Trampoline

The names have been changed, but the scenario is real.

A fraction of a second after my fist connected, I thought "I am in so much trouble now."

It was High school, senior year, phys ed class, and we were taking turns on the trampoline.

I was generally terrible at phys ed. I am legally blind, and as a natural consequence, was the last one chosen for teams. I had been hit in the face with volleyballs and basketballs, missed easy softball pitches and filled the lonely wing position in field hockey, running miles and never seeing the ball.

The trampoline was great. It didn't come at me at 20 miles an hour. I knew where it was, and I knew my own body, and loved the power of flight given me by the springy webbing. I could tuck and land on my back, and spring upright. I could do front flips and jack knifes, and I liked to think I did them reasonably gracefully.

The trampoline didn't bring out best behavior though. High school students are cocky, determined to be clever and to come out on top of the heap. The opportunity for taunts among the six spotters waiting, watching, and sometimes catching a fellow athlete, was too rich with possibilities. The taunts were unmerciful and widely applied.


"Nice shorts Steve!"
"Need to wash that T shirt Dennis?"
"Hey Brenda, on your back, not your butt!"
"Hard to touch your toes, ain't it George."


I was uncomfortable with the taunts. I'd been subjected to so many of them over the years: "four eyes" "Clarence the Cross Eyed Lion" "cross eyed pecker head" I knew the casual meanness hurt me, and I really didn't want to do that to someone else.

For some of the boys, in particular, nothing was sacred, even poor pregnant Jane Miller who defiantly jumped on the trampoline, well into her 5th month. The boys speculated obscenely on possible fathers or shouted; "You trying to pop that thing out on the trampoline?" Finally Jane was plucked from school and sent to the Lund Home for Unwed Mothers, and other victims were found.

No one taunted Michael though. He was big, over six feet tall, and he did the taunting. He also hogged the trampoline, going well over his two minute limit and refusing to get off.

I was waiting, next in line, on a day when he was particularly "hoggish" People were beginning to grumble, although probably not on my behalf. I was definitely one of the lower life forms in gym, and didn't expect people to defend my interests, but there were other people in line after me, and class would end before they got their turns at this rate.


Finally Michael got down off the trampoline and I climbed on.

I started with some warm up jumps, and suddenly there was added tension on the trampoline. I shot up in the air, higher than I'd expected, and was glad of the spotters around the edges when I came down. Although I didn't miss, the bounce still wasn't right, and I wasn't sure where I'd be flung next.

I realized that I had company. When I looked over my shoulder, I realized that Michael had climbed back on the trampoline, and was smiling in a self satisfied way. His weight had tensed the webbing, and changed the bounce dramatically

I was frightened, which he'd expected, hence the grin. I was also well and truly pissed off, which he had not expected.

"GET OFF!" I grated through clenched teeth.

To my surprise, he did.

I jumped off after him, and as he backed away from the trampoline and my obvious rage, I hauled off, swung high with my fist and hit him in the face. Not a slap, a punch.

I was sure he would kill me. And then I would be yelled at.

Neither happened.

Michael turned and walked quickly to the boys locker room, hand to his bleeding nose.
The teacher followed to make sure he was OK, but never commented on the incident.

My classmates held me in awe. I had definitely come out on top of the heap.

I was mortified at what I'd done. I'd tamped down that rage for so long, and breaking that control shocked me to my core.

Several years after graduation, Michael came out to my parents house to do some excavating work. I was nervous, thinking he'd remember that I was the chick who gave him a bloody nose, but he didn't show any recognition. Maturity? Pride? Memory? who knows?

I will never forget that white hot rage, so surprising and close to the surface. And so easily let loose.