Letterman Jackets and Half-Nelsons
Apple Valley, Ma
The Past
December 2007
Emma stared at the picture of the single leg half-nelson for the twentieth time in three days. The few times she saw Regina in the halls, Regina raised her brows at Emma, in a "well" question. Emma shrugged, which only made the queen of the school roll her eyes in exasperation.
"Why not?" Regina said as they walked into Arts into Action that week.
"I'm thinking about it."
Regina snorted and shook her head, stalking to her usual desk.
Jefferson and Archie caught the end of the exchange and joined Emma. The three of them tended to cluster together now.
"She seems displeased," Jefferson said.
"What did you do, Emma?" Archie asked.
"Who says I did anything? She's just...Regina."
By the end of the day on Thursday, a second note peeked from her locker. When she opened it, she found a quote written in familiar precise writing. "If you really want to do something, you'll find a way. If you don't, you'll find an excuse." - Jim Rohn
By Friday, the next slip of paper from Regina prodded with the subtlety of a chainsaw. "Stop wearing your wishbone where your backbone ought to be." - Elizabeth Gilbert
On Monday, Emma sent her own message back, in all caps, "I'M THINKING." - EMMA NOLAN
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On the following Wednesday, Emma came home to find her mother already there. A little unusual, as her mom usually stayed a couple hours after classes. Sometimes helping students, sometimes volunteering for different charity drives.
Her mother's broad smile greeted her from the kitchen. She stirred something that smelled like pasta sauce in the largest pot they had. "I've invited a couple of members of the school board over. They want to hear about your experiences on the wrestling team. By law, no team is supposed to deny anyone playing due to gender, color, creed or national origins." She sounded so cheery. Every word made pressure built in Emma's head. "The two people coming over are gravely concerned that Abigail Adams High might be breaking the law."
Emma couldn't hear anymore, she raised both her hands as if ready to push the tumble of information away from her. "Mom, stop."
Mary Margaret left her hand on the spoon but stopped stirring, brows drawing together in confusion.
Emma shook her head inwardly. She didn't understand how her mother could know so little about her, why she didn't know Emma would hate the idea of inviting strangers into the situation, or making it bigger than it already was.
"I don't want — I'm just gonna quit the team."
"What? You can't quit. This is an important fight. You could make a real difference."
Her mother still didn't get it. "I don't want to make a difference,"
'Emma."
Emma slapped her hand on the countertop, surprising both of them. "No, this isn't about you." She couldn't stop her voice from rising. "You never listen to me."
Her mother didn't retreat, her own anger burning. "You never tell me anything. I'm lucky if I get the occasional grunt from you."
"Because you don't want me to be who I am. You just care who you want me to be."
"That's not true." Mary Margaret approached, tilting her head up. Her mother's features and build were small. Some of the football players and basketball players mom taught were giants compared to her. It didn't matter. The fury in her eyes packed a wallop.
"I want you to have the best possible life and the tools you need to have that life," she said. "Part of that is fighting for what you really want and being able to work the system when you need to."
It made sense as her mom so often did. It only frustrated Emma more, because against such a logical position, her arguments fled, words escaping her.
Emma shook her head. "I won't be here when those people get here. I'm going to go to the library or something. I'll be back in a few hours." She strode for the door without waiting for a response.
She walked the path she usually ran. One mile, then two, until her anger burned away.
############################
Before entering practice the next day, she paced in the girl's changing room for a good twenty minutes. Some of the cheerleaders mocked her, but she ignored them. She stopped only when it was five past.
She squared her shoulders and entered the gym though the two main doors. The team had already started drilling.
"Nice you could join us, Nolan," The coach said.
"Sorry, coach," she said, heart flip-flopping like a fish in her chest. She could feel her toes sweating in her sneakers, which was weird.
"Um, hey," she greeted the wrestler in her weight class. He wasn't one of the worst guys on the team, though he hadn't forgiven her for beating him earlier in the year. "Can I show you something?"
He huffed at her. "Like?"
"Ever hear of a one leg half-nelson?"
They practiced it together a couple times. The coach saw them when her partner was doing the move and asked him about it. "It was Emma's idea."
The coach crossed his arms over his chest. "It's sloppy. Technique is all wrong." Then he blew his whistle. "Get over here and huddle up, " he told the team. "Okay, Nolan, let's go through it slowly. Never know when something different might come in useful."
The next day Emma found a "Home Ec after school" note in her locker.
When she entered the classroom and closed the door, Regina sprung up from behind the row of three ovens. She jogged to Emma and squeezed both of her shoulders.
