Top Three Mortifications #2: The Rope Climb

People say “Don’t lose hope!”, but I disagree.

Lose hope. Despair is cleansing. Give up. Walk away. Hope is a trap. It keeps you in the dark place, where the slimy things multiply and the solid things rot. I learned that in gym class when I was seventeen years old.

It was the classic ordeal for the classic high school weakling: the rope climb. Not much of a trick, all you have to do it grab that slick trunk of hemp and climb. You tangle your feet in the cord to brace yourself while you pull yourself up with your arms. Breathe and repeat, while everyone watches.

Our gym classes were co-ed. So, no mercy.

I tried to make myself small while Mr. Burdick, the bald barrel-chested bully boy gym teacher strolled among the kids sitting cross-legged on the floor, deliberating over his next recruit. I was going to say victim, but most of the others did fine.

They had some strength in their upper arms.

I didn’t.

They were coordinated.

I wasn’t.

So I stared down at the shiny hardwood floor and willed myself invisible. Of course it didn’t work. Burdick could smell weakness, raw and unmistakable like the stink of sweaty socks when you take your old sneakers off. 

Finally he was standing right over me. “Your turn, Fraker. All the way to the ceiling.”

There was no appealing that verdict. I stood up and picked my way among my classmates to the rope, the snickers and giggles already starting. Why not? The show was about to start. I grabbed the rope with both hands and tried to pull and nothing happened. It was like trying to lift yourself off the ground by stretching your arms over your head and tugging on one of your wrists. Not just difficult –physically impossible. Burdick stamped up behind me and smacked me hard on the ass. I squealed like a baby. The laughter spiked.

The rope dangled there.

He shouted in my ear, “Start climbing or I will beat you black and blue!”

He hit me again. I remember thinking this has to be illegal, I’m going to report him, I have witnesses! As if any of those smug smirking little reptiles would take my side.

The third time he hit me I started climbing. I wasn’t thinking, I just wanted to get away from him, the way you might scramble up a tree to get away from a rabid dog. But panic only took me half way up. I hung twenty feet off the ground, panting, unable to lift myself higher, afraid to fall, more afraid to slide down and tear my palms on the rough hemp.

“Go, go, go!” Burdick was screaming. “Climb it or I’m coming up there after you!”

I tried again but I was paralyzed. I felt my grip loosening. I started to cry.

He must have pointed Ed Delavane. “You’re next. I’m done with this pussy Get him offa there.”

Ed grabbed the rope. I I could feel it shiver. “Come to poppa, pussy boy!”

He started yanking it around in circles and snapping it like a whip, sending waves up the line. I lost my grip for a second then I was sliding down, the friction burning my palms, wailing in pain and terror while everyone laughed and laughed and laughed.

I sprained my ankle when I hit the floor but I lurched at Ed Delavane, I wanted to kill him, I didn’t care, I wasn’t thinking about how puny my attack was, or how pathetic I looked. He side-stepped me easily, an old matador with a baby bull, and shoved my back as I stumbled past him. I put my right foot down, an ice-pick of pain stabbed my ankle, I shrieked, I lost my balance and I fell – right into the Girl’s lap.

In case you thought it couldn’t get any worse.

She screamed as I thrashed and pawed at her, trying to get up and get away, and left bloody hand prints on her blouse. Finally I got a foot under me, but it was the wrong foot, the bad ankle. Another bolt of pain, a hammer blow to the fibula, and I fell against her again. This time she was ready for me. I saw concern in her eyes. She said, “Are you all right?” and then, to Burdick, “I think he’s hurt!”

Burdick pulled me off her while Ed Delavane snorted. “He’s fine. Except all he can think about now is copping that feel -- and his hands are too cut up to yank himself!”

More laughter, but also a squint of worry or concern, or maybe nothing more than basic animal sympathy from the Girl. Anyway, it was real. And it  more than enough for me.

So here’s the crazy part. I actually felt good stumbling out of that gym.

 I had hope.

You see, I had touched her, felt her body through her clothes, felt her bra move But I had touched more than that, I had touched the person, the human being, the real girl, and felt the connection between us, warm and soft and solid as her breast under the shirt.

I was walking on air!

It feels just like flying, until you hit the ground.