Straight No Chaser

Whine, or, Because I Fucking Can

okay, because i don't want this contest to be an endless angst-fest full of mudslinging, i'm choosing to respond to the one aspect of ernie's entry that i found completely inoffensive: volleyball.

i had the best serve, in ninth grade gym.

in tenth grade, p.e. teacher changuris used me to demonstrate to the class that the size of the player isn't always proportionate to the force of the spike.

the summer after, my dad and i, and any two available godsiblings, played endless two-on-two games on the vineyard. dad made an observation, mid-july: "you're pretty good at this." shocking, for him, considering i've consistently sucked at every sport i've ever touched.

we decided i should try out, during the season, and then i didn't. i never touched a volleyball again, and even though he asked, i didn't explain why.

it was because i freaked out, during one of those games, about how powerless it made me feel, playing volleyball. literally not in control of the destiny of the game. i could serve my best serve, and if i got lucky maybe jordan wouldn't be paying enough attention to hit it back--

but maybe she would, and then i'd have to hit it again, and maybe i'd spike it at a perfect downward angle of twenty degrees or less--

but maybe kyle would already be waiting there in the sand, and lob it menacingly back in my direction, and maybe it would fly over my head or something, and maybe my dad would get it or maybe not...

just, it frustrated me. i could do my part, i could play decent or even great offense, and it wouldn't mean anything, in terms of pointage or eventual winnage.

the day i realized that, i was wearing a yellow bathing suit under white shorts, and my period came ten days early and i bled all over myself and the sand. which was doubly frustrating, and compounded my feeling of powerlessness, because ten days later i'd have been ready for it, and i hadn't done anything wrong.

then, later, marcus. multiply the volleyball feeling times a thousand, and, that. i can be sweet and beautiful and accomodating to whatever extent i am able, i can love and cherish him to heaven and back...

and ultimately it only means what he lets it. we, us, can never be bigger than his return.

sometimes that makes me wish i had never tried out for this team.

and also, along the same lines: i can start a contest, i can hold all sorts of noble purposes in mind, but sweet jesus, there is no way i can possibly control what comes out of any of your mouths. with the shit stories, and everything, and i'm laughing even as i type this, i will, till the very end, be just as shocked by all of it as you are.