Jessica Zambrano
For the Win
Ruth:
I wonder how painful it was for Oedipus to gauge out his eyes? Or Van Gogh to cut off
his ear? If I injure myself I can spend my time in the hospital instead of a gym, and it wouldn’t
be hard to “trip” down these bleachers. I’m not really in the mood to watch teenage boys grope at
each other in their unitard singlet things. Actually I’m never in the mood for that. But I’m here to
be “supportive”. Because supporting barbaric activities where man-boys throw each other to the
ground to prove their manliness is the ultimate form of familial love. So is wearing a shirt that
has “WIN, TWIN!” in Comic Sans font complete with a picture of your brother’s face on the
front.
Elliot:
There is no fucking way this guy weighs 120 pounds. No. Fucking. Way.
“ELI! COME OVER HERE REAL QUICK!” my coach calls. He’s about to tell me they
mixed up the roster. No worries. It’ll be a quick fix.
“It’s Elliot, Coach.” I remind him for the 5th time today.
“Yeah Eli, so there’s been a mistake.” Well that’s a relief to hear. Seriously this guy
looks like he could have busted outta juvie. Actually he could be 18, so maybe he busted outta
prison.
“It’s Elliot.”
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“Right, well there was a mix-up in the weight class and—“
“Oh good I thought—“
“You’ll be wrestling 150 today.”
“What?” This is a sick joke.
“It seems while filling out the roster there was a blank space for the 150 weight class and
you know how 2’s and 5’s look alike. And we can’t afford to forfeit, Eli.”
150.
120.
A first grader could tell the difference between a 2 and a 5. And they could probably
remember my name. I know 150 pounds doesn’t seem like a lot but when you’re 5’4” and have
ribs where this guy has muscles on his muscles, you can’t help but think how he’ll use your
bones as toothpicks. Currently he’s winking and flexing at my sister. He seems like such a
douche. In fact he seems like the kind of douche who’d yell “THIS IS SPARTA!” right before he
maims me. Actually, maybe I could use this to my advantage. I wonder if I could offer up Ruth
in exchange for his forfeit?
No, Elliot, she’s your sister not a bargaining chip.
“HEY RUTH!”
Ruth:
Why’s Elliot yelling my name? Don’t respond. No don’t run toward me! People are
going to notice the shirt!
“Ruth, I need a favor.”
“Now?”
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Jessica Zambrano
“If you care about me at all you’ll hear me out.”
“I don’t know what service I could possibly do you right now, but go on.”
“You need to seduce the Spartan warrior that’s going to make a pelt out of me. Please?
Then I’ll convince him to forfeit, I’ll live, and everyone wins!”
“No.” Familial love my ass. My own brother is trying to sell me off like I’m a cheap
possession. Even worse he’s trying to hand me off to some guy that is comparable to primitive
caveman who undoubtedly has a pea-sized brain. And that’s being generous.
“But—“
“ You should go back to the mat. It’s nearly your turn.”
Kilgaron:
He’s pretty small and pale, is he sick? Should he really be wrestling? There’s definitely a
difference in muscle mass and just by eyeballing him I calculate that I must have between 30-35
pounds more on my body then him. To be honest he’s got more of a feminine build on him.
That’s when I look back up.
He’s running up the bleacher to talk with the girl I was eyeing. No doubt about it now,
it’s his twin sister. They’re arguing. She says no to some sort of request he’s making, and he runs
back down like a dog with its tail between his legs.
Elliot:
That’s it. That’s the sound of all hope shattering. I wish I were bigger so I would at least
stand a fighting chance. I don’t even know if my stomach is in knots because I’m so hungry, or
because I know this guy could break my neck.
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I walk over to the mat and strap the red Velcro band around my ankle. Shit this is really going to
happen. We’re about to shake hands. I’m at eye level with his chest and—wait, is that a Jesus
fish tattoo? Yep. It’s a Jesus fish tattoo. Well this makes me feel better, I mean how is a guy with
a Jesus fish tattoo going to kill me?
Kilgaron:
This isn’t really fair to him. This kid is a pipsqueak. My youngest brother is almost
bigger than him. He’s definitely gotta forfeit because there’s no way he’ll last and I don’t wanna
be the jerk to accidentally break his bones. Besides, I won’t stand a chance with his sister if he
ends up in the hospital.