"I heard what you did. Some of my friends mentioned 'Nolan showed us a move' in that really idiotic guy way. So, it worked?"
"Kinda. The coach talked to me after class. The guy in my weight class is a senior. Coach said that maybe he'll let me wrestle for him a couple times when it's against teams we'll probably beat anyway. He stressed the 'maybe'."
A lid pushed down over Regina's excitement, as if it being free in the first place was an unacceptable lapse. Regina withdrew her hands, placing them behind her back in that "standing at attention" pose she often struck.
"Well, I think that's a significant turn of events. I'm pleased."
"Wait, did this suddenly become your victory and not mine?"
A tiny smirk was the reply. "It can be both, can it not? I prepared something as a congratulations."
Like Pavlov's dog's, Emma's mouth watered. "Like a food something?"
With deep satisfaction in her expression, Regina walked to the back row of ovens. Emma followed and Regina presented her with a round tupperware container.
"It's a marble loaf cake with a light glaze. I haven't made it before. It's very simple. I would have preferred to bake something that let me play with frosting technique but that would require a lot more time. It's not easy for me to gain access to bake anything but I cultivated a friendship with the Home Ec teacher."
"Access what? An oven?"
Regina bore her eyes into Emma in agitation at her slowness. "Baking is not a pursuit my mother would understand spending time on. There's a person I am meant to be. Making cookies and cakes are what housewives and homemakers do. I am meant to strive for more, much more. She would be disappointed that I am devoting time to it. I am not suggesting that I don't agree with her overall, but...I enjoy experimenting with recipes."
"Well, I'd run over broken glass for more of your cookies," Emma kept her teasing gentle, hoping to reassure Regina that she could be trusted. "So, the important question now is: Do you have a fork?"
Grinning, Regina dipped her hand into a bin nearby and held up a plastic fork. The smile reminded her of the one at the Winter Formal, unfettered by self-regulation and coming from a place inside her she rarely let others see.
"Yeah, we're going to need two of those." Emma snatched the fork and retreated behind the ovens. Regina's shoes tapped their way over the linenolum as she followed, but hovered uncertainly.
Emma patted the place on the ground beside her. "Come on, this cake isn't going to eat itself."
Regina hesitated. "I shouldn't stay. There's a debate competition coming up," She frowned, the list of to do's in her head growing. "I have a test I should study for. Also, Archie turned in his essay on bullying so..."
"Regina," Emma said sternly and pointed to the floor. "You can take five minutes."
And so they ate cake.
"So, if your mom found out about the baking thing, what would she do?"
Regina closed the container, silent for so long Emma wondered if she would answer at all. "My mother has very high standards and she's strict. Less than an A on a test, less than a win in a competition, if I'm not encouraging the right friendships or showing social as well as academic leadership...every time I fail...she...it's a pattern. First, she lets me know that she's disappointed. Then, for three of four days, she will only talk to me when she absolutely must. During that time, she showers attention and gifts on Zelena. After that, my mother takes something away and monitors everything I do. What I wear, my homework, who I spend time with." She wrapped her arms around herself. "It's suffocating."
Emma wanted to tell Regina about the misunderstandings between her and her own mother. She just didn't want to take away from what Regina had just told her.
"I could never deal with that bullshit."
"You...become numb to it."
"Really?"
"Mostly. I do understand her objectives. I share her desire for excellence."
"You know, you can be pissed at your mom, sometimes. I won't tell anyone."
The light words earned another brief smile. "She and I both have this image of who I am supposed to be. Sometimes it feels like I am in competition with it."
"And your mom is okay with you being in Arts into Action?"
Regina drew in a deep breath. "If I am president of it, yes. Leadership positions look good on college transcripts."
The bell rang signalling the ending of the period. With a sigh Regina rose and dusted herself off.
"You know," Emma said, "you could come over to my house to use our oven and stuff. Whenever you wanted."
"Why? Why would you do that for me?"
"Well, we're friends. Weird friends but still...friends." After Emma said it, she realized she was extending some of her heart in the words. The threads between them ran in wild, random directions before allowing the ends to meet. She craved a more direct connection.
Regina dropped her eyes and collected her books, pulling them to her chest. "Despite appearances, I'm not sure anyone I know merits that term. I find it very challenging to trust people."
"Hey — you can trust me. I mean, I didn't tell anyone about the stealth cookies, right?" She approached her, fingers in her back pockets. "Regina, we look out for each other. We have for a while now, haven't we?"
