The Odd Ballerz

by Ruthie Robinson

  “Five-three, Jones,” Coach Harris said, looking at his stopwatch, before transferring his gaze to her. She was bent over, hand to knees, sucking in air.

  “Is that… good?” she asked, working to catch her breath.

  “It ain’t bad,” he said before he walked away. She made her way over to where the boys had gathered for the next whatever.

  #

  It was agility drills. She and the boys had been divided into four groups that were to rotate through four stations, four separate areas on the football field. Each coach was assigned a station, everyone except Z. He was the rover, the overseer of the groups, the camp administrator, which is how she explained his presence near her, watching her at what felt like, every turn.

  She decided ignoring him was her best option, although she wasn’t really successful at pulling that off. She felt an internal pull with this one, unexplainable, and a new experience for her. She turned her attention to the next drill, which consisted of running through what looked like a portable ladder, the kind you can throw out the window in case of a fire and you needed an escape, except for practice today, it lay neatly on the ground. It was made from plastic in the cheery colors of red and yellow. She was to run through the slats without looking at her feet, knees up, moving as fast as they could, which wouldn’t be fast for her.

  “Legs up, Jones,” Coach Z said, walking alongside her as she started into the drill.

  “They are up,” she said, trying to talk and breathe. She was doing well too, almost done, when her left foot caught the last rung of the ladder and once again, the ground rose up to meet her. Crap, she thought, her arms breaking her fall this time at least, not like earlier when she squarely planted her face into the track.

  She waited for laughter. There was none, nothing beyond the grunts and moans, the normal bodily exertions the boys made, performing the same drills as she. She looked over and yes, he was staring at her. His face was inscrutable, nothing new there. He rotated through a total of three expressions as far as she could see. There was the full-out smile, the-I-don’t-play, I-mean-business expression, and his nothing-to-see-here, blank one.

  “Legs up, Jones,” he said after she’d picked herself up from the ground.

  “They were up.”

  “Apparently not up enough,” he said before he walked away. She rolled her eyes and headed to the next device of athletic torture: running through tires, which was another type of agility. She learned that fun fact from Coach Damian, or Coach D for short, which was what he’d said to call him. He had been assigned the tire and ladder stations. Coach D, cute, she thought, the only one that appeared to be the same age as Z. Coach Beryl was the chunky and middle-aged one, and Coach Harris and Coach Wylie were the old men. She managed to stay on her feet and complete the tire drill.

  #

  Next up was station three, the cone drill, and it fell under the purview of Coach Harris. Memphis stood in front alongside Gabe and the other boys, listening as he explained what was required of them.

  “This is one of the drills athletes are required to perform at the combine. The forty-yard dash was the first one. What do you think they measure?” Coach Harris asked.

  Gabe raised his hand and Coach Harris pointed to him for the answer.

  “Speed and quickness,” Gabe said.

  “That’s correct. Most of what you will do in football requires running short distances, especially for the linemen and defenders. Most players aren’t expected to run the length of the field. So that means we need to see how well you move in short distances, in ten yards or so.

  “The three cone drill measures your ability to run, to stop, and to turn on a dime. For those of you new to the game, that means fast. So to complete this drill, you’ll need to run as fast as you can to the first cone, touch it, and then run back to the start. It’s back to the first cone, but this time you don’t touch it, you run past it to the second cone, don’t touch that one either, run around it instead, and then head back to the first cone, running past it again, for a full-out sprint back to the start. Got it?” he asked.

  Ah… not really, Memphis thought. “What’s a combine?” she asked.

  “It’s not important, Jones. Do you understand the drill?”

  “I think so,” she said.

  “Get to the back of the line. You can watch the others go first,” he said, his words softened by the wink he gave her.

  To the back of the line she went, watching, and what she wouldn’t give to have a paper and pen handy. It was a bit confusing, this touching and running around the cones business. She was best at learning when she could take notes and study them later.

  Before long it was her turn and of course it took her a couple of tries to get which cone came first, what to touch and when not to touch, and then she forgot about the last cone and had to go back and start all over again. Four tries for her to successfully complete it, but she did it. She was starting to have doubts about driving herself home. How to drive a car, with no feeling left in her legs.

  #

  One of the most important responsibilities of a coach was to sort through the players, to identify those that required additional help and instruction. Really, it was what good teachers did, and coaches were teachers too, which is how Z’s gaze, more often than not, found Jones. It was nothing long or lingering, more quick glimpses of her performing the various drills and so far, he was a little speechless at her abilities, or more her lack of them. She’d said she sucked and okay, maybe he should believe her.

  He’d been on hand to witness both of her falls, the first one at the start of the forty, followed by the one completing the ladder drill, and what the hell was this about. She’d managed to remain on her feet during the tires drill, which was good. He’d watched her progress during the cone drill too, aware of how long and how many times it had taken her to complete it. Four tries. Yikes! And now she was with him, in his group for the last drill of the day, throwing and catching passes, the campers’ favorite and another chance for him to take an up-close and personal look at her.

