by Emily Asad
Chapter 17: Confidence Builders
There may be epics in men’s brains, just as there are oaks in acorns, but the tree and the book must come out before we measure them. –Ralph Waldo Emerson
January arrived too quickly. I spent every day of my Christmas vacation trying to inch closer and closer to the cat, whom I dubbed Mouser due to her ability to catch mice. Although she no longer fled at my presence, she did not voluntarily approach me. I guessed that she must have been someone’s pet at one point, because whenever she saw me, she always started toward me but caught herself in time and held back. She had a lot of trusting to learn. I was patient.
January was the beginning of the juggling unit for the physical education course. It was too cold to go outside and ice skate - and for a Minnesotan to admit that it’s too cold, it has to average in the negative thirties. So, for six weeks until it warmed up enough to go outside again, all sophomores were condemned to a life of badminton, indoor exercising, and juggling.
Miss Bjornson was astonished at the progress I had made with the clubs and rings. It meant an automatic A for me, but she was not content to simply have me stand around and juggle during class time. True to her word, she expected me to help teach others. For her, that meant having an extra pair of hands as a class assistant.
For me, it meant exposing myself to the ridicule of my peers.
Always before, it had been easy to disappear in a crowd and become the proverbial wall flower. Now, I found myself paying more attention to my appearance, since I was in close proximity to other students. I used extra deodorant, since paranoia and fear of judgment always made mine break down at the worst possible moment. I also took to sucking breath mints for when I was standing face-to-face with my peers during a takeaway routine.
Erika had proved that I could look pretty – not just nice, but downright pretty – with some extra care. I had no intentions of becoming like Naomi Bell, who spent an hour on her hair, twenty minutes choosing an outfit, and another twenty minutes with her makeup. At least. But I did start using mascara and colored gloss, and even eye shadow from time to time. Nothing fancy, just a neutral brown color, but it made me feel better about myself.
I discovered that posture, too, is an important confidence indicator. I made sure to keep my back straight, chin up, and shoulders back. I began to look people in the eye when I walked down the hallway instead of averting my gaze or pretending to stare through someone as if they did not exist.
I taught three classes a day: my own gym period, my lunch period, and during study hall. I was surprised to find that Luke was taking gym class, since he was a junior, but he had transferred from another state and had not met all his requirements for our district. It turned out that he was a pretty good juggler himself. Not nearly as developed as I was, of course, but he could hold his own in class.
“Today we’re going to practice partner juggling,” said Miss Bjornson, halfway through the unit. “Everyone pick a partner. You’ll only need three beanbags for this exercise.”
She waited a moment or two for the usual scuffling and choosing. Since I was assisting, I didn’t get a partner. I was supposed to step in when people had problems. So you can imagine my surprise when Luke crossed the room as if he were on a mission and stopped inches away from me, holding three beanbags.
I didn’t say anything, but I’m sure he noticed my surprise. I had never been singled out for attention before. It was flattering, and slightly unnerving!
“Okay, everyone. Listen up. Most of you are able to sustain a fairly solid cascade. The point to partner juggling is to give away, take away, or share. Beverly, stand in front of me so I can demonstrate.”
“Come back soon,” Luke whispered.
I smiled at him shyly, and took my place. Miss Bjornson began to juggle. I disrupted her pattern by reaching in and grabbing the first beanbag, followed by the second. The third, since it was in the air, naturally fell into position. I now had the beanbags. She took them back.
“That’s a takeaway,” she said. “Now for the giveaway.”
Again, she began to juggle. Instead of making me reach in and take them from her, however, she simply served them to me. I served them back. It was a fairly effortless maneuver.
“Finally, the share. You will be your partner’s other arm. Be sure to hold your juggling arm in a tray position, don’t throw too high, and don’t worry about the catches. They’ll come to you if you throw properly.” She stood beside me so that we were facing the class, her left arm tucked behind her back.
I tucked my right arm behind my back. We looked like a two-headed monster with two arms and four legs. She served the first beanbag, I served the second, and she served the third. We alternated for a few seconds, showing the class what the pattern was supposed to look like, until she collected the beanbags. “I want you to get to twenty-one catches in each exercise. That’s going to be part of your test. Any questions? No? Have fun!”
Everyone began juggling, and she scanned the room. “Beverly, Luke doesn’t have a partner. Will you work with him?”
“He did that on purpose,” I muttered.