Regina responded to the quiet offering in Emma's voice, her guard lowering a little, her gaze sparking with hints of affection. "I suppose so." Regina thought for a long moment. "Sometimes, I have told my mother I am tutoring someone to escape her scrutiny. But it would be awkward if Mrs. Nolan were aware of the deceit to my mother."
"Mom usually has stuff to do after classes. And, I don't think she'd mind keeping this kind of secret anyway."
"It's truly not a risk that I feel I should take at this point."
"If not now, then when?" Emma's scolding didn't have an edge, if anything, she tried to sound encouraging and convincing. "You're in high school, this is when you're supposed to do stupid things. Live a little."
Emma knew that people hid things, they put up defenses or omitted their truth from conversations. They shut parts of themselves away. She wanted to understand more about Regina, to be willingly given a key to one of her locked doors. The more Emma let that idea play in her head, the more it grew into a small victory she needed. She prodded a little more. "Regina, this is the most non-rebellious thing you could ever come up with. It's the bare minimum."
That, at least, coaxed a quirk of her lips. "And you care that I am adequately rebelling?"
"Well, you're ruining the curve for everyone. I mean, step it up."
"Very well. Perhaps after Winter Break? Are you free after school on Tuesdays? Around 5?"
Elation grew like an oak inside Emma, sprouting higher and higher. "That'd be good."
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Midterms came and went.
Before school let out for the Christmas holiday, two things happened. First, Archie's anonymous essay took up two pages in the school newspaper. The article detailed the raw emotions of being bullied without going into too many specific events. It left no doubt that some of the intimidation he faced was violent.
Emma's mom carried the paper, open to that page, for two days, making sure every teacher in the school saw it.
Second, just a few days later, an urgent school assembly announced a zero tolerance policy for bullying. All acts of violence would be investigated not by school administrators but by the police. Emma leaned against her locker waiting for Regina to walk by so she could silently gloat about her mom's stubbornness. Regina pretended not to see her, but when she walked by, she flicked her hip.
Emma and Mary Margaret never revisited their fight. The school wasn't sued, though, so maybe her mom changed her mind.
It became another unspoken thing between them.
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Apple Valley, Ma
The Present
/Previously/
Just ahead, in the last thirty feet of road, was another straightaway and a bump in the asphalt; it was where Emma herself had quit back then. She moved closer to the edge of the hill so she could keep Regina in her sights.
Regina hit the point where the street levelled briefly before dipping straight down.
Then came the hop.
One of Regina's feet flew forward off the front lip of the board. The skateboard shifted wildly, clattering, then spun side over side. Regina skidded over the ground, then tumbled hard and fast.
"Regina!" Emma broke into a run.
/End of Previously/
No broken bones. The price the hill extracted was a lot of bruising, some skin burns and a scrape that made a hole in Regina's jeans just under the knee. Regina didn't want to go to the hospital and asked Emma to take her to her apartment.
They left the skateboard behind after Regina insisted she never wanted to see it again.
She'd upgraded since the last time Emma had visited her. Now she lived in a complex where a doorman opened the door. He asked if they needed help but Regina politely refused. They moved past a giant, tiled water feature on the wall to the elevator.
Regina pushed the number sixteen on the elevator panel. They didn't talk as they went up.
Regina unlocked the door and Emma took in the dark wooden floors and the open floor plan.
At the end of the room, living room furniture surrounded a glass case in the middle of a brick mantle; probably a fancy fireplace. Closer to the door, a farmhouse dining table and six chairs awaited one of Regina's formal meals. A trickle of unreasonable jealousy made Emma wonder both who and how often Regina entertained there.
Only a column divided that space from the well-appointed kitchen with a granite island that boasted stainless steel appliances. A built-in desk alcove with two tall glass cabinets displayed ornate china and doubled as a workstation. A classy, upscale home, free from imperfection — so like Regina, and so unlike her.
Emma thought back and tried to remember why and how they'd meshed so well. From the outside looking in, it didn't make a lot of sense.
A hallway led away from the main area and Regina started in that direction. "Please, make yourself at home," she said before disappearing.
Emma sat at the very edge of the couch, just wanting to get out of here. She didn't want to think about Regina living her life here; lying down on the couch and reading, eating either alone or not so alone at the table, or exploring recipes at the counter next to the oven.
She shook out her arms, trying to loosen up.
It took Regina a while — ten minutes, then twenty. Emma debated with herself how long she should wait before checking on her. Right about the point she decided to, Regina appeared.
