I think I'm pretty hot stuff as a gymnast and I have plenty of awards to prove it. My best friend, TexasBella, thinks she's pretty hot stuff as a figure skater. Her father set aside an entire room of their mansion to hold all her awards.
Both of us are more than a little interested in tonight's announcement of the winner of the most esteemed amateur athletic award in Texas, the Walter Sullivan Award.
Bella and I are the two favorites.
Who gets it and what happens next?
That's the subject of the Thrilla in Amarilla.
Thanks to Bella for all the fun and all the thrills. What a great writing partner!
We had two goals at the start. We wanted this to be a story, not just a fight. And we wanted the fighters to be characters, not just names.
WindyRules
--Windy--
Just shut up, Windy!
Show some class!
Bite your freakin' tongue!
Yes, yes, yes. I know I should.
But that's not me.
I never shut up. Certainly not now. Certainly not today.
Not with that bright shiny new plaque staring me in the face. Greeting me on my arrival this morning for gymnastics practice at the Walter Sullivan Arena, my home away from home for the last ten years. Where I've tumbled and bounced and vaulted and balanced my way to where I am today.
The best.
The best in all of Texas. I'll be a Longhorn next year. A full scholarship.
And now this! The most prestigious amateur athletic award in Texas, the Sullivan Award, was announced last night. The plaque went up this morning.
My name isn't on it.
Hers is.
Bella Bradshaw.
A figure skater?
'Scuse me while I puke.
Bella glides across the ice with her arms outstretched, a smile on her face, wearing a short skirt that flaps in the air as the music plays. She's lovely, an angel on the ice. All eyes on her.
She dazzles in her favorite gold skating dress.
I wear mostly white chalk. On my thighs, my feet, my hands. I even rub chalk on my buns. I accessorize with tape. On my fingers, ankles, wherever needed. A spectacle in chalk and tape. Who needs a sparkling gold dress?
I'm an athlete, not a showgirl.
Bella's father is rich, a member of the fourth generation of the famous Bradshaw and Bradshaw law firm. She plans to join the firm herself one day. She's so smart she'll probably be valedictorian. I know it won't be me.
My father has a small auto body shop and worked hard to pay for my gymnastics lessons. He wanted so much to see me go to college. I'll be the first in our family. He talks about my scholarship to anyone who will listen. One day I'll probably teach gymnastics.
My mother knew I was steamed after the Sullivan Award was announced last night. She could see the smoke rising from my head. She gave me room when we got home from the ceremony.
I didn't have much to say this morning either, and she didn't press. The last thing she said after dropping me off this morning?
"Be nice."
I nodded. And looked away.
Everybody loves Bella. She's the Bella of the ball, a smile for all. Of course she was the homecoming queen. She's the most popular girl in school.
Always a crowd around her and I'm at the front of the crowd. We're best friends and have been for years. We know each other's routines and helped create them. Anyone who came to Sullivan Arena knew they were in for a battle on the ice or the gymnastics mats.
Windy and Bella, two fierce competitors, side by side, leading the charge for the home team. We cheered for each other and laughed and cried together. We had each other's back.
We've trash talked each other to be the best we can be. No holds barred there. Bel's heard more trash talk from me than anyone else in her pampered life. I've called her everything in the book and she's returned the favor in spades.
I often greet her with a smirk. "Hey, Princess!" She calls me "Chalkbutt."
To the world we're the Sullivan superstars. To each other, we're Princess and Chalkbutt.
I've always been jealous of her though. Bel leads a charmed life and everything always seems to fall into place for her.
And now the Sullivan Award.
Hers.
Should be mine.
--Bella--
To me, a successful life is doing things that makes one happy. Engaging in the activities that one enjoys. Building and nurturing relationships with those you love, and who love you. As our Founding Fathers so eloquently put it, “The Pursuit of Happiness.”
For me, my first love has always been skating. Since I was a little girl, I’ve loved nothing more that lacing up a pair of skates and getting out onto the ice. The speed, the power, the thought of having my entire body weight supported on two thin blades has always thrilled me. Being a skater from Texas has its own challenges. Getting ice time was always a challenge in itself. It seemed that ice time for a blossoming figure skater was not the top priority for Sullivan Arena management. High School and College Hockey games and tournaments took precedence, as did the practice sessions for those teams. Open public skates were popular and made money for the arena, as did this new sport of Curling that everybody seemed to want to try. I obviously never had the advantage that the girls from the northern states had. I couldn’t go outside and skate on a frozen pond as many of my northern counterparts were able to do. To take up a sport such as figure skating in a state such as Texas, required me to compete for ice time against all of those other aforementioned entities.
Fortunately for me, my father earned a comfortable salary through his law firm. This enabled my mother to be able to stay home full time and care for the household, and for me. Being an only child, my mother always supported me in my endeavors, in chasing my dreams. I would not be the Champion skater that I am today without her love, support, and dedication. She would wake up at 5 AM, day after day, just to get me down to Sullivan Arena when ice time was available. Many a late night was spent there as well, once the ice had been cleared after a hockey game or a public skate. During those times, and during the rare times when I could get ice time at a more favorable hour, I would often wander into the gymnastics area adjacent to the rink. There were usually several girls there, practicing or taking instruction. One seemed to be more dedicated than the rest. She seemed to be there, even at the off times, when I would show up for much sought after ice time. Her name was Windy.