I just need this match to be over with so I can get my affairs in order and leave.
Ava:
I did not get my degree to spend four years refereeing here. I had a plan: become an
athletic trainer for the NFL, wrap a couple ankles, play the field, have an NFL player fall in love
with me, give me a huge rock to wear on my finger, get married, and basically spend my days
shopping and going to the spa with my celebrity bffs. Well that’s the ideal plan. Plan B is for the
modeling agents to get back to me before I “peak”. Age is but a number and beauty is but a gift,
so I don’t consider it lying about my age exactly—it’s more like exposing the discriminatory side
of the modeling world.
At least there are plenty of abs around. That makes this bearable. These two coming up
are a pair though. You have the small one who looks like a bird terrified of leaving the nest. But
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Jessica Zambrano
the other one, whoa. Dark hair. And you know how ripped Sylvester Stallone was in Rocky III?
This guy could be a contender with him in a hot body contest. He’s straight up sex on a stick.
“All right, are we ready?” I say. They both nod.
I smile quickly at Sexy McSexAppeal and raise my whistle to my pouted lips.
And I blow my whistle.
Elliot:
“Uh—“
Rule number one of wrestling. Don’t pay attention to the referee, pay attention to your
opponent. Even if your referee looks like she could be a supermodel. Or else your head will be
smashed into the mat quicker than you can—“
Ava:
Takedown-2 points.
And in three seconds. This match will be over within the minute.
Kilgaron:
Sorry kid. I gave you like a whole 5 seconds to stare before I had to do something. I’m on
a tight schedule.
Ruth:
Maybe I should’ve…what’s the expression? “Taken one for the team.” In any case he has
a verbal agreement with me that in the event of his untimely death, more than likely caused by
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his own lack of intelligence, that I get all of his material possessions. So there are pros and cons
to this situation.
Kilgaron:
This guy just keeps flailing outside of the circle like a dying fish. Simultaneously, I am
both impressed and sympathetic to how pathetic his attempts to escape are. An average fish can
live about a maximum of 5 minutes out of water; if he were a fish he’d probably be below
average so his time is almost up.
Elliot:
There’s only a minute left. I’ve almost made it through a round; I’m impressed. I wonder
how many more times I can crawl to the outside circle.
His grip’s loosening…
And suddenly I’m kicking my feet out from under my body as spastically as I can until he
lets go.
Praise whatever higher power is looking out for me right now because I am back on my
feet. And I got a point for my escape. The score is only 2-1.
Ava:
4 seconds. 3. 2. 1. I blow the whistle. I have to hand it to little Bird Legs. I thought he’d
be a goner. He still might be. The other guy looks like he’s about to erupt. I wonder what his deal
is?
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Jessica Zambrano
Kilgaron:
I CAN’T believe I let him slip under my grip. I DO NOT have the time for this shit. I
have to end this in five minutes or I’m going to miss nationals for academic decathlon.
Thanks Dad, for forcing me to come here instead. Apparently intelligence is not as valued
as making someone suffer by bruising him black and blue all over.
Bright gym lights, the smell piss and gym socks known as B.O., and groping other guys
is exactly what I wanted to do on my Friday.
Ruth:
As circumstances would have it, it seems I will not be pawning off Elliot’s possessions
quite yet. It’s round 2 and the bleachers are so heated with soccer moms and overbearing fathers
that the yelling is shaking the bleachers. I mean really, you’d think this is ancient Rome and that
this is a gladiator battle, while the crowd cheers on for a victor, knowing that for someone to
win, someone else must die. Well maybe that’s a bit grim. The likelihood of him dying is so
minute that I’d dismiss the possibility all together. Honestly, Elliot can be so dramatic while
speaking to the point that he’s overly hyperbolic.
Elliot:
Who had the brilliant idea of yelling at someone as a way to boost morale? Yes I get you
want me to win, but how the hell does yelling increase those chances?
Shit I’m going down again.
There’s not much to look at with your face against a wrestling mat, but trust me it’s
disgusting. I can smell the Clorox they clean the mat with as it mixes with my sweat during this
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match. The sweat on my face is pooling towards my mouth and it’s not pleasant and I can taste
the hint of salt all while—
Is that a fucking pube?
