by Rich Wallace
“Neither did I. They worked us just about to death. The coach actually said he was taking it easy on us because it was the first day. I guess tomorrow we’ll run a marathon and drag a school bus up a hill.”
“I’d better give you a double helping of dinner.”
“The day after that we have to swim across the Hudson River wearing metal vests.”
“That’ll be something to see.”
“Yeah, well, we’re wrestlers. We’re tough.”
“So I gather.”
He sat at the kitchen table and shut his eyes. The cat appeared and rubbed her head against his shin.
“It wasn’t that hard, I guess. I’ll be sore tomorrow, but I liked it. Most of it, anyway. I hated the running, but when we actually wrestled it was cool. I’m pretty quick; I took a few guys down.”
Mom sat across from him, and the cat climbed onto her lap. “Did anyone take you down?”
“Just one guy. Nobody else.”
She smiled. “I’m not surprised. You’ve always been elusive, that’s for sure.”
“Yeah, I know how to slip out of trouble. I think I might be pretty good at this. I just gotta learn a few more moves.”
Donald climbed into bed early after a shower and homework, leaving the light on for now and staring at the ceiling. Despite the cold weather, he had his window open about six inches so he could hear the traffic sounds a couple of blocks away.
Usually he’d listen to the radio at night, an odd-ball station out of New York City that played oldies from the fifties and sixties and sometimes even earlier. But tonight he didn’t want the distraction.
His right elbow was sore where a bit of skin had rubbed off when he was battling to keep Tavo from pinning him, and his legs felt heavy from the running. But those were good hurts; they were the results of his effort.
Except for a few sleepovers at Manny’s, Donald had slept in this room every night of his life. Everything in it was familiar: the trophies on his dresser for being a member of championship teams in Little League baseball and YMCA floor hockey, the framed photo on the wall above his bed of Donald and his father fishing off a pier at the Jersey Shore, the pile of board games collecting dust in the corner of the room—Monopoly, Stratego, Clue.
And then there were those patterns in the ceiling’s cracked plaster, especially the large one that was roughly the shape of a fat alligator. And toward the edge, above the window, was the pattern he’d first identified as a dog when he was a toddler. Now it looked more to him like a woodchuck.
All of these things were the same as they’d always been, but one thing seemed different to Donald. The difference was in him, the kid lying in bed thinking. He felt as if he’d crossed a line today, like he’d finally started becoming an athlete.
The second day of practice was certain to be even harder. Donald yawned and turned out the light. The cold breeze from outdoors was steady. He huddled under the covers and fell into the deepest sleep he’d had since he was a baby.
3
Mat Burns
Donald could smell coffee brewing as he brushed his teeth in the morning. That would mean that his dad was up. He had only a few minutes before leaving for school, so he hustled into his clothes and trotted down the stairs.
“Hey, Dad!”
“Darnald!” Dad said with a laugh. “Cutting it close, as usual, I see. Not much time for breakfast.”
Mr. Jenkins looked like an older version of his son—very lean with a smirky expression, and straight sandy hair that was cut short. The difference was that Dad’s hair was already turning gray and he wore glasses.
Donald opened the refrigerator and set the orange-juice carton on the table. He picked up a cold baked potato from a few nights before and stared at it. “How long to microwave this, you think?”
“Half a minute.”
“Good deal. Any of that macaroni and cheese left?”
“Should be.”
He was very hungry, and lunch was a long way off.
“Mom says you liked the wrestling?”
“Yeah. Discomfort is a lot of fun.”
“Your muscles hurting this morning?”
“Not too bad. I can walk. A little.”
Dad rolled his eyes. “Maybe we’d better call a limousine to take you to school. Or a helicopter.”
“That’d be great, Dad. Have them pick me up after practice, too.”
“That’ll really impress your teammates.”
“I know it.”
Donald wolfed down his food and grabbed his backpack. “Still cold out?”