While waiting for ice time, or during a break, I would often wander over to the gym just to watch her. I marveled at her talents and skills. In time, Windy became a Champion gymnast, same as I had become a Champion on the ice. I could never decide what I thought was her best discipline. She had this amazing dismount from the balance beam that no other girl could match. She could vault higher and get more rotations in the air than anyone else that I had ever seen. Her routine on the Uneven Parallel Bars was such that would make Simone Biles proud. But my favorite was always her floor exercise routines. She seemed almost angelic to me as she moved so perfectly to her music. She glided across the mat so effortlessly as if she were on the ice. Her tumbling runs were unmatched and always brought a cheer from the crowd during her competitions when she would perfectly stick a landing. I was simply in awe of her.
As Windy and I got a bit older, we would spend more time together. We even helped each other choose music for our respective routines. I always went to her events, and I would look up as I was competing, and there would be Windy cheering me on. She would always sit in the front and give me a bouquet of flowers after my routines. Windy and I became close friends. Being an only child, she was like the sister that I never had. We became inseparable both in and outside of our home away from home, Sullivan Arena. I can truly say without any doubt or question…I love Windy.
Once in a Lifetime!
The dream of every female athlete in the Lone Star State is to win the Walter Sullivan award. I would often pass by the plaque, which lies in the hallway between the gym and the ice rink and look up in awe at the names listed. The names on that plaque are nothing short of a veritable list of greatness. So many great women, who have gone on to do amazing things in life in whatever their chosen fields.
Several girls were nominated for the 2021 Sullivan award. There was one representing each sport. Soccer, basketball, lacrosse, gymnastics, figure skating, rugby, softball, equestrian, golf, and all of the track and field events. It was an arduous process just to get this far, having had to survive several elimination rounds just to be invited to the awards banquet. All of the nominees and their families were now waiting with great anticipation as Mary Sullivan, the surviving widow of Walter, stepped up to the podium to make the announcement.
Of course I wanted to win the Sullivan Award, who wouldn’t? But I felt that, if I couldn’t win it, that I hoped it would be Windy. Hearing her name called would thrill me just as much if my own name were called. If it could somehow be one of us, either I would be the Sullivan Award recipient, or my best friend would. I was truly okay either way. Mrs. Sullivan made her customary remarks, thanking the panel, and letting everyone know what a tough selection it was to have chosen a winner. “Without further ado,” She said, “The recipient of the 2021 Walter Sullivan Award is…Bella Bradshaw!”
I audibly gasped in disbelief. Was this really happening? Did she really call out my name? I slowly made my way to the podium and accepted the award. I thanked everyone who helped me along the way. I thanked my parents, my coaches, I thanked the other nominees, and I especially thanked my best friend in the entire world, Windy. I was immediately surrounded by photographers and journalists. Flashes going off all around. Microphones pushed at me by journalists wanting a comment. When all of the activity finally slowed, I went looking for Windy, but I couldn’t find her. Thinking that she and her family must have left, or that Windy had gone back into the gym being the lovely workaholic that she is, that I would see her tomorrow morning, knowing with all certainty that she is going to be as happy for me as I would have been for her.
The next morning, I arrived at the Arena for my morning skate, and Windy was already there, in the hallway, looking up at the plaque. I walked over and stood next to her, but she said nothing, it was a very awkward silence. “I looked for you after the award presentation last night.” I glanced over towards Windy and was met with a cold stare in return. I have never seen this look from her before.
“Windy, is everything all right?"
--Windy--
Just the two of us standing at the Sullivan plaque. Our eyes meet. Hers bright as might be expected on one of the best days of her life. Mine less bright. Hard to read.
An awkward silence.
“Windy, is everything all right?"
I want to say something, but not sure what. I know what I should say. I should give her a big hug. I should congratulate her on her big moment. I should congratulate her with all my heart.
But that's not what I say.
"Money talks, doesn't it, Bel?"
I know her family was one of the founders of the Sullivan Arena. Her family supports the arena in every possible way. Always there when money is needed. Her grandfather and Walter Sullivan worked together to make the arena happen.
Bel doesn't answer. An incredulous look on her face.
She's wearing her favorite gold skirt, not her usual practice tights. And I know why. Word spreads quickly. Texas Monthly magazine is in town and a photo shoot is scheduled for today. She'll be on the cover. Doesn't get much bigger than that. The whole state can admire the pride of Texas. Winner of the esteemed Sullivan Award.
And she's ready. Her makeup is perfect. Standing there with her shining skates slung over her shoulder. Tony Lama sandals and $100 toes.
I spout out more words
"They should just call this the Bradshaw Arena!"
-----
--Bella--
“Windy, You know better than that!”
“You know that my Dad’s money did not buy the Sullivan Award.”
“In fact, you were more privileged than I was. You had access to the gymnasium anytime you wanted. You may have had to work around a few junior events, but for the most part, you could train at your convenience. I had to work around all other ice events. Hockey games and team practices came first, then there were public skates, private events, and curling. I had to get ice time where I could, usually at 5:00 AM or after 10:00 at night.”
“And where was I during times when I could not be on the ice? Right there in the gym, either assisting you or cheering like mad for you at all of your competitions.”
“I won the Sullivan Award based on my talent, work ethic, and commitment. I know you deserved it every bit as much, but can’t you at least be happy that one of us won the award? Can’t you be happy for me?”
I paused for a bit, wondering why my best friend in the world would say such a thing. Then I understood that she must be feeling some degree of frustration at not winning the Sullivan Award herself. She was certainly equally deserving. I looked deeper into her face and saw hurt and disappointment in her eyes, rather than the joy and happiness that I thought she would feel for me. We’ve been friends since childhood. I was expecting a different reaction. I know my friend Windy better than anyone. I had an idea that might smooth things over and make her feel better. Windy was always very strong when she felt a bit of frustration. After a failed routine, she would often give one of the best performances of her life. I thought that she might feel better if she could work out some of this frustration and disappointment at not winning the Sullivan Award on the bars. She is very good at turning frustration and disappointment into excellence. That has always been her strength. I felt that if I could get her on the bars, that she would not only give an amazing routine, and a successful and encouraging practice session, but work out some of her frustration and perhaps be happy for me.
