Page 93 of Full Split
Chalk dust poofs into the air as I grab the bar. I touch and swing. Kip. Release. Catch. Swing. My body knows what to do and it comes effortlessly.
I feel the ache in my foot when it touches the bar and during extensions, but it’s not bad. I push through each move smoothly. There is no hesitation or wasted motion. No extra swings or grip adjustments. Every movement is tight, sharp, perfect.
I don’t think about Wyatt.
I don’t think about Weston.
I don’t think about the crowd. Peter. The news. Every obstacle that’s thrown itself in my way along the road.
I don’t think at all. I just fly.
Catch. Release. Tuck. Twist. And land.
I stick the landing perfectly. No hop or step. A jolt shoots through my foot like a lightning strike, but I don’t move. I hold the pose, arms up.
For one suspended breath, the room is silent and still. Muffled through the beating of my own heart and the rush of blood in my head.
And then the noise crashes back into me all at once. The crowd roars.
I look at Wyatt, and breathe for what feels like the first time today. He’s teary-eyed, clapping and roaring with the crowd.
The score flashes. 14.933.
Holy shit.
That’s gold.
They put the medal around my neck, and my hands won’t stop shaking.
This can’t be real life. My heart is hammering.
I stand up there on the podium, high above the arena, staring at the American flag rising above me. That flag used to be a symbol of pride and hope, but lately, for many, it’s been something much different. Something bleak and scary.
My vision blurs with tears, my eyes fluttering shut. I give my feelings their moment. For once, I don’t block them out while I’m on the floor, in front of all these people. In this arena, and on every television set that’s tuned in to see this competition.
I think about every kid watching. Every queer kid. Every trans kid.
This is for them.
I lift my fist into the air, and the crowd roars. I open my eyes, and when my tears clear, I see the flags.
Progress flags. Pride flags. Trans flags. All being held up proudly by people in the crowd. Even some by my fellow athletes, and not just from my team. Weston waves a tiny trans flag, making me laugh through my tears.
On the jumbotron, one huge trans flag catches my eye. It’s massive, draped along the stands behind me.
I turn around to look.
It’s Wyatt.
Mik, Jason, and Jace hold the edges, with Wyatt in the center. There are tears in his eyes.
But there’s worry too.
I mouth that I’m okay.
It’s sort of a lie. That dismount sent a shockwave up my leg I’ll feel for weeks, but it was worth it.
Everything after that’s a blur.