He faced me. “So. Takeaways. I juggle, and you take away, right?”
“Aren’t you the clever one.”
He began his cascade.
“You’re throwing in a blue, red, yellow pattern. See?” I timed my words with his throws. “Blue, red, yellow. Blue, red, yellow. I’m going to take the blue one, then the red one. The yellow one comes to me.”
“I think I understand.”
“You’ve done this before?”
“No, but how hard can it be?”
“Hmm. Pay attention.” I snatched the beanbags from him. “Your turn.”
“Well, that’s a little faster than I was expecting,” he admitted. “Let me see. Blue, red… oops, sorry!” His fingernail caught the tender skin on the top of my hand as he tried to grab the beanbag from me. It was a common beginner’s mistake. I had clawed my own fair share of skin before I finally caught on.
“Try again,” I encouraged.
He took the blue, then the red… and another scratch. He winced. I think it hurt him more than it did me. “Sorry.”
“No problem. Once again.”
His face grew stern in concentration. He watched me closely, trying to get the timing down, and then reached in to my pattern again. “Ha! I got it!”
“Good job! My turn now.” Without waiting for him to get his rhythm back, I took the beanbags away. “Okay. Your turn.”
“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”
I had to grin. “Actually, I am. I don’t get to juggle with a partner much. I love juggling.”
“You could train me. I’m a quick learner, don’t you think?”
I sensed a little bit more behind his words than what he was saying, but I didn’t think much of it. We practiced the takeaways for several minutes before Miss Bjornson told everyone to move on to giveaways.
Those were much easier for him. He didn’t even have any false throws; he simply served me the beanbags and took them as if he had been doing it his whole life.
Sharing beanbags side-by-side with Luke was an uncomfortable situation for me. Sometimes, beginners have a hard time remembering to keep their non-juggling arm behind them, and it gets in the way. Miss Bjornson’s solution to that was for the partners to hold each other’s waists. So not only was Luke invading my personal space (I generally kept at least two feet between me and any other person), but we were making physical contact. Consequently, my throws were off and his were perfect.
“I’m going to go help Ariel and Anna,” I gasped after only a few rounds. I broke away from his grasp.
He must have guessed the reason for my discomfort. “You’re cute when you blush,” he grinned.
I scowled at him. “Anna, try to throw to your partner instead of across her body,” I called.
“I don’t get it,” she whined.
“I have to go,
” I told Luke.
He raised an eyebrow. “Who am I supposed to juggle with?”
“I’ll send Ariel over. She seems to have the throws down.” I hurried over to Ariel and sent Anna to Luke.
Ariel seemed relieved. So was I.
When class was over, Miss Bjornson asked Luke and me to wait a few minutes, since we were both heading into our lunch break anyway. “On the fourth Wednesday of every month, I go to a juggler’s club over in Fargo. I like to take my best jugglers if I can. Can either of you make it?”
“That sounds like fun!” I exclaimed. “I’m not sure my folks would let me, though.”
“I might have a Knowledge Bowl meet. I’ll have to check.” He looked at me, and then back to Miss Bjornson. “I’d love to go, though.”
“It’s next Wednesday. Don’t forget. We’ll leave around six o’clock from the loading dock. Look for the red minivan – or anyone carrying clubs! Beverly, can you set up the room for the next class? I’ll be right back.” She ran downstairs to switch class rosters.
Luke lingered around. “You going to lunch?”
“No. There’s another juggling unit right now. I usually help them for half an hour or so, and then grab a quick bite.”
“Ah. I see. Well… Catch you tomorrow, then.”
“See ya.”
I could not wait until next Wednesday. It was almost like a field trip. Sure, I had juggled with professionals before – the circus folk and the Renaissance performers – but this was the first time that I would meet real people who juggled for a hobby, like me. It felt somehow as if I were about to find a group to which I truly belonged.
Luke managed to get out of his Knowledge Bowl practice. We were joined by Garrett, a senior, and Eric, a junior.
“Hey, Luke, how’s it goin’,” said Eric when he arrived. “Who’s your girlfriend?”
Luke grinned. I was mortified.
“She’s not my girlfriend. Just a friend.” He introduced us.
Eric had nice eyes, I thought, a steel-gray color with long eyelashes. If he had been a girl he would have been the envy of the school.
Miss Bjornson unlocked the minivan. “Everybody ready? Don’t just stand around freezing. Let’s go!” The roads were slick with ice so she drove slowly. I thought for sure we would be late.