“Come on, Windy. I have some time before Texas Monthly shows up for my photo shoot. Why don’t we go into the gym and I could spot for you as you work on your new routine on the uneven parallel bars? What do you say?”
Windy didn’t answer right away. There was a long pause. The silence was deafening. Then I watched her, prepared to listen attentively, as she began to speak.
-----
--Windy--
Curling?
She had to work around curling?
Next thing you know, a curler will win the Sullivan.
She offered to spot and I need the work. I nodded.
"Let's do it."
I led the way across the atrium to the gymnastics area. I love the bars! My favorite. I can fly! The top bar is 8-feet high, and the dismount is a joy. Soaring, spinning, flipping. And sticking the landing. The bars take the most upper body strength. And I've got it!
Stopping at the chalk pot, I dab it all over me. Never happy unless I'm covered in chalk. I taped up at home, put on my white leather grips for the bars. Wearing a black practice leotard. I'm a showoff and the bars are perfect for a showoff.
We always have spotters for the bars as it's the most risky event. Usually not a figure skater, but Bel knows the drill. I point out where she should stand, and she lays her skates down, kicks off her sandals and steps onto the mat.
I move to the starting position, hesitate for a moment, forego the normal arm raise and fake smile, and take a breath. And quickly leap, grabbing the low bar with both hands, rotate up to a handstand, spin to a back handstand, then fly backwards to the high bar. Which is where I want to be. The low bar is just something you have to do. Like a warmup, stretch the muscles.
The high bar is where it's at. It's me and all my tricks, where everything happens and I separate from the other competitors. A few moments of Windy dazzling, then the required move back to the low bar. Four seconds only. Just enough to say I was there. Bye, low bar.
Back to the high bar to show off. Giant swings, release moves to die for. Maybe they'll name one after me someday.
And now the dismount! Love going high! Getting air! Normally, I do twists and flips all the way down. Not today. I'm completely under control.
Zeroing in on the target.
Two chalky feet slamming into Bel's chest!
-----
--Bella--
Feeling relieved that Windy took me up on my offer to spot for her on her new routine on the parallel bars. I didn’t want any jealousy or animosity to come between us because of the Sullivan Award. No award is worth destroying this friendship over. I figured if Windy could take some of her aggression out on the bars then she would be back to the Windy that I know and love. My best friend since childhood. Usually a spotter is one of her coaches, but I have spotted for her before and know the drill. I stand where Windy instructed me to stand and pretty much stay out of the way unless I see her slip, in which case I would move in to cushion her fall. It’s a rare occurrence that she would ever slip, my presence is nothing more than a safety measure.
Windy grabs the lower bar and pulls herself up over it and flips underneath it and then back over and around. She lets go of the lower bar as she propels herself through the air and grabs the top bar with both hands as she skillfully and gracefully loops her body around it. I have seen her do this hundreds of times and it never gets old to me. My best friend in the world has so much talent, so much elegance and beauty on the bars. Windy is in a class by herself.
I stand by and watch yet another dazzling routine as Windy transitions back to the lower bar and then propels herself back to the top bar. She goes into full swing rotations in preparation for what I expect will be a spectacular dismount. One, two, three, rotations as she gathers speed and momentum. Then she releases. I step in to make sure that she does not slip off the high bar and she doesn’t. But this time I don’t see any flips, no in air gyrations, just two fully outstretched legs coming at me like missiles. With her trajectory and speed, I’m too close to get out of the way or to dodge. Her feet hit me hard in the chest. One in each of my breasts. I feel like I’ve been hit by a truck.
I am knocked backwards at the force of her blow all the way to the edge of the landing strip. Out of breath by having the air knocked from my lungs, and in incredible pain, I instinctively curl my body into a fetal position, folding my arms over my breasts to protect them from further damage. I look up and can only see the lights on the gymnasium ceiling slowly spinning around.
Then into my view comes a friendly and familiar face. Windy reaches down with her hand to offer me assistance to my feet. I reach up and grab her hand knowing that although I’m hurt, I’ll be well assisted by my most trusted friend. I believe in Windy and I’m certain that I’ll be well cared for.
-----
--Windy--
Not my best landing.
Or was it?
Those scoring at home would have said I didn't stick it. It's all in the eye of the beholder. Nobody was scoring at home.
Bel and I don't live in a world of touchdowns, home runs and dunks. We live in a world of people holding up a sign with a number on it.
In my mind I was holding up a sign.
A perfect 10!
I stuck the landing right where I wanted to stick it. On Bel's chest.
After that collision, I dropped to my chalky buns, came to a quick stop and looked over at the Sullivan Award winner, moaning on the mat. Lying curled up.
"Maybe you should take up curling, Princess," I taunted as I rose to my feet and stood over her. "You look so good curled up. You're a natural."
I reached down and grabbed her hand. Squeezing it hard with a grip strengthened by years of hanging tight to the uneven bars.
"Sorry about the landing. Misjudged the wind."
Pulling her to her feet, I offered a tight smile and a wave of my left arm.
"Come on, I'd like to show you around."