“Very. Feels like winter already.”
“It won’t last. You working tonight?”
“I expect to.”
“Then I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”
Dad stood and kissed the top of Donald’s head.
“Oh, man!” Donald said. “I forgot to make my lunch.”
Dad rolled his eyes and took his wallet from his back pocket. “This’ll break the bank, but I guess you’d better buy lunch today.” He handed Donald a couple dollars. “Work hard,” he said.
“Thanks,” Donald said as he stepped out to the porch. “Yeah, work is hard.”
Manny was waiting on the Boulevard. He pointed to his wrist to indicate that they were running late. And he swung his backpack gently at Donald. “It’s cold, man. I been waiting here for five minutes.”
“Poor guy. I’m weeping for you.”
“I have math problems to finish in homeroom.”
“Should’ve done ’em last night,” Donald said.
“Like you should talk. I watched Monday Night Football instead.”
They had to run the last three blocks to avoid being late.
“My legs are beat,” Donald said as they hustled up the steps outside the school.
“It’s good for you.”
“We ran forever yesterday. You probably went out and did fifty miles just for fun.”
“Only three. I’m resting this week.”
“Doesn’t sound like resting to me.”
Donald took his seat in his homeroom just seconds before the late bell. He turned to Mario, seated behind him, and noticed a raw spot on his cheek.
“Your face looks like my elbow.”
“That’s called a mat burn,” Mario said. “My brother says to expect a lot of them if we keep wrestling.”
“What do you mean if?”
“I mean . . . You know what I mean. Expect a lot of sore skin.”
“Doesn’t scare me.”
“Me either,” Mario said. “A couple of guys already said they’re quitting, though.”
“Like who?”
“Ricky said he is. And he said Jordan is out, too. They hated it.”
Donald could understand the temptation to quit. You either loved the physical challenge or you didn’t. He was pretty sure he loved it. “Hope we get more one-on-one time today,” he said. “You know, actually get to wrestle somebody again. Anybody but Tavo, I mean.”
“That’s how I got this,” Mario said, pointing to the mat burn on his face. “But I know what you mean. That’s why we went out for this sport in the first place.”
“Right. I mean, I love doing push-ups until my fingers snap off, but the actual wrestling is even better.”
“Yeah,” Mario said. “My favorite was running in place for four hours. I think we were supposed to dig a hole in the mat with our feet.”
“That’s the idea. Do drills until the gym caves in, then wrestle on the debris.”
“That’s what makes us tough.”
Donald turned to face the front of the room. School days were long, but at least now he had something to look forward to at the end of it.
4
Flat on His Back
Donald squirmed and twisted, but Tavo was just too strong. Why did Coach keep putting Donald against him?
Just like yesterday, Tavo was using Donald as a takedown dummy. He’d pinned him four times already.
I co
uld beat half the guys in this gym, Donald thought. Is Coach trying to make me look bad or what?
Donald felt his shoulders pressing firmly into the mat for pin number five.
“Got ya,” Tavo said, grabbing Donald’s arm and hauling him up.
Donald swatted at Tavo and said, “Knock it off. I told you I don’t need any help.”
“Just giving you a hand, bro.”
Donald made a fist and lifted it up. “You’ll get a hand. A clenched one.”
Tavo laughed. They were the same size, but obviously he’d have no more trouble handling Donald in a fight than in a wrestling match.
Donald didn’t care. He took a step closer and leaned forward with his face just inches from Tavo’s. “You’ll be dead meat after I learn a few moves,” he said.
Tavo leaned forward, too, so his forehead was almost touching Donald’s. Donald put a hand on Tavo’s chest and shoved hard.
Tavo took a step back, nearly falling to the mat. He reached up and gripped Donald’s shirt with one hand, staring at him hard. “Don’t get me mad.”
“Let go,” Donald said. “I’m already mad.”
Tavo let go of the shirt and laughed again. That didn’t help Donald’s anger any.