It was only a fifty-minute drive but was like going to another world. My home town, Fergus Falls, had a population of twelve thousand people. However, Fargo had almost one hundred thousand people, and that didn't include its sister city or the surrounding suburbs. I wished we had time to go shopping at one of the malls!
I had no idea how much juggling with a group of competent jugglers could be. It was refreshing to be among people who had my level of skill, and surpassed me. Finally! I had found a place where I could learn! I was slightly disappointed that most of the people there were men. Aside from an older woman in her forties, Miss Bjornson and I were the only ladies.
That night, I got to stand in the middle of a passing pattern while two of the club leaders juggled around me. Had I moved a few inches to the left or right, I would have been struck with a club. Then they did the same thing with steel-cold machetes. It was exciting. I also got to participate in a seven-point juggling pattern, something I had never done before. Luke and his friend Eric kept disrupting the pattern, so they stood aside and practiced passing between them. Even with only five points, it was an experience to remember. I hoped I could make it to the club every month.
The highlight of my evening was when I got to juggle torches. Mr. Allen, the president of the chapter, handed me some gasoline and some matches. “Have you ever set a house on fire before?” he asked.
I looked at him suspiciously. “No… not that I know of.”
“Then you’re ready for torches. You’re pretty solid with those clubs there. Here, try these for a minute before we light them.”
I giggled. “You’re really going to trust me with fire?”
“Consider it an initiation.”
I felt the weight of the torches in my hands. Their center of balance was different than my clubs but I adjusted quickly.
“Dip the tips into the gasoline. Now, shake them out onto this strip here,” he said, pointing to an absorbent fabric strip on the floor. “That takes away the excess. Move away from the gasoline so I can light you…”
All the other jugglers had stopped their patterns and gathered in a wide circle around me. I was nervous and excited at the same time. I was going to juggle fire!
The torches lit quickly. “Be sure to hold them parallel to the ground, or else the flame will ride up toward your hand,” said Mr. Allen.
I saw what he meant and quickly leveled out my grip. “Am I ready? Can I start?”
“Go for it!”
I took a deep breath and began to juggle. The torches made a whooshing sound as they consumed oxygen and rotated. I threw a bad toss and knew that, if I caught it, I would be gripping the fire end. I let it clatter to the floor harmlessly. I kicked it up into my pattern and continued. I was grinning like a fool, but I didn’t care. I was juggling torches!
The others burst into a spontaneous round of applause. I did a few quick tricks, collected them, and took a bow.
“That was great! My parents will never believe it. They don’t even let me light candles!”
"Good thing I believe in ancient technology," Mr. Allen said, handing me a think black square. "Now you have the picture to prove it. Congratulations."
I furrowed my eyebrow, confused. As I stared at the square, its milky gray surface gave way to a clear photograph. I laughed. "A Polaroid camera?"
"Digital cameras are for modern sissies," he snorted. "Now, who else want to try before we all leave for the evening?”
Garrett took a go, and then it was time to leave. Miss Bjornson thanked Mr. Allen for letting us come – apparently there was a membership fee, but he let us in as visitors – and then we all waved goodbye.
I couldn't stop beaming. I think I grinned all the way back home.
It was around eleven when Miss Bjornson dropped me off at my house. I gave her a hug. “This was the best night I’ve ever had,” I said.
“I’m glad you had fun. Maybe we’ll do it again next month.”
“You betcha! I can’t wait!”
The porch light was on so I had no trouble navigating the slippery sidewalk. I tried to be as quiet as possible as I opened the door, but Mom always had owl ears and heard everything. She popped her head out of the bedroom as soon as I tip-toed inside. “How did it go?”
“It was awesome! I had so much fun! I made friends, and participated in a seven-point pattern, and learned lots of new tricks. And look! I got to juggle torches!” I held out the picture so she could see.
She didn’t take it. “Just don’t wake anyone else up.” She withdrew into her bedroom.
I was crushed. I wanted to share the excitement of my evening with someone who surely would understand, but Mom didn’t care. That hurt.
I looked at my photo with a sigh. My face stared back at me in an exuberant grin, and the torchlight seemed to jump off the picture. I couldn’t stifle another smile as I remembered how proud I had been of myself.
Maybe that’s enough, I thought. Nobody else will be proud of me, so I will be. I can make it on my own. I don’t need anybody.
I fell asleep dreaming about jugglers.