  He and Wylie both worked this drill, but he was the one that did the talking. He stood in front of the group, all wide-eyed eager beavers staring back at him, everyone except Jones. She was standing at the back, one of the taller ones here, which wasn’t hard to be in this age group, busy looking around at everyone and anyone but him. He cleared his throat and her eyes zipped over to his. Was that fear he read in them again? If so, fear of what? Maybe he’d misread it, as whatever he thought he saw was gone seconds later.

  “We are going to start by learning how to catch a pass. It’s a three-step process and easy to learn. As you all know, this is a football, oblong in shape,” he said, holding the ball out in front of his body, before dropping it to his feet. “Put your hands together like this,” he said, demonstrating. His hands were in front of his face, thumbs touching, and pointer fingers touching. “This is what is known as making a diamond and it’s the first step in catching the ball. See the diamond in the middle of your hands.”

  “Yes, sir,” the boys and Memphis said.

  “Great. So in step one, we make our diamonds. In step two, we find our quarterback. He’s the one responsible for getting the ball to us. We have to follow the ball as it leaves his hands and arrives in ours. That’s step two. Got it?”

  “Yes, sir,” the boys and Memphis said.

  “Good. So step three, is all about catching the ball, squeezing it as it makes contact with your hands, while simultaneously pulling it into your body. Simple, right?”

  “Yes, sir,” the boys and Memphis said.

  “Good. Now let’s pair up, and get in some practice.”

  “Yes, sir,” the group said again.

  #

  She actually might have a chance at this drill. The instructions seemed easy enough, Memphis thought, scanning the group of boys for a partner. No one seemed overly enthusiastic about partnering up with her, though. Not sure if that was due to their differenc
es in age or in their abilities. The boys’ glances were quick and away when they made eye contact with her, so maybe it was her abilities or lack thereof, that frightened. Whatever the reason, it was looking like the odd man out for this drill she would be.

  “Yes,” she whispered under her breath, working to contain her smile, not at all bothered by this turn of events. Wouldn’t it be wonderful if she could skip the delightful experience of throwing and catching a football altogether. But just to be sure she wasn’t noticed, she scooted closer to the currently coach-free pair of Gabe and his partner.

  She scanned the group for Coach Z, knowing he’d probably see her predicament differently, but for now he and Coach Wylie was busily assisting the boys who’d found partners. She turned her attention then to watching Gabe and his partner.

  Both boys seemed quite good, catching and throwing the ball effortlessly to each other. With each catch Gabe took a few steps backward per the instructions, increasing the distance between he and his partner. She was impressed. Both boys had abilities enough to render this drill easy. And she wished, the first time in a long time, that she’d been able to do the same, that sports had come easier for her.

  #

  Z watched the boys, searching for those that required additional assistance. It took some longer than others to get used to the feel of the ball and the correct way to hold their hands. And speaking of having trouble, where was Jones? he wondered, searching the cluster of boys for her.

  He found her standing beside Gabe, partner-less. And no, given her actions so far today, he was not surprised, unfortunately. He watched her for a second longer to be sure. Yes, she was alone, quietly watching Gabe and his partner Sean.

  Jones, Jones, Jones, he thought, waiting to see if she would look up. She did a few minutes later, scanning the group of boys first and then Coach Wylie. It was him she was looking for next, and yep, he thought, smiling—internally of course—when her eyes met his. It was as he suspected, ’cause all wide-eyed and guilty was the gaze that met his. He chuckled and headed over to meet her.

  “I guess it’s you and me today?” he said when he reached her.

  “Or I could skip it all together, and you could continue to help the others. I’m not much into catching anyway.”

  “We aren’t doing that again, are we? I thought we’d covered this topic earlier? There will be no skipping of anything,” he said.

  “What are you talking about? It was only out of consideration for the boys that I didn’t interrupt you and Coach Wylie with your training.”

  “Sure, that’s it. Follow me,” he said, and led her over to the end past the last pair of kids. He stopped and waited for her to catch up to him, before moving closer to stand in front of her. “Now show me your hands. You do remember what comes next, right? You were listening, weren’t you?”

  “Were you listening is the real question?” she said, and almost laughed aloud at the expression on his face. He lowered his shades and stood staring at her for a second.

  “Yes, I was listening. I’m to make a diamond with my hands,” she said, holding her hands out in front of her, demonstrating. “Find the quarterback, and watch him throw me the ball, following it into my hands.”

  “Don’t get hostile, Jones,” he said, handing her the ball.

  “I’m not, just answering your question, Coach.”

  “Okay, take a few steps back and throw the ball to me,” he said. She did. He caught it and threw it back to her. In and out of her hands it went.

  “I wasn’t ready,” she said, picking it up from the ground before throwing it back to him. He really had that expressionless blank face thing down pat when he wanted to.

  “Let’s try it again then,” he said, meeting her gaze, or his shades did anyway. “Are you ready this time?” he asked.