Donald felt a finger jabbing into his shoulder. He looked up and saw Coach standing there. “Problem here?”
“No.”
“No?”
Donald shook his head.
Coach made the same circling motion with his hand that he’d made the day before. “Start running,” he said.
“Just me?”
“Just you. I saw what happened. I don’t care how bad you get beat, but if you act like a poor sport you get punished.”
Donald let out his breath in a huff and walked to the edge of the mat. Then he started running laps around the gym, much faster than yesterday. He couldn’t help but run faster because he was angry. Tavo had made him look like a jerk.
Coach sent word for Tavo and Donald to come to the office after practice. All of the school’s sports coaches shared the same office: a tiny, cramped space next to the locker room with a desk, two chairs, and a bulletin board with team schedules and announcements.
Both boys stood outside the office for about ten minutes while Coach talked on the phone. They didn’t say anything. Donald glanced at Tavo without turning his head. The guy had bigger arm muscles than he did, and he stood straighter. And he had confidence, no doubt about that.
Coach was apparently talking to his wife. “Look, it’ll happen when he’s ready. He’s just being stubborn. . . . Give him a book to look at. . . . The one with the bird who lost his mother; he’s got that one memorized. . . . Well, we can’t force him. He’ll get it sooner or later.”
Finally Coach hung up. “My two-year-old,” he said, swiveling in his chair to face the boys. “Toilet training.”
Coach looked at Donald. “You learn anything today, Jenkins?”
Donald shrugged. “I suppose.”
Coach pointed to Tavo but kept his eyes on Donald. “When you go against a smart wrestler like Tavo, you can’t let yourself get frustrated.” He pointed to his head. “Clear thinking. If you start seeing red, you’ll get pounded. He’ll pin you in a second. You’ve got balance and heart and pretty good strength, and I suspect you’ve got some brains, too.”
Coach stopped talking and gave Donald a hard stare.
“Okay,” Donald said.
“You’ll turn out to be a good wrestler if you stick with it and control your temper. After Tavo pins you about a hundred more times, I suspect you’ll start to catch on.”
Donald blushed. He looked sideways at Tavo. Tavo nudged him with his elbow and gave him an upward nod, looking kind of friendly, which was a surprise.
“You may not like it, but wrestling Tavo every day is the best gift a wrestler like you could get,” Coach said. “He’ll keep slaughtering you, but you’ll get better a lot faster than if I paired you with somebody else.
“One more thing: If you start fights, you’ll be off the team. Now get out of here.” He waved them back toward the lockers.
Donald followed Tavo back. As they reached the locker room, Tavo turned and said, “Guys who lose their temper get eaten alive in this sport.”
Donald didn’t reply.
Kendrick was dressed and tying his shoes when Donald got back. Most of the other seventh-graders were already gone.
“You in trouble?” Kendrick asked.
“Nah.”
“What was with the extra running today?”
“Me and Tavo got in a scruffle. It was no big deal.”
“I didn’t see him running.”
Donald yanked his soaking T-shirt over his head and fumbled with his lock. “I guess he was too tired.”
“Yeah, right.”
They were the last two in the locker room now. Coach came in and chased them out. Donald grabbed his backpack and put on his sneakers without tying them. “See you tomorrow, Coach. I’ll be the one flat on my back again.”
5
First Match
Two weeks passed quickly, with rugged work-outs and constant learning of new wrestling moves. Tavo had continued to pin Donald repeatedly during practice, but Coach demonstrated a few counter moves that helped him fend off a few of the attacks.
The work made Donald hungry all the time. He’d sit in his morning classes wishing the clock would move more quickly so he could eat lunch.
Now here he was, suited up in the red-and-black Hudson City wrestling uniform, nervously stretching and running in place, minutes away from his first real match.
He put on his headgear and fastened the chin-strap, letting out a deep breath and staring at the mat in the center of the Hudson City gym. Mario was out there now, struggling to keep from getting pinned by his faster and more limber opponent.
