It is so hard to heal wounds so deep and mend hearts so fragile and so broken. She has so much love to give but sometimes it feels like it is never enough. When Robyne came up the hill… when Amy leapt outside and wailed and cried out for her… a part of her curled up helplessly and felt ashamed.
Not because she didn't care or love or want to heal… but because she didn't know how the way Robyne did.
* * *