Over her arm hung a jacket Emma immediately recognized.
"I thought I should give this back," Regina said and held it out to her.
The maroon and gold colors were only a little faded, the A on the front a little brighter than the rest. Emma gave it to her when she went to Harvard. Regina wore it almost every single time they'd seen one another after that. Emma held the jacket in her lap and didn't know what to do with it. It weighed more than she remembered.
"I'm sorry I didn't give it back sooner. I guess I assumed we might make amends."
"You told me you were done with me, Regina."
"That's not exactly what I —" She cleared her throat. "I suppose it's close enough. Anyway, I wanted to get it back to you."
Regina limped a little as she crossed the room to sit across from her. She set an envelope on the coffee table in front of Emma. "You asked me about opening a bakery."
When they were younger, Regina would share her secrets in whispers. She and Emma would curl up in bed near each other, close but not touching. There were so many things they told one another in hushed voices.
"When I began, I thought the television show would help me find an investor for it. That was the plan. To stay a year or so, then try to move forward with the bakery. I thought it would give me a leg up." Regina having a larger, sorta cryptic plan felt so familiar, like an old comforting song.
Emma took her in, wearing a fresh pair of dark slacks and a red off the shoulder blouse. She'd always loved Regina in red.
"I stayed longer than I intended," Regina continued. "It's made my life comfortable. Stable. This national television show could lead to significant achievements. It's different direction than I expected, but that doesn't make it a poor choice. It would, however, probably take my time and energy for years. If I do it right."
She nodded to the envelope. "That's another option; a resignation letter to the studio. I could follow my original plan. I wanted to see how it felt to write it. And it seemed a more fitting dare than the death-defying skateboard ride."
"So you, um, dared yourself?" Emma pulled the letter from the envelope and glanced over it, then put it back.
"I only wanted to consider it. Doing something brave. Rash."
"And how did it feel?"
"Terrifying."
She reminded herself that it was none of her business. "Right."
"I've already thrown so many curveballs at my mother. Befriending all of you, dropping out of Harvard, being bisexual." She ticked them off one by one. Emma remembered each moment, was there for each one. They faced it together. "Opening a small business has so many risks. It would be like starting over, wouldn't it?" She shook her head at herself. "I'm sorry. I suppose it's still easy to feel like I can tell you things."
"We were best friends for half our lives. We just didn't understand one another as much as we thought." The b.s. monitor in her head blared. So many fucking things they never talked about, and hidden in unsaid words, the full truth.
A quick glance revealed that Regina had closed her eyes. "I wanted to call you after the Brain versus Brawn match. But it had been months. I didn't feel like I had the right. I wasn't sure you'd want to hear from me."
Emma's hands clenched. "Of course I would have. You were pretty much the only one I...fuck. It doesn't matter." She stood. "It's in the past."
"Is it?" Regina rose too. "Archie said you haven't had a fight since you lost."
It was worse than that, as if the paved road of her life ended that day and nothing lay beyond it.
A dead end.
"I've been training. Clearly I didn't have my shit together that day so — need to be in better shape."
Except she didn't know how to be, even now. Before the fight, she'd trained for months, daily torture sessions where she pushed her body to breaking. Closer to the fight, she jogged in sweats with a plastic suit over it. Sometimes she wore both as she soaked miserably in a tub with water as hot as she could make it. All of it a necessity to tip the scales at the right weight.
They were some of the worst days of her life, where she fought tears and shivered uncontrollably, her body rebelling against her treatment of it.
She offered each sacrifice with a stoic heart, certain of her larger purpose.
The day of the fight, with the exception of Regina and her parents not being there, she'd been at her best. So fucking cocky and sure. Waiting to claim the title she was sure was hers.
One minute and forty-seven fucking seconds.
She pushed the hard ball of pain back down and slammed the door of the cage it lived in.
Regina scowled. "It's been over a year. What kind of training regimen are you on, exactly?"
"Don't pretend you know anything about what's going on with me, Regina."
"Don't assume I don't know when you're lying to me, Emma."
"I'm not."
"No? Well you sure the hell aren't telling the truth. I understand why you've pulled back from me, but why them? They have done nothing to deserve it. Do you think they care that you lost? Or did this particular loss hurt your pride that much?"
Her heart banged in her chest, demanding attention. She ignored it. "Yep, that's it. It's just about my pride." Emma held up the letterman jacket. "Thanks for getting this back to me. There might barely be enough room in my saddlebag for it." She took on more casual body language and pushed open the door. "You ready to go?"