-----
--Bella--
Lying on the mat in pain, I'm relieved some when Windy comes over and extends her hand. I accept her assistance and am pulled up into a standing position. She puts her arm around my shoulders and cracks a joke about misjudging the wind. I try to laugh but it hurts to do so. Windy then offers me "a tour." Of course, I don't need or want a tour of the facility. I'd been a part of this place for more than ten years. As Windy begins walking me and forces me to take a few steps, I realize what she's doing. She's helping me to get a bit of air back in my lungs as she's assisting me with a few steps. Similar to a coach telling an injured player to "walk it off," I'm beginning to do so now, with Windy's assistance. As we cross over to the men's side of the facility in the empty gym, I try to speak up to let her know that I am slowly beginning to recover.
"Wi...Win..." I don't quite have enough breath yet to say her name, although I'm trying to convey to her that I'm alright, and that I would just like to sit for a moment. Unable to convey my wish to stop and sit, Windy keeps walking me over to the men's side of the gym where their training apparatuses are. Still in pain, I am breathing a bit better now, when Windy finally stops us in front of the pommel horse. Gathering myself, I take a deep breath and say, "Thanks for the assist, Windy, but I've never seen you miss a dismount that badly before. Give me another minute and we can go back and work on it some more."
------
--Windy--
"Don't you just love the pommel horse, Princess?" I ask innocently, holding Bel by the wrist as we reach the leather-covered apparatus. "Sometimes I just pop over here and hop on, grab the pommel and go for a ride, just like we do at your ranch. It's a great break!"
Sliding my left hand gently over the top of the horse. Feels so good.
"Leather, just love it. You love it too, right, Princess?"
I get no answer and I know Bel is confused and a little out of breath from the slam across her chest.
"Yes, you love it. You have such good taste in everything."
A moment of silence as neither of us speaks.
Then I suddenly grab her by the hair behind her head and slam her face against the top of the horse.
"Taste this!"
I rub her face harshly back and forth over the leather.
She tries to pull her head back, but I won't let her. Then I pull her back and spin her around to face me. She looks bewildered. Her face red from rubbing against the leather of the pommel horse.
"I have a new name for the pommel horse, Princess."
And I rear back and drive my fist into her stomach.
"The pummel horse!"
-----
--Bella--
Still out of breath but slowly recovering from her failed dismount, I offer to go back to the uneven parallel bars and spot her again. However, I'm being walked over to the pommel horse. I'm confused as to why we're here as I am now beginning to recover.
Next thing I know, my face is slammed from behind into the pommel horse. My face is now being abrasively scraped from side to side against the leather. Windly begins mocking me with verbal taunts as she continues with her surprise and unprovoked attack. Suddenly, I'm spun around, and before I can either react or speak, Windy buries her fist into my stomach.
The force of her blow causes me to lurch forward into her. I put both open palms on her chest and shove her backwards, hard and away from me. I send her stumbling backwards a few steps, creating some space between us. Looking across into her eyes, I no longer see my best friend, but a different Windy, one whose eyes are filled with jealous rage. "Oh, so this is what it's all about, the Sullivan Award. I'm not going to accept physical abuse from anyone, even if you are my best friend."
"Or should I say former best friend?"
With that, I raise my fists and step in Windy's direction. As we square off, looking into one another's eyes, I lash out with a quick snap kick aimed at Windy's stomach.
"See, it hurts doesn't it, bitch?"
-----
--Windy--
We both let out air as my fist slammed into Bel's stomach.
It felt good. I knew I shouldn't have hit her. But it felt good.
She lurched into me and for a moment we were one, her chin resting against my shoulder and mine against hers. Only for a moment.
Maybe that's where it should have stopped. But it didn't.
Her palms quickly went to my chest. The shove was hard and angry, catching me off guard. I nearly fell as I stumbled several steps back, my bare feet, taped and chalked, normally so sure on all surfaces, struggled for traction.
When I regained my footing, we were several feet apart. I saw fire in her brown eyes and her fingers had turned to fists.
She was moving toward me. Talking. The words were a blur, but I heard "Sullivan Award" and "best friend" before I quickly raised my own fists.
Four fists in the air, four eyes glaring.
And then.
One foot in my stomach!
I gasped, wincing as I doubled over.
"Hurts, doesn't it, bitch?" she taunted.
Still doubled over, I charged her, my powerful legs churning, full traction. My right shoulder slammed into her ribs.
I didn't stop charging. Not until I heard her back smack against the leather of the pommel horse.
-----
--Bella--
Having had enough of Windy’s sneak and cheap attack, I was able to shove her away and get some space between us. We both raised our fists and squared off. As we approached one another and closed the distance between us, we both were staring into one another’s eyes. This was a different Windy, one that I didn’t recognize. This was not my best friend and confidant, my sister from another mister with whom I’ve shared everything. This was someone different, someone foreign to me. Someone driven by rage and jealousy at being denied something that she thought was rightfully hers. Deep down even Windy knew that I was just as deserving, but the rage in her eyes and the envious expression on her face betrays that knowledge. I’ve always given my best in everything I’ve ever done. If I was going to be in a fight with Windy, she was going to get me at my best, even at this.
As we are both looking into each other’s faces, I lash up a quick snap kick, connecting with her firm and taut abs, not so much injuring her as surprising her. Windy doubles over slightly but does not remain in that position for long, but rather she charges in. Being in such close proximity, I don’t have the opportunity to dodge or evade. I take a hard shoulder into my ribs. Uhhhh, I feel the hard impact, but Windy doesn’t stop there. She continues to drive into me with her strong gymnast’s legs, backing me up. All of a sudden, UGH! My back hits hard into the pommel horse. The pain that I feel generates from low to high in my spine and is crippling. Windy has this fierce look in her eyes which tells me that she’s not going to stop until I’m thoroughly beaten. For better or worse, I’m totally immersed in a fight now. She’s going to pay for her jealousy, her pettiness, for trying to hurt me.