Coach was loudly instructing Mario what to do—“Roll out of it!”—but the Jersey City wrestler had Mario in a half nelson and was forcing his shoulders toward the mat.
Donald winced as the referee smacked the mat to signal a pin. Mario had only lasted about fifty seconds. Would Donald do any better? He’d soon find out.
Donald’s match was one of five preliminaries before the meet would officially begin. He hadn’t earned a spot in the starting lineup, but fortunately the other team had several junior varsity wrestlers, too, so he’d be getting a taste of real competition.
Coach gripped Donald’s shoulder and told him to stay focused and be patient. “No big heroic moves right off,” he said. “Wait for your opening, then be as aggressive as you can. Think on your feet.”
Donald glared at his opponent, who looked a little shorter but a bit stronger, more solidly built. His mouth was set in an angry line.
How good could he be? Donald wondered. He didn’t make their varsity.
And he probably hadn’t been training against someone as skilled as Tavo every day, either.
Stop thinking, Donald thought. Just kick this guy’s butt.
There were only about twenty spectators in the small bleachers, but Manny and a few of Donald’s other friends were there.
The referee waved the two wrestlers onto the mat. They shook hands and backed away, staring viciously at each other and waiting for the whistle to start the match.
Two two-minute periods. If it lasted that long.
They circled around each other, testing their quickness with a few false lunges. Then Donald saw an opening: The Jersey City wrestler had his right foot too far forward. Donald dodged toward his opponent’s left leg, forcing him to shift his right one even farther up. This gave Donald a perfect shot at that leg, and he took advantage.
Donald made that penetrating first step just as Coach had been stressing all week, keeping his arms close to his body as he attacked. He locked his hands behind his opponent’s right knee. From there it was easy to lift him and force him to the mat, and Donald had the lead.
He heard the cheers of his teammates and the spectators, but his
focus was completely on working this guy’s shoulders toward the mat. But his opponent was resisting, squirming to get out of Donald’s grip. He wouldn’t be easy to pin.
Donald hung on, but the Jersey City wrestler managed to get to his knees.
“Go for the ankle!” Tavo yelled from the sideline.
Donald knew that would be his best move, lifting the guy’s ankle from the mat and forcing him to lie flat. Tavo used that move on Donald all the time.
The trick was to shift his hand from the guy’s waist to his ankle, doing it quickly enough that he couldn’t escape.
Don’t think, just do it, Donald told himself.
The move worked. The Jersey City wrestler was flat on his stomach with Donald on top, lifting that ankle with one hand and trying to turn the guy with the other.
But Donald didn’t quite have the strength to take advantage of the position. The guy simply squirmed toward the edge of the mat, finally rolling them both out of bounds.
So the referee brought them to the center of the mat again. Since Donald had been in control when they went out of bounds, he would maintain his advantage. The Jersey City wrestler kneeled on the mat, hands flat, too, and Donald kneeled behind him, one hand on his opponent’s waist and the other at his elbow.
“Flatten this guy!” came a call from the crowd. Donald was sure it came from Manny.
The whistle blew and both wrestlers worked furiously—Donald trying to force his opponent down again and the opponent trying to escape. Donald felt his grip loosening; the guy had broken free. In an instant they were both on their feet again, circling around as before.
But Donald had earned the best of that exchange. His takedown was worth two points, while the Jersey City wrestler’s escape was worth just one.
Plenty of time remained in the period. Donald wanted another takedown. What he really wanted was a pin.
His opponent apparently hadn’t learned anything from that first takedown; he still had his right leg too far forward, almost inviting Donald to attack. So Donald feinted toward the left leg again, then shot over to the right and quickly executed the takedown.
He’s dead meat now, Donald thought, working to turn the takedown into a pinning combination. But the guy got to one knee and forced himself up, escaping just as quickly as Donald had taken him down.