Wednesday, January 22, 2003

I must have been in

I must have been in 11th grade or so, at a point in my high school career when I had enough going on to justify being out of class (because I never once cut clas in the four years I spent there).  I was walking from the 200 Building to the Admin Building and I was feeling pretty good about myself.  I don’t recall the details but my spirits were high enough that, as I traversed the concrete paths of the central quad, I swept one foot forward in some sort of kicking motion, knee locked like a placekicker.  My foot rose swiftly and powerfully before me, swinging easily to the height to my face.  It kept on going up, rising higher than it should have.  Up turned to over.  My other foot lifted off the ground.  I realized then that I was entirely out of control.  My head was dropping back fast, the back of my head swooping dangerously toward the ground.  I saw sky.  (It’s not like I was some sort of physical prodigy.  I played no sports, took no exercise, and toppled frequently and spectacularly.  This was all a new experience for me.) My arms thrust themselves out ridigly to either side like the axis of a gyroscope.  I saw the ground.  That’s when I realized that I was regaining control.  My kicking leg had gone all the way around and was coming back to earth, the other leg rapidly following it.  I landed on both feet at once and continued walking to the Admin Building without skipping a beat, hoping that my little adventure had escaped notice.  No such luck - I’d been seen, by an underclass girl sitting on a bench, agape and silent, just a few feet ahead of me.  The only line I could think to toss her way as I tried to stroll nonchalantly past her was ‘bet you’ve never seen that before.’ I know I sure hadn’t.  I’ve never yet replicated that move.  I haven’t tried.  I don’t need to do it again.  When I get something right the first time, I consider myself finished.  Even if I do it accidentally.  Especially if I do it accidentally.