With my back against the pommel horse, and with Windy rearing back for another attack, I need to respond. I can’t rear back my arm far enough to deliver a solid punch, the best I that I could offer from this position would be an ineffective jab. That’s not going to stop someone as good as Windy. If I’m going to survive her onslaught, I’ll need a bigger move. I put both arms behind me, my palms flat down on the top of the nearly 4-foot-high pommel horse, and push myself up. With Windy pressing in, I coil my strong skater’s legs, the ones I use to push off on the ice, the ones I use to generate the power needed for leaping and spinning in the air. As I rise up, I put one foot on each of Windy’s breasts and push off hard like the recoil of two steel springs. This time it’s Windy who takes a tumble backwards. I jump off the pommel horse and approach Windy’s position as I hoped that she went down on the mats to stay, but her tumbling experience and expertise allowed her to roll through the force of my leg thrust and, like a cat, end up on her feet in an upright position. As we once again close the gap between us, I look into her eyes. This is still someone who I don’t know nor do I recognize. This athlete approaching me with her fists up is someone alien to me. This imposter in Windy’s body does not look happy as we once again come together. Only one of us can prevail here. Both of us are determined that it be ourselves.
-----
--Windy--
It's in the eyes. All fire and ice as ten years of friendship bubble in the cauldron of Sullivan Arena. Fire for the battle and ice for the friendship.
The competitive fires that built the two biggest stars of Sullivan are on full display. Each eager to defeat the other. Two top athletes facing off in a battle of speed, power and grace pitted against speed, power and grace.
Bel has the speed. I've got the power. And we both have the grace.
Bel also has the boobs. She's reminded me of that many times. I'm fine with it as boobs would only get in my way as a gymnast. They look great on Bel as she glides over the ice, and they are well secured to prevent excess shaking in the jumps. But I'm not jealous of her breasts. Many other things, yes.
I have to admit to a bit of satisfaction though when the wind blew me off course in the bars dismount and my feet had an entirely unintended collision with her breasts. Prove me wrong.
But she has struck back twice since then. One hard shove to my breasts with her hands and now another as her bare feet took position on each of my boobs and were propelled by her legs of steel springs with an angry thrust that flipped me head over heels.
Fortunately, head over heels is what I do. I spend much of my time upside down. On purpose.
Just another flip. A quick roll, and I'm up, completely under control. But angry.
Once again facing each other in front of the pommel horse, a look of challenge in both our eyes. I take a step toward her, then reach down and grab some chalk from the pommel tub, take another step and suddenly fling a handful of chalk into Bel's eyes. It won't hurt but will surprise her and make her blink.
Which is all the time I need to grab the rear pommel with my right hand and swing my legs up, hoping to wrap them around Bel's waist.
-----
--Bella--
Feeling some relief in using my legs to thrust Windy away from me, creating some space between us. Windy rolls out of it and lands on her feet in a catlike manner. She approaches me again and we square off. It’s all in her eyes. Saying that Windy has stormy eyes is an understatement. This is something different. There is raw emotion in her eyes, jealousy, anger, determination, are all present. I ready myself for her next attack, fists up at the ready. With a certain deception and precision that only Windy could achieve, she slyly reaches into the chalk pot near the pommel horse and grabs a handful of chalk, unnoticed by me as I focus in on that fiery look in her eyes.
“Ahhhhhhh, what has she done?!” My eyes sting as she throws a handful of chalk into my face. Some gets into my mouth as well as I cough heavily, trying to expel what I have ingested. I put both hands up to my eyes as they begin to tear up and vigorously rub them to try and regain my vision. Not being able to clearly see Windy now as she is just a blur as she swings to her right (my left) and in a move impossible for most, but not for someone with Windy’s athleticism, she grabs one of the pommel horse handles or pommels and swings around scissoring both of her legs around my middle and squeezes with all of her might.
I feel the lower part of my ribcage begin to crack under the pressure of her vicelike grip, as she applies excruciating pressure as only Windy can. Still trying to cough out the last bit of chalk that went into my windpipe, but I’m finding that next to impossible as I can barely get a breath. Tears are streaming down my face now as I hear Windy let out a laugh which sounds evil to me but satisfying to her. As she continues to squeeze my middle with her amazingly strong gymnast’s legs, I know that I must do something. I need to do something big, something drastic, something now. As my tears finally clear my eyes and my vision is restored, I’m able to see the mirror behind Windy and view my own reflection. In addition to the pained look on my face, I now know why Windy was laughing. I have chalk all over my face, and other than the tracks made by the tears which streamed down my face, I look like some kind of a ghost.
Needing to fight back, to fight back hard, and to fight back soon, as I feel myself beginning to fade under the unbearable pressure of her body scissors. I know that I need to get her right hand off of the pommel and get myself (and her) away from this horse which has caused me nothing but agony. With Windy’s right arm extended as she grasps the pommel, I use my left hand. I extend all four fingers to resemble a knife edge as I thrust my four extended fingers hard into her open and unprotected right armpit. I thrust my knife edge as deep into her pit as I possibly can burying my fingers, and my nails, hard into her. I then curl my fingers back in towards me, getting a firm grasp on that nerve bundle under her arm. She’ll either let go of that pommel or have her arm go numb and ineffective, rendering it useless. Fighting in close quarters as we are, I put my right hand underneath Windy’s chin and suddenly straighten my arm, snapping her head violently back. I’m hoping that these two maneuvers, done simultaneously, is enough to free myself. If not, my hopes of surviving, against this amazing gymnast, die right here in the men’s section of the gym, in front of the pommel horse.
-----
--Windy--
I've got the rich witch right where I want her now. Between my thighs. My pride and joy. Built with ten years of sweat and toil. Do they get attention? Do Bel's boobs get attention?
