I keep fidgeting,

trying to get into a comfortable position on

these incredibly uncomfortable bleachers.

I watch as she fidgets;

she isn’t fidgeting because she’s uncomfortable,

she's moving around to try to calm herself down,

because she's up next.

Because it would be her one chance to show off

the forty-five second routine she had spent

over five thousand and four hundred minutes perfecting,

to the judges, who were ready to point out her every flaw.

But, I wasn’t used to being up here,

I wasn’t used to watching.

I wasn’t supposed to be watching.

I was supposed to be down there,

past the blue railing, which felt more like a wall;

down there with my team.

I should be so nervous right now,

but I am completely calm.

I felt my eyes brewing with tears,

as I watch the girl who had always been my teammate,

the girl who I thought would always be my teammate;

the girl who I had spent countless hours with at practice;

or the many nights we spent watching the movie “stick it” together,

not caring that we had seen it a thousand times before,

or that we didn’t even need the sound, because we knew every word;

but we would watched it anyways, because it was our before-meet-ritual;

or how over the summer, we’d spend every day after the long practices at one of our houses, icing our backs, and whatever else ached the most that day,

while we watched every moment of the the olympics, or anything else to do with gymnastics.

but I quickly stopped the tears that were threatening to fall;

the same way she was going to balance on

the four inches of beam she was given to use.


Let me begin again,

I watched her, achieving our goals,

the goals we had set together.

I wanted so badly to be down there,

in my matching leo,

talking to her, which our way of calming each other down.

I wanted to be trying anything to slow my racing heartbeat,

trying to stop my hands from sweating,

my stomach from turning.

But as I listen to my heart’s steady, normal beating;

and I feel my completely dry hands;

and my stomach, which isn’t turning at all.

I look down at my best friend,

practicing each of her skills,

carefully balancing on a thin line;

waiting to compete.

The expression on her face is pure concentration

as she salutes the judges, letting them know she’s ready to begin.

Then she gently rests her hands on the beam’s tan surface.

letting out a deep breath, she pushes up onto the apparatus to begin the routine we both know by heart.

she has perfect balance the whole time.

she looks so comfortable, so at ease.

you never would have believed she had been nervous just a few minutes ago.

They cheered her name, motivating her.

not noticing they were leaving me behind,

not giving a second thought to the fact that I might not ever catch up to them.

the only thing left was her dismount.

but it had never been trouble for her.

And as I feel her and the rest of my team slip away from me,

she lands and it’s as if her feet are glued to the mat;
a perfect stick.