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Mgracel

United States

Writing is an outlet of dreams, hopes, fears, and anger. No one piece is quite the same and every letter is worth all the frustrations. I love writing I don't think I could ever bring myself to stop.

Message from Writer

Never throw your work away. Every word is valuable.

Climbing to the Top

April 18, 2016

    "Mom! I'm heading over to Bud's for ski club!" I yelled out behind me as I walked out the door, leaving my mother with her nose buried in I'm Okay, You're Okay, or The Joy of Sex, or whatever new self-help book she was reading this week. 

    The screen door slammed behind me as I walked out into the yard. The lake was calm this early in the morning. The partiers didn't come out until the afternoon, and the only people out were fishermen. I started over towards Bud's place, a few houses down from mine. It took a while to get to if you tried to navigate the maze of backroads, but if you cut across through backyards it was an easy five minute walk. You just had to hop a few fences and avoid a few dogs. 

    I heard the house before I saw it. Everyone was talking over each other and somewhere in the background a beat up radio played a Donna Summer song. I hopped the final fence and entered into the fray. Almost immediately a brown pitt bull ran up to me, barking up a storm with its tail wagging. She jumped up on me, nearly tackling me to the ground, and started licking my face ferociously.

    "Hey girl!" I exclaimed, between licks and laughs, "Happy to see me I see!"

    She barked as if in reply, while I squirmed out from under her. I looked up at the scene before me. Everyone was scattered about the yard, sitting in groups, talking and laughing. By the radio were Sue, Cheryl, and Cathy. Sitting with their feet dangling in the water were Barry, Charles, and Mike. The Moulton brothers, Steve and Doug, were lying in the grass, looking ridiculous as always. And then there was Bud, sitting up on the deck, cigarette in hand. His pitt bull, The Amazing Ginger, had moved over beside him. He was and older man and he was always grumpy and complaining about gas prices, but boy, could he waterski!

    I was making my way over to the girls when Doug called out to me, "Hey Trish! Where's your brother?"

    "He couldn't come," I said simply, not wanting to talk to him more than I had too.

    "Mark's skipping our final practice? Lame."

    "He couldn't come, get over it."

    "Whatever," he says, completely brushing me off. I hate it when he does that. I had taken too many falls and had too many bruises to be brushed off so easily.

    I walked away, but before I could go anywhere Bud stood up from his sun-faded plastic lawn chair and cleared his throat. Instantly, the talking stopped and the radio was turned down to a faint buzz. Even Ginger stopped barking.

    Bud's voice was croaked and old, but it still carried across the lawn. He set down his cigarette into a chipped ashtray and began, "Well kiddos, today is our final practice before the Round Lake show. I must say, you kids have been a hell of a lot of trouble, and cost me a good load of money in buying gas, but you have come a long way. Today we're gonna start with a few land practices and then get the boats going. Now you three-" he nodded at Doug, Steve, and me, "You three need to get your pyramid together. Y'all look fine in the land practices but you're a mess on water. This is you're last chance to figure it out before the show. I'll have to cut you if you don't. The rest of you, you know the routine: practice what you can, and if you can't practice, stay out of the way. Let's go!"

    Just as quickly as it had silenced, the yard was full of noise again. Though now, instead of idle conversation, our thoughts were focused on one thing: waterskiing. Ropes were tied to trees for land practice and waterskies were laid out on the dock, ready for the water. All while this was happening I groaned internally. It was just like Bud had said, my pyramid was a mess on water. A combination of wind, waves, and a pair of fidgety teenage brothers made it all near impossible to climb to the top, let alone stay up there. I tried to tell them to hold still and warn me of big waves, but they never listened. That would have to change if we were going to get anywhere.

    I walked over to the ropes with Doug and Steve, and we did our land practice with only a few quarrels. I loved climbing the pyramid. It seemed like a metaphor for life, you had to climb your way to the top, no matter who holds you back. It was easy to climb on the steady land, but water was a different story. We made our way over to the boats, and I hoped for the best.

    Bud was driving, and we got to the middle of the lake to start the pyramid. We all got in the water, got all lined up, and took off. It started off okay, with me dropping skis, but then when I pulled myself up onto Doug he stared to shake, and it only got worse from there. Pretty soon my pyramid was a tangled pile of bodies and skies drifting in the water.

    Bud pulled up in the boat, and shook his head. "You've got to trust each other or you're pyramid's going nowhere," he said. Looking at the boys, he continued, "You've got to support her, and she's gotta trust you. Y'all just have to work together."

    "Come on Bud," Steve whined, "It's 1979. No one believes in that teamwork crap anymore. And besides, it's not our fault she can't climb."

    "Well I can't help it if you can't stay still," I replied.

    "See that's what I'm talking about. That needs to stop," Bud jumped in, "Until it does, no show tomorrow."

    That night I went home mad. I couldn't believe Bud had scrapped my pyramid. But then I got to thinking. It wasn't really my pyramid, it was our pyramid. I couldn't climb to the top unless those on the bottom let me. It was all about 'that teamwork crap' as Steve had put it. The next day I made up with Steve and Doug and somehow got Bud to put us back in the show. We did amazing, and to this day I don't regret any of that teamwork crap.
 

    


 

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