Anywhere there's a mirror, anywhere there's a store window, I'll steal a glance at my reflection. Not to look at myself, but to see who's looking at my legs. I love jeans, but I live in shorts just to show off. I don't have to flaunt my legs. They flaunt themselves.
The chalk toss worked better than I dreamed. It caught her by complete surprise. I was hoping for a blink and I got much more. I got coughs. I got tears. She rubbed her eyes. So much reward for so little effort. Just a little chalk in her face. Next thing she knew, legs were clamped around her waist.
Not just anybody's legs.
MY legs!!
I pump them! And clench my teeth. I want her to feel it. Feel it all. I want her to scream.
My eyes closed tightly in effort as I pour on the pressure. Sweat beads popping up on my forehead as my face turns a fierce shade of crimson. I wonder about her face. How red is it?
I open my eyes, take a look and laugh.
She's white as a ghost! Chalk all over her face, a trail of tears from rubbing her eyes. Texas Monthly will love that image.
Bel's in a frantic race against time as I work my thighs in short bursts of power. I see defeat slowly creeping across her face as her bright eyes grow dimmer. Maybe she won't scream, maybe she'll just fade til she hangs limp in my legs.
But she digs deeper, refusing to quit. She extends the fingers on her left hand, makes a knife shape and thrusts them into my armpit, trying to pry my grip from the pommel. I feel her fingers dig into me, sinking hard under my arm.
I wince and clench my teeth, gripping even tighter on the pommel. Still wearing my white leather grips for the uneven bars, with strength from years and years of clutching the bars and spinning, twisting, leaping, giant swings. When I grip something, it stays gripped.
A standoff as we put our all into the struggle on the pommel horse. Neither giving an inch. Me going for broke, her in a desperate bid to stave off defeat.
I feel a strange sensation under my arm as she squeezes and pulls. Then a slight slip on the leather grip.
"Damn!" I know my arm doesn't feel right. Not sure why.
Her right hand slides under my chin. Suddenly her arm straightens, snapping my head back. My eyes blink rapidly and I swallow hard, forcing saliva down my wrenched neck.
My hand falls free of the pommel.
My legs still tight around her waist, my upper body starts to drop as I've lost my handle.
Still blinking and swallowing as I feel gravity calling me and I'm in danger of falling off the pommel. I quickly reach out, halting my fall by wrapping my arm around her head. Tightly.
-----
--Bella--
Inserting my left hand in a knife edge position deep into Windy’s left arm pit, while simultaneously putting my right palm under her chin, and sharply popping my elbow and straightening my arm, seemed to have its desired effect. I was in a very bad position, preparing myself for the beating that I would have gotten at Windy’s hands, had I not been able to get separation from the pommel horse. Finally, Windy lets go of the horse, but her strong gymnast legs are still wrapped around me, crushing my midsection and my lower ribs. Windy pulls my head into her chest, by putting both hands onto the back of my neck. She holds on to her vice-like scissors as she holds my face against her chest. I’m able to position my face, just enough where I’m able to just about look over her shoulder.
I want away from that pommel horse, as far away from it as I can get. I start moving forward as I put both of my open palms on Windy’s bottom now. Half holding her up, and half being held onto. As I move us away from the horse, I can see the nearest women’s apparatus to our position is the balance beam.
With my ribs aching as they are, but I’m moving forward, always forward. I feel that if I stop, I’ll collapse and Windy will finish me with her scissors. I need to find a way to make her let go somehow.
With the beam in front of me, I have it in my sights and move towards it. As we get closer, I know that I not only need to back Windy into the beam, but do so with force. I begin to pick up speed now...straining...but moving ahead. Legs churning behind me like a distance swimmer, I forge ahead. Faster now, picking up speed. Even though the gym is on level ground, I get the sensation that I am running downhill. Then BAM! The center of Windy’s back hits hard against the side of the beam. Her legs, which had previously gripped me in a tight body scissors, went limp. My arms also went limp and I dropped Windy on the floor right there on the side of the beam.
She had let out a high pitched squeal in agony as she couldn’t see the beam and the impact was a complete surprise to her. Holding onto the beam as I catch my breath from her scissors, and looking down upon her. Windy’s face betrays her toughness and bravery, clearly displaying the agony she is feeling at the force of that blow.
With Windy at a disadvantage, albeit temporary, as I well know her powers of recovery, I know that I must act quickly and decisively while I have this moment of opportunity to do so.
I reach down and pull Windy up by the hair. I walk her to the saloon style doors which open into the small lobby between the gymnasium and ice arena. Pulling Windy by the hair with my left hand as she’s doubled over and following behind me, I shove the swinging door open with my right. I walk her across the lobby and into the ice arena where I push her over the hockey boards and onto the ice surface. I swing one leg over the boards and then the other, standing over her on the ice. I once again grab her by the hair, and help her to her feet, in an unfriendly manner, facing me. With Windy still hurt from the blow to her back from hitting the balance beam, I taunt her saying “Windy, how about we start a little figure skating today?” I then put both hands on her chest and shove her backwards. She slides awkwardly across the ice as she moves away from me, but doesn’t fall and is able to keep her balance.
----
--Windy--
We're tied together in a sweaty knot, my legs wrapped around her waist, my arms pulling her head against my chest, her palms grasping my chalky buns and holding me up. Both of us breathing hard.
I'm squeezing as hard as I can with both arms and legs, and I'm sure it's taking a toll on her. But we're moving. And that's what she wants, move away from the pommel, where's she's been taking a beating.
I can't stop her as I've lost any grip on the pommel. I'm focused on squeezing her waist, pumping my thighs hard. Her face is peeking over my shoulder and mine over hers. Both gasping, sharing our sweat.
