Gym Boys by Shane Allison Read Free Book Online

wanted to join the team. Coach just looked me over slowly, nodded, and said, “Okay, Rufus. I’ll give you a try. Practice starts today after school.”
    I went to practice every day, and I tried real hard to learn the moves. At first, nobody wanted to wrestle me because of my size, but then some of the bigger boys took me on. And they found they could win, more often than not. I hate to say it, but Daddy was right, I am slow. And clumsy. Sometimes if I could just get a good grip on the guy, I could hold on and pin him to the mat. But if he slipped out of my hands and started his moves on me, I was a goner. I went to a few meets and usually wound up “eating mat.” I was just glad that Daddy never went and saw it. I’d never hear the end of it.
    Every afternoon, after practice, we all would shower up before going home. More often than not, Coach Garibaldi just stood at the doorway, sometimes talking to the other boys, giving them pointers, sometimes just watching us. Coach never much talked to me, but lately I’d begun to catch him looking at me more and more. Probably just wonderin’ what to do with such a pitiful wrestler. One day, as we were all walking out of the shower back toward the lockers, he grunted and said, “I guess it’s true what they say about guys with big feet.” And he walked back to his office. A couple of other guys nearby laughed.
    â€œWhat did Coach mean by that?” I asked.
    One of the guys shook his head. “Nothin’, Bigfoot.”
    Another guy grinned. “It’s just Mother Nature’s way of evening the score. You may have been behind the door when she gave out the brains, Bigfoot, but good god almighty; you sure were first in line on other days.” And they laughed again and walked off. Damn fools, I thought. But it always bothers me when people won’t explain a joke to me. It’s not my fault I’m dumb.
    I got dressed and started walking out of the locker room. When I passed Coach’s office, I could see that his door was open. I heard him call my name out, and I stuck my head in. “Yeah, Coach?” I asked.
    Coach was sitting behind his desk. “Come in here, Rufus,” he said. Except for Daddy, Coach was the only person who called me by my Christian name. I walked in. “Close the door,” he said.
    I’m in for it now, I thought. When Coach asks you to close the door, you know he means business. I ’magined I was going to get a chewing out for being such a poor wrestler.
    But Coach didn’t look mad. In fact, he didn’t look much of anything. He just sat there, leaning back on his chair, looking at me with a blank face. He finally sighed. “Rufus,” he said. “I just don’t know what to do with you.”
    I felt my face turning red. I wish that wouldn’t happen all the time, but I ain’t got no control over it. Daddy likes to say, laughin’, “It don’t take much more than a fart or a hiccup to get that boy’s face as red as a baboon’s ass,” and he’s right. Anyway, I just stood there, shiftin’ from one foot to the other, feeling my face all heated up. Coach didn’t say nothing more for a while, making it worse. He just sat there, his fingertips tapping together, looking straight at me. I felt like one of them bugs my cousin Olaf used to pin to a roof shingle, not enough to kill, just to get it squirming. Finally Coach cleared his throat.
    â€œHow old are you, Rufus?” he asked.
    â€œEighteen, Coach.”
    â€œEighteen,” Coach repeated this like it was a remarkable thing. “I’m thirty-three.” He laughed. “I know to you that must sound older than dirt, but believe it or not, it just seems like yesterday that I was your age.”
    â€œYes, Coach,” I mumbled. Hell, I didn’t know what else to say.
    â€œI’ve been giving your case a lot of thought,” Coach said.