  “Now? I am, yes, now, I am ready,” she said, before putting her hands up into the required diamond shape. He threw the ball again and it was in and out of her hands again.

  “I thought you were ready.”

  “Me too. You should have a talk with my hands. They’re the real problem here.”

  “Take a couple of steps back,” he said, trying not to laugh.

  “Is that the smart thing to do?” she asked.

  “Excuse me?” he asked, surprised she could tell.

  “I mean, don’t you think I should stay put here until I can catch the ball from this spot? Really, how much sense does it make to have me move farther away. If I can’t catch the ball here, what makes you think I’ll be able to catch it from over there?” she said, pointing to somewhere over her shoulder.

  “Jones,” he said, all serious-coach tone in his voice.

  She sighed but complied, waited for him to throw the ball to her again. He did, and she watched it move through the air, all spirally and pretty and coming in fast. She ducked just as it reached her.

  “You said you would try, Jones,” he said, a man using his utmost patience for the kid that was problematic, is what she heard in his voice.

  “I was trying.”

  “Try harder then. I won’t hurt you.”

  “Right,” she said, waiting again. Her hands were up in the diamond position, watching as the ball came towards her, and dang that ball was moving fast. She batted it away at the last minute, watching as it fell to the ground.

  “Let’s try something else. This isn’t working.”

  “Told you.”

  “Move closer to me then?” he said, choosing to ignore her comment. He stood, silently waiting, until she followed his instructions and moved closer.

  He threw the ball to her again, watched as it went in and out of her hands.

  “Take another step closer to me,” he said.

  “I can’t or I’ll be standing on top of you.”

  “Jones,” he said, more of his coach-with-patience on display, watching her take another step toward him. “Now open your hands,” he said. She obeyed and he softly tossed the ball to her. She caught it.

  “Good now, again.”

  “Okay,” she said, and smiled as she caught another softly thrown ball.

  “Now, take a small step back. Nothing huge.”

  “See, sometimes baby steps are the way to go.”

  “Less talk, concentrate on catching the ball please.”

  “Right,” she said, and waited for another softly thrown ball, which she caught again.

  “Good, Jones, now take another step back.” Before she could do as he’d asked, a whistle blew, a long pull of shrill, different from the other whistles she’d heard today.

  “Saved by the bell? Camp’s ending for the day,” Coach Z said. Memphis looked around and yes, the boys were moving to the middle of the field.

  The coaches had moved them efficiently through the two hours of training, and now they were done and she wanted to shout. She didn’t though, walked over to the middle of the field instead, joining the boys who stood listening to Coach Wylie thank them for their efforts today. She went over to grab her bag from the restrooms afterward, and it was over to where she’d parked her car and home for a good soak in the tub and then lights out. She was some kind of tired, and she’d be sore tomorrow, and that was another reason she didn’t do sports. However there was a tiny part of her that was proud to have survived day one.

  #

  She had barely gotten into her car before her cell phone rang. Of course it was Alex, her new target for sisterly payback once she could figure out a proper one.

  “So?” Alex said.

  “You should have told me he was fine.”

  “Who’s fine? Z?”

  “Yes, Coach Z. We have to call him that.”

  “He’s your coach. We all have to call him that. You think he’s fine, huh? That’s something I didn’t see coming. So you’ve finally come around to the swirl,” Alex said, chuckling. This was new; Memphis preferred brown men, or so Alex had thought.

  “I only said he was fine and even if I were interested, I certainly wou
ldn’t call my relationship with a man some frozen ice cream treat. What am I? Ten? Anyway,” Memphis said, moving away from relationship talk. “I don’t remember seeing him at your games. How long have you two known each other?”

  “A year and a half and that’s because your idea of game attendance is a quick in and out, as quickly as humanly possible.”

  “Hey, I’m there to watch you play. My attendance is the point and I don’t think he likes me.”

  “Who, Z? I doubt he feels any way about you. It’s all about the team for him. It’s just his way and he’s not there to like you anyway. He’s there to turn you into a football player, to train and to coach you. He takes his time seriously, and expects the same from others. He doesn’t like people who don’t try.”

  “I’m trying. Who says I wasn’t?”

  “Nobody. I did hear that you were late.”

  “So what’s this? He’s reporting to you?”

  “No, he’s not. But he hates it when people show up to practice or whatever late. Which again, is what I heard you were.”

  “Did he tell you that?”

  “No, again.”

  “It couldn’t be helped,” Memphis said.

  “I don’t know if it could or couldn’t. What I do know is that time is a big thing for him so if you want to be in his good graces, you’ll need to be on time,” Alex said.

  “You have me training with a bunch of little boys!” Memphis said, voicing another complaint in her long list of them. “You should have told me. Had me looking like an idiot, thinking it was just going to be him working with me alone.”

  “Those little boys are seriously serious about playing football. They are just as new to the game as you. Believe me, it’s much easier to suck in the midst of a bunch of people. You would not have been happy sucking in front of him all by your lonesome, so quit complaining.”