Bel's legs are our sole source of power as mine are wrapped tightly around her waist. She's watching where we're going and I see where we've been. The pommel behind us, sweat still wet on the leather, chalk marks showing the tracks of my thighs.
I feel us picking up steam, hear her grunting in effort, air whooshing from her mouth like a steam engine against my chest. She can't keep this up long without falling.
Picking up steam and picking up steam, she's gone crazy, going to trip, bring us both down to the mat. I brace for a fall.
WHACK!
I squeal in pain as my back slams into the balance beam and everything comes loose, my arms, my legs, her arms. I collapse, moaning, onto the mat, my legs splayed, my face contorted in pain, reaching behind me with my right hand, trying to rub the pain from my back.
I blink furiously, looking up. Bel still standing. She reaches down, grabs my hair and yanks. Pulling me halfway up, but still bent over. My left hand on my knee as I struggle to keep my balance. My right hand grasping her wrist, trying to pull it away from my head.
We're on a road trip as she is pulling me, half dragging me, the mile markers sailing by as I face downward. The gym mats, the stamped concrete floor of the atrium, the plain concrete floor of the ice arena, the hockey boards. Last stop!
And I'm flung over the boards, landing awkwardly on my buns, palms out to break the fall. The ice is cold and hard, the ache in my back calling my name. With no hand in my hair, I'm free. Quickly looking around to get my bearings.
Two bare legs standing over me with a golden skirt at the top. Not a sight I wanted to see.
My head harshly yanked upward by my hair and the rest of me follows. Til I'm standing. And she's standing. With her hand in my hair and her eyes on my eyes.
Taunting eyes. Then taunting words. Figure skating words.
Then a shove.
I'm sliding backwards, my arms flailing as I work to stay up. Don't fall! Don't fall! I tell myself.
Anyone else would have fallen. But I stay up, regain my footing, regain my sass.
"Good move. Now I'm going to kick your butt on your home turf!"
-----
--Bella--
Feeling good about moving our fight from the gymnasium to the ice rink. This is my home. I’ve gotten sick and tired of Windy, not just disparaging me, but ridiculing the entire sport of figure skating and all of us who take part. I’m hoping that she will feel like a fish out of water here, frozen water, as I take the fight to her in my domain and on my terms.
Once I got Windy over the hockey boards and onto the ice, I gave her a hard shove sending her staggering and stumbling across the ice surface like an old wino. I remain by the boards just waiting for her to take a hard fall onto the ice surface. Amazingly, Windy retains her balance and stays on her feet at the conclusion of her slide.
Windy gives me this wry smile as if to say “You’ll need to do much better than that, Princess.” I’ve seen this look before.
Windy is as arrogant as she is talented. She’s always taunting the visiting teams, letting them know that she will win on a particular apparatus, or that she will win the all-around. And then she goes ahead and does it. I guess it isn’t bragging if you can back it up. She’s now giving me the same look. Telling me through her expression that she will win this fight and that there is nothing that I can do to stop her.
But there’s no chance of me stopping or quitting now. No chance of me succumbing to her arrogant stare that has intimidated so many others. I know how hard her back hit that balance beam. I heard her utter a high pitched squeal of pain upon impact. I saw the pained and anguished expression in her face. No matter her current expression of intimidation and defiance, she must be hurt, she’s gotta be. I’m going to press on, going to take my chances with her. I’m all in and am about to roll the dice.
As Windy keeps her balance and manages to remain on her feet after her slide, she issues me that patented Windy stare of intimidation that I have seen work so well and so many times on others. But I’m not one of her gymnastics competitors. I’m Bella Bradshaw, her best friend and the one who knows her intimately. Windy begins stepping toward me, slowly but surely getting closer. The fire to fight is in her stormy eyes. She comes closer, and I wait...crouched down in front of the hockey boards.
Then, when I think she is close enough, and with my legs coiled behind me, I push off hard with my legs, thrusting out, propelled by the steel springs I have for legs. I slide on my knees across the ice surface toward Windy, who is still approaching and walking toward me with deliberate intent. I slide at her with high velocity, seeming to pick up speed as I got closer. Then, just at the point of impact, I twist my body just enough to the right, that my left shoulder makes hard contact with her lower stomach and abdomen. I get her to make an “ooof” sound as air is forcefully expelled from her body, Again, this amazing athlete doesn’t go down but is forced to slide backwards as she is able to remain on her feet. I stand up quickly as we square off with one another. Both of us have our fists up and at the ready, preparing for what looks to be a slugfest, right here on the ice at Sullivan Arena.
-----
--Windy--
It's high noon at Sullivan Arena.
Just the two of us facing off on the cold, hard ice. And the cold, hard eyes tell the story. We will fight it out right here and right now. One will win and one will lose. That's how we both want it.
She knows she hurt me at the balance beam. No cocky smile, no haughty words can change that. She is coming right at me and I am meeting her step for step. There is nothing like a challenge to make me forget all about my back. Suddenly, it never felt better.
The ice is her world, but I feel no cold as my feet are taped and heavily chalked. It's her ice, but it's my world. The world is always my world.
She already tried to shove me down. Didn't work. Nice try. Whatever she tries next won't work either. She should know that as a few of her horses have thrown me. I always get back up, as feisty as ever.
Step by step, I close the distance as she plays the crouching tigress. When suddenly she uncoils her body, pushing with her springy legs and goes into a slide on her knees across the ice. Then a quick twist, firing her left shoulder into my abs, taking some of my air and sending me sliding backwards.