Can’t do this, that shit’s too close to my face.
Kilgaron:
I grab the kid and have him pinned under me as he struggles. He’s ancient history.
Ancient history.
Ancient humans.
Review sessions with hundreds of flashcard questions pummel my head from that phrase.
Question #63: What was the second metal to be used by ancient humans?
Answer: copper.
Ava:
Shit! What just happened? Bird Legs is back on his feet. But did the Stallone Jr. do
anything before? Um I think I’m just going to do nothing. There’s only 47 seconds left. And it’s
only 4-2, it’s not really that unfair. Here comes my least favorite part.
And I’m on the ground, sliding around, pretending that I can actually see what the hell is
happening with one kid on top of the other. Oh shit. Bird Legs has flipped Stallone on his back!
How the fuck did that happen?!
I raise my hand and smack my palm down to the mat, harder than I mean to. I just
chipped a nail. My last manicure was a day ago. It cost me fifty dollars. Fifty. Fucking. Dollars.
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Jessica Zambrano
Now they have to be redone so I can send out more shots to hand-modeling agencies. Why is the
universe against me?
Kilgaron:
Losing to this kid would be embarrassing, but if I lose now, I can still make it to the
decathlon. Then again, who would believe that I couldn’t flip this kid back onto his back?
It’s definitely been more than 3 seconds. If I were going to lose I’d rather not have any extra of
my time consumed by this ref.
Elliot:
Why hasn’t the match been called yet? I’ve had this guy pinned for like four whole
seconds now, what gives?
Ava:
Uh oh. I screwed up.
Time.
I blow into my whistle extra loud to make it seem like I’m vigilant.
Elliot:
Dying would be much easier than this. Maybe I’ll drop from hunger before this guy can
get me then he won’t have a chance to unleash any sort of punishment on me. With any luck I
might make actually make it to go to my own prom. Or lose my virginity. Oh fuck, I am not
going to die a virgin! That is not a part of the life plan! Okay, okay. Just breathe.
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Okay. Last round of this match. You can do it. Just gotta last 3 more minutes.
Kilgaron:
He dove for my legs and managed to bring me down.
I’m not sure the laws of physics would statistically allow that due to the differences in
mass between our body times and the velocity at which he rushed toward me that—
Ava:
Takedown-2 points, red.
Bird Legs has Stallone on his back. No one was expecting that. If Bird Legs can just hold
Stallone’s shoulders to the mat for about two more seconds he could win. It’s like watching the
slowest horse suddenly come out in front at the race in front of the thoroughbred.
Ruth:
4-4. Elliot might actually have this. And miracles do happen, the ref is actually paying
attention instead of gawking at muscles for brains.
Thought too soon.
Elliot:
“KILL! KILL! KILL! KILL!” is all I hear. And it’s chanting. Who in their right mind
would chant about killing me at a public event? And in a school?
I see them.
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Jessica Zambrano
There are six mini clones of him sitting on the bleachers, all with dark hair and blue eyes.
There’s only one explanation.
They’re of an alien race and I’ve been chosen as the sacrifice.
Ruth:
“KILL! KILL! KILL!” The chanting is terribly eerie and melodic at the same time.
You’d almost think this was a Catholic Church service instead of a gym. Then again the
Catholic Church is peculiar, they’re like their own little cult that everyone overlooks because
they’re Catholic. It’s been a while since I’ve brushed up on readings concerning Catholicism, but
I don’t think they encourage killing. But hey, I could be wrong, this is a progressive age and
whatnot.
Kilgaron:
Dad just had to start with the chanting, didn’t he? Now everyone’s expecting me to “kill”
or at least cause bodily damage to him. Pacifists are not supposed to engage in any acts of
violence unless it’s being used for self- defense. Can I even still consider myself a pacifist given
that I wrestle? There’s a case to be made if I was forced into it. We could have just stayed in
Ireland and I could have been a peaceful shepherd, living in the deep, rich pastures. That
wouldn’t have been so bad.
Ava:
Kill…
As in Kilgaron?
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That’s the kid’s last name! Francis Kilgaron! He’s the Irish kid!
No wonder he’s so ripped. Like what is there to do in Ireland?
