LITR 3731: Creative Writing
Student Fiction Submission 2003

Jason Honeycutt

A Day in the Life

“McLain!”  Coach Robinson yelled.  “Do you want to go play with the girls?”  He stopped everything.  I guess he had to let the entire class know how horrible I am at basketball.  Embarrassment is a very powerful weapon against seventh graders.  That’s what Coach learned in school after he mastered showing hygiene films.

            “I can’t help it if I’m short,” I screamed back.  I threw the ball.  It hit the rim bouncing wildly off to one side.  The missed shot had nothing to do with the fact that I possess no basketball skills whatsoever.  That’s the secret of life; always blame your weaknesses on something infinitely beyond your control.

            “Son.  Shoot the ball like a man!”  Coach bellowed as he pointed to the other boys in the class.  I had no idea of the gender differentiation within the realm of throwing things, but then again I am not a junior high PE coach.  The other boys were making a few baskets, at least.  I took the ball and shot again, this time not even hitting the backboard.

            “Maybe you should go tumble with the girls,” Coach laughed.

            That made me think.  I could stay here and get yelled at because as a four-foot ten-inch twelve-year old kid I wasn’t NBA material, or I could go play with the girls.  Tough choice.  Yeah, right.

            “Will I get to shower with them?”  I smiled.

            Coach Robinson’s face turned bright red, almost as red as his hair.  He rarely saw the humor in my comments.  Instead, he believed me to be of below average intelligence because that, of course, resulted from my inability to shoot baskets.  Good on you Coach.  You are truly a wonder of creation. 

            “That’s it,” he grabbed the back of my shirt and dragged me to the girl’s side of the gym.  “Ms. Jones, this young man would like to spend his PE hour with the girls from now on.  If that would be all right.”

            Ms. Jones looked me up and down, “I guess he’ll do.”

            Coach Robinson smirked and left me standing there with the girls.  I studied my new surroundings.  Girls as far as the eye can see.  I was in twelve-year old heaven; either that or I’d puke on my shoes.

            “William,” Ms. Jones broke my concentration.  “Today we are tumbling.  If you would, get in line and just follow the rest of the class.”

            I walked to end of the closest line and stood.  The girl in front of me, Jenny Walker, turned around.  She was cute, and even my height.  Most of the girls who attended this fine center of education were taller than I was by at least three inches.

             She turned around and laughed.  “Why do you always get in trouble?”

            “I don’t try to,” I said studying my shoes.  “It just happens.”

            “Yeah,” Jenny smiled, “Coach just kinda left himself wide open for that, didn’t he?”

            “I know, how can you let a statement like ‘shoot the ball like a man’ go?” 

            The girls in front of us were doing a series of cartwheels on the mats.  Jenny was next.  I watched her do one perfectly, but she is a gymnast.  Now it was my turn.  I admit, I was nervous.  It’s not often that a boy is called upon to execute feats of agility in front of forty girls in gym shorts. I said a silent prayer walking to edge of the mat.  I knew the Big Guy wouldn’t let me down.  I took a deep breath.  Using all the acrobatic skill I have, I executed the most beautiful cartwheel seen in the western world.

            “Wow,” Jenny grinned.  “That was pretty good.”

            “I used to be in the circus.”

            She shook her head and laughed, “I believe you.”

            The tumbling session went on all period long.  As class drew to an end Ms. Jones sat us down to go over tomorrow’s schedule.

            “William,” she pointed at me.  “Will you be joining us tomorrow?”

            “Yes,” I grinned.  “I like it here.  I’ll move myself my stuff into the girl’s locker room.”

I had broken down the barrier.  I had been let into the everlasting slumber party.  I would now be privy to untold knowledge and insights.  I was one of the girls.

II.

The rest of the day was basically fifty-minute naps interrupted by five-minute location changes.  That includes detention.  I noticed that I was the only kid in detention who didn’t have a book-bag.  After an hour of mind numbing prison I waited outside.  It’s almost five o’clock and still no sign of Mom.  She must be teaching me some sort of lesson.  That’s when my heart sank.  Across the parking lot I could see the unmistakable yellow sports car, the loud, stupid engine reving (he just had to have) and the radio blasting some pop crap.  Tom, the most loser older brother in modern history, came cruising arrogantly around the parking lot.

            “Aww, man,” I stomped my foot.  “Could this day get any worse?”

            Oh, but it did.  Tom pulled up.  The passenger door opened and out stepped the most beautiful girl I have ever seen.  I was mesmerized.  It took all my concentration just to keep my mouth closed.  If life were a movie, we would be in super slow motion and the wind would be blowing, some song from Dad’s favorite radio station in the background.  She ran her fingers through her hair as she held the door.  I nodded approvingly.  She was amazed by the smoothness of my action…

            “Get in dork,” Tom barked, interrupting my perfect moment.

            I climbed easily into the tiny back seat.  The girl got in and closed the door.  Tom, in true Tom fashion, tried to show off by squealing his tires in the parking lot.  The girl reached over and turned down the radio.

            “I’m Denise,” she smiled.  “Denise Walker.  You must be Will.”

            I don’t know, lady, are you sure Tom doesn’t cruise the junior-highs picking up random kids.  “Yeah,” was all I could think of to say to her.  She was probably wondering why I looked as if I’d been rolling in the mud.  I think I’ll be quiet and pretend the mud isn’t there.

            Tom glanced in the mirror, “Why are you covered in mud?”