But I don't fall. I smile. Then rub my abs to ease the blow, take two deep breaths, and a fighting position, my hands up, tightening slowly and menacingly into fists.
A mirror image of Bel, also up with fists ready. We each take two steps forward. Close enough to reach each other with a long punch.
The time is now.
Neither of us knows boxing. But we can throw punches. Suddenly the air was alive with knuckles. Punches thrown with malice aforethought, reckless abandon. Helter-skelter. She hit me in my right cheek, my left ear, my tummy, at least two of my boobs. Who's counting? Many of her punches caught only air.
Within moments we were both gasping, hanging onto each other in a sweaty clinch, trying to corral each other's arms to prevent further damage. Each fearful of letting go.
But we did, pushing off hard, renewing the battle. Each throwing knuckles like there was no tomorrow. I tattooed her in the stomach and made her boobs bounce, such large targets. Any of my boobs she missed the first time around, she caught this time.
One of my punches caught her in the left eye. Lucky punch? Unlucky punch? Either way, I didn't really mean to hit her in the eye.
But it was war. Collateral damage.
We used everything we had. Arms, fists, shoulders, legs.
Legs?
-----
--Bella--
It’s been said that there is a thin line between love and hate. I never gave that old adage very much thought until now, at this moment. Here I am squared off and throwing punches with the person who I love most in this world, who is right now, the person that I hate the most. Windy and I have been together and supportive of each other since childhood. I would have defended her and fought for her. Now I’m fighting against her.
We are squared off on the ice, where I thought I would have an advantage, but I have been unable to get Windy off of her feet. We’re facing one another, throwing wild punches, haymakers, some connecting while others wildly miss. I’m hitting her hard and often all over her body, on the side of her head, several to her chest and upper stomach. I’m also getting hit just as much. Windy may be shorter, a bit more compact than I am, but she hits hard. Adrenaline is flowing through the veins of both of us as we continue to slug it out. Neither wanting to succumb to the other. Both of us wanting to exert her dominance.
We both continue to trade blows. Hard, clean shots which land with intent and purpose. Knuckles against flesh and bone. Both of us fighting with the same great determination which made us champion competitors in our respective sports. Then suddenly and without warning. BANG! Windy connects hard with a punch to my left eye. I immediately reach up and cover my eye with my open palm. Windy remains squared off with me and prepares to look for a clean opening for her next punch, her next attack. It seems as if, at this moment, time is standing still. I lash out with a side kick with my right foot which Windy easily sidesteps and dodges. I pivot on my left foot and push off, leaping into the air, and Windy doesn’t see my right foot come around again in a figure skating move called the “Flying Camel.” The heel of my right foot connects hard to the left side of her head, directly on her temple.
Windy goes down and hits the ice hard, and lays there motionless. I stand over her expecting another attack, but she isn’t moving. I look down upon my friend, who is laying prone and motionless on the ice. I take a deep breath and begin sobbing, gasping for air with shallow breaths. “Oh no...what have I done?!”
I sit cross-legged on the ice, above Windy’s head, and take her head gently into my lap. I am crying and sobbing more deliberately now, as I begin to stroke her hair and speak to her. “Windy...I’m so sorry. Are you alright? Please Windy...oh no.... I am so sorry.” I continue to stroke her hair as my warm tears splash down onto her forehead. I bend down and whisper into her ear. I stroke her hair as I blow warm air onto her cheeks trying to bring her back to me. “Windy, I’m sorry. Please be okay.”
-----
--Windy--
I awake, groggy, to find Bel cradling my head, her soft hands caressing my face, murmuring that she's sorry.
I blink repeatedly, trying to regain my senses and make sense of what Bel is saying. I'm lying on my back. I know I was knocked out as it's the same feeling I've had many other times I've been knocked out after a fall in the gym. It's the price of being a gymnast. I usually snap out of it quickly.
Pieces of the world coming back to me. One by one. Bel is sitting next to me, my head in her lap as she strokes my hair so gently only moments after her heel smacked into my head.
I know I lost the fight.
And I know it's all right.
She bends over me, her teardrops falling softly on my face. Whispering in my ear. She cares about me again. After what I did to her?
She is so classy, saying all the right things, saying all the things I never said.
Til now.
"I'm sorry, Bel."
Choking up as I struggle to get the words out. Words I want to say and need to say.
"I let you down as your best friend. On your best day, I turned away. When I should have hugged you."
I blink away tears as I look her in the eyes. Both of us crying.
"I should have hugged you."
I notice the growing shiner under her left eye.
"Oh no! You've got a shiner! What about the photo shoot?"
-----
--Bella--
As I cradle Windy’s head in my lap and continue to stroke her hair, my heart is lifted when I see Windy open her eyes and speak to me. She apologizes to me and it causes me to cry even more. This time my tears are from happiness. I lean down and give her a gentle kiss on her forehead. It tastes salty as that is where many of my tears fell. I gently help her to her feet and embrace her in the hug that we both want and are needing. Our hug is firm and tight, yet tender and loving at the same time.
Windy points out that I have a shiner on my left eye. I tell her that I’ll wear it proudly as she is the one who gave it to me. She says, “But Bel, what about your photo shoot?”
I tell her that the crew from Texas Monthly won’t be here for another hour for OUR interview and photo shoot.”
Windy replies, “What do you mean ‘our’ photo shoot?”
I say, “You didn’t think that I would do this without you did you? You and I will be sharing the cover. You deserve just as much recognition as I do.”
“I have another dress I can wear. What do you say we get cleaned up before the crew gets here?"
“That shiner would actually make a great story for their readers.”
“I can see the headline now “Windy and Bella – Fire and Ice.”
“C’mon Chalkbutt. Let’s go get ready!”
#####