Elliot:
This is like being underneath a boulder. A boulder with thick, veiny arms that tighten like
a wrench. And now they’re between my legs. What if this is his plan?
What if he’s going to emasculate me first, then slowly suffocate me until my body falls
lifelessly and he wins?
Ruth:
I wonder if the technical name for that move is “The Nut-Cracker”. If it’s not maybe I
can coin that name and become famous?
Elliot:
This is it, goodbye cruel world! I look over at Coach and quickly regret it. God damn if
that’s the last sight I ever see.
Oh.
I’m not dead.
Well this is somewhat anticlimactic. What do I do now? I tried accepting death with open
arms. If I don’t place Coach will have me running longer than Forrest Gump did.
Then it hits me. The beefy, sweet aroma.
Is that man holding a box of Buffalo Wild Wings?
There’s a Buffalo Wild Wings around here?
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Jessica Zambrano
I start flailing around and escape.
Ruth:
Elliot just looks utterly possessed. But he’s earned a point for escaping and his opponent
looks caught off guard. He’s got about thirty seconds to either pin the other guy down or to take
him down to the mat and make the score 6-7.
Ordinarily events like this don’t concern me with the outcome, but if I wore this shirt he
better win. I refuse to be acknowledged as the girl with a shirt that has a picture of her
chromosomally inferior mutated clone on the front.
The excitement and the crowd is making it ten times more heated in here and it’s just too
much. I feel myself start to sweat and conducting myself in a polite manner goes out of the
metaphoric window as I life the bottom of my shirt up to wipe my face.
Kilgaron:
Look somewhere else, look anywhere else.
But I can’t. I was staring up at the stands and I saw this kid’s sister. She lifted her shirt up
and I saw more of her than I planned too before I even had the chance to ask her out.
She’s got a belly button piercing. How do I feel about that? Is it hot? Is it tacky? Does it
even matter?
I shouldn’t even let my mind be drifting during the match, but I’ve already started to
picture her in a bathing suit.
Jesus. I need to pull myself together.
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Elliot:
For once the behemoth isn’t watching me with laser like precision so I crawl between his
legs, then grab them and pull them out from beneath him as I hold myself in squatting stance,
keeping myself on balance. And he comes crashing down. I do the only thing I can at that point;
I basically throw my body against his and take my bony-ass chicken wing elbow and press it
against his chest so it would hurt. Yeah there may be some controversy over whether this is
“legal” but the ref seems like an airhead and the way I see it, she owes me for getting my ass
kicked more than was necessary.
Kilgaron:
The image of the girl in her bathing suit quickly disappear and are replaced by red lights
going off in my head flashing NOT LEGAL, NOT LEGAL. We both want to be out of here, but
you don’t have to impale me with that spear you call an elbow. It actually feels like he could
pierce through me at any moment as he pushes my back closer and closer to the back of the mat.
Ava:
3 seconds. 2. 1.
For the last time this match I blow on my whistle and walk both kids to the middle. My
shift is over. As I walk off the mat I reach out on the table to grab my cell phone and see that I
have a missed call. I listen to the voicemail and it’s an interview with a hand-modeling agent
who represented Ellen Sirot and put her career on the map. Time to quit and celebrate with a
bottle of cheap wine and a manicure!
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Jessica Zambrano
Ruth:
“Francis sweetheart, you did great!”
Francis? I
All I hear in response to his mother are monosyllabic grunts and this revolting sniffling
accompanied by waterworks. I swear I never witness this much crying in girls’ sports.
Kilgaron:
The decathlon already started. I won’t be getting any award from that. I lost this match to
a scrawny cheater. I’ll probably have to hit the weights once I get back home. Watch tapes of
what I did wrong. More weights. Practicing with Dad. And I’m pretty sure that girl saw me
crying.
Life sucks.
Elliot:
I walk to Ruth and prop my arm on her shoulder.
“Francis, huh? I’d probably cry too if my name were Francis and I weren’t going to
Buffalo Wild Wings. Sucks to suck.
“You’re sort of an asshat, Elliot, you may as well been crying with the faces you were
pulling.”
“Ruth, don’t take my moment away from me. Let’s just celebrate the gift of life by
ordering one of everything off B-Dubs menu. Could you maybe spare your only twin some cash?
And do you think they deliver?”
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