            I was staring out the window, “Dirt class.”

            “Freak,” he turned his attention back to the road.

            “Hey,” Denise turned around in her seat.  “Is it true that you got put in girl’s PE?”

            I winced.  “Who told you that?”  I pushed the hair back out of my face.  I should have left it to cover up the red.

            “My sister,” she said, “Jenny.  She said you got put in girl’s PE and you do really good cartwheels.”

            The roar of laughter from the front seat was too much.  Tom was crying, he was laughing so hard.  Laugh it up, jerk.  When we get home I’ll break something you like.

            “You got put in girl’s PE!”  He howled, “Wait until Dad hears this!”

            “Jenny said you asked if you could shower with them,” Denise giggled.

            I grinned sheepishly.  My face flushed red again.

            “Oh!  That’s even better,” Tom was still laughing.

            “Shut up, Buttmunch!”  I yelled kicking the back of his seat.

            “It was probably the hair,” Tom wiped a tear from his eye.  “Coach Robinson knows you secretly want to be a girl.”  He lost himself in another fit of laughter.

            “I think his hair is cute,” Denise turned around again.

            The howls of laughter ceased.  Finally, Tom shut up.  He reached over and turned the radio up.  Without fail, Tom insisted on listening to those ridiculous teeny-bopper bands.

            “Oh!”  I cried, “This music is so lame!”

            “Tough.  Sit there and shut up,” Tom turned the radio up even louder.

            “What kind of music do you like?”  Denise asked.

            “Not this,” I snapped.

            “He doesn’t like it if you can understand the words,” Tom smiled to himself.

            Yes, Tom, smile.  You are, in fact, the smartest man alive.  I hope my sarcasm isn’t wasted.  I’m laying it on pretty thick.

            Denise laughed, “I bet you like punk bands.”

            “Yeah, I guess.  Silverchair is my favorite.”

            Tom pulled into the driveway.  I guess Denise is staying over to study or something.  We walked in together.  I held the door for her.  Mom would be proud.  After all, I am a ladies man.  All I need is a smoking jacket and a glass of cognac (pronounced cog-nack).

            “Forget something?”  Mom held my book-bag.  She did not look pleased.  I guess with everything I had done today, before lunch even, she had a right to be upset.  With Tom around it’s hard to be perfect and it certainly doesn’t help that I’m a walking catastrophe, either.

            “Believe it or not,” I grinned.  “I didn’t even need it.”

            Mom scowled, “I choose not.”  She sighed, “Well, was it worth it?  Was it worth five days of detention for five seconds on a skateboard?”

            “But Mom,” I begged.  “If you’d seen the sick board-slide I did down the stair railing.”

            She covered her ears, “I’m not hearing this.”

            I turned to see Tom snickering and Denise trying not to smile.

            “It had to be at least twelve feet!”  I pleaded.

            “Enough,” Mom sighed.  “Do I dare ask why you are covered in mud?”

            I pulled a clump of hardened clay from my hair, “This, this is nothing.  You should see the other kids.”

            “I sincerely hope that mud is from at class.”

            “Mom,” I smiled, “trust me.  By the way, your birthday present is almost done.”

            Mom began peeling potatoes, “I can hardly wait.”

            Tom could no longer contain himself and lost his composure across the counter.  Denise bit her bottom lip and nodded in agreement.

            “Tell her…”  Tom stopped laughing and held his stomach, “Tell her about PE.”

            I shot him the stink-eye.  Why did he always try to get me in trouble?  It’s not as if I need his assistance.  I think it’s so when he does something dumb it’s okay because my dumb things are always worse.

            “What about PE?”  Mom asked, crossing her arms in the this-had-better-be-good fashion. 

            “Nothing, nothing happened in PE,” I said digging in the refrigerator.

            “He got put in the girl’s class!”  Tom lost again and was spread out over the kitchen counter.

            “You got put where?”  Mom was confused.

            I suppose I would have been confused too.  It’s not every day your son gets put in girl’s PE.  She must be bursting with pride.

            “In the girl’s class,” I tried not to smile.  My efforts proved futile.

            “No more,” she pulled on her hair.  “Go outside, do your homework, do something until your father gets home.  He can deal with you.”

            Not Dad!  He never understands the things I do.  Dad was just like Coach Robinson.  He wanted me to be another Tom.  Well, I’m not Tom.  I’m Will.  Besides, every family needs an embarrassing secret.

            “I’m going to ride my board,” I walked outside.  There was my board.  It looked so lonely leaning against the house like that.  Poor thing, I’ll never leave you alone like that again.  A whole day without you, I thought my heart would wither and die.  To everyone else you’re just plywood and wheels, to me; you’re everything wonderful, like Denise, without boobs.

            One thing though, Dad did build me a mini half-pipe in the backyard, it’s great for tearing up nice clothes.  Dad was a good carpenter but somehow ended up working middle management for some weird little company.  Most of the time Dad’s a pretty happy camper (imagine John Candy with a honey glazed ham, man, that’s happy), especially when he and Tom tossed the football around or watched the big game on Sunday.  Dad and I get along best when it comes to building stuff.  I love woodworking and so does Dad.  That was our thing.  Tom had football and grades.  I liked to build.  Dad said I would make a good carpenter one day.  I hadn’t really thought about it.

            As I climbed up the ramp, I took a deep breath staring into the abyss of the pipe.  I dropped in.  Better enjoy it while I can.