The Smirk at the Landing Pit

“Lola, you’ve got this. You’ve done this a million times before and you’re a natural,” says Emma, my best friend since the fourth grade, as we are on the track field that’s buzzing with a crowd in bright blue and ivory white.

The moment we met, I knew there was something special about her. We were both adopted at an early age, and we both had never met anyone who had been through the experience of confusion, isolation, and curiosity that adoptees go through. We were both given up as kids, and for the first time, I’d met someone who truly understood the perplexity that comes with it.

We were two teens trying to comprehend our belonging in the world. And from there on out, we immediately became inseparable. She was champion at the high jump, and I had just began my journey as a top performer in pole vaulting.

I can feel my heart rate spike, my legs quiver, and my eyes go dizzy. I’m getting ready to pole vault as number one in our class, prepared and ready for a scholarship. What if I don’t make it? What if I stall at the very last step before my plant? What if the crowd sees me choke?

I begin to stepping on the front of the runway, rubbing the chalk on my hands and looking around the arena nervously.

Emma was the only one to know that I was craving a scholarship to my dream college…. all on my own, with my desire for a better life, and in a different state from the family I grew up with. I just needed a fresh start and a new beginning.

I can hear the crowd cheering. Whispers from side to side. Who knows what they were saying.

This was also our senior year. It was the ultimate test. You either made it happen, or you watched it slip away, right in front of your eyes.

Emma has always given the best advice, as any true friend would give. She’s even been our class president for all four years of high school. Even though she knew how to make anyone like her, her speciality was getting personal.

But, this was right before the biggest high school meet we’ve had in decades; and it was determining my own future. I believe in her, and I believe in me.

“Something seems different,” I say to Emma, as I scatter around the front of the line, before beginning the most paramount performance of my career.

“I have scouts on the bench watching me. And I’ve never done this in front of anyone; besides you, our team and our coach.”

Emma replies, “You are forgetting what you’re capable of, Lola. Remember who you are and the talent you have. You’re not just only the best in our class, but the one person who is capable of a scholarship to the one school you’ve been dreaming of.”

I hear her. But, suddenly terror sets in. She’s also aiming for a scholarship at the same school. I love her for showing the intense belief in me.

“Em, I can’t find my pole!” I scream out. She knows that I have one vaulting pole I

regularly use since day one of training.

We both turn our heads, looking for it frantically. It’s a fiberglass pole that I’ve practiced with for the past four years. It’s my special pole.

I look for Coach Renolds.

“Coach, I can’t find it,” I desperately say to the one person who has mentored me since I was 12 years old.

“I can’t do this without my fiberglass pole,” I say in an aggressive, yet frantic, tone.

Coach Renalds responds, “Lola, what you use does not determine your success. If we can’t find it, you will be fine. Just breathe and do what you know best. You’ve got this and we are all here rooting for you.”

I take a breath. He’s right. I feel better, but unsettled. I remember the very first time I vaulted in front of him, and he had a look of awe. I lean into that.

“Lola up for pole vault!” I hear the buzzing from the loud speaker into the entire stadium.

It’s time to begin. I feel panic inside my body. ‘I’m going to use a pole I’ve never used or practiced with before?’ I think to myself.

I feel eyes on me as I prepare to start my approach down the runway. Family, friends, and even exes on the sidelines. The only anchors I have are my best friend and my coach.. standing at the end of the landing pit. Watching, waiting, and wooing.

My eyes go focused. Yet, I don’t feel focused. I lift the pole up high up to my chest, tight against my right arm and pointing up high towards the sun. I feel the warmth wrapped around my body and the the sun beaming on my face. I feel confident, and petrified at the same time.

I was about to determine my future.

I look to the right and then to the left. I feel the intensity of the crowd go silent.

As my signature move, I do skip and a hop, and then begin speeding down the runway. Pole facing forward, slightly lifting toward the sun, I sprint for 5 seconds. With each stride, I feel the confusion cast away, the isolation eviscerate, and the curiosity cascade.

I plant the foreign pole that my hands have felt for the first time, thrush my body intensely high into the air, powerfully twist and turn past the horizontal pole, and then…

Crash. I shatter all of the joints in my legs.

“LOLA!” I remember ringing in my ear. I look around, and it’s as if the entire crowd turned into flakes. Tiny, white, little flakes floating in the air.

My head is pounding and I whisper, “what just happened?” It was a silent moment in my mind, but the whole crowd gasped as I smashed onto the mat. I try to stand starting with my right foot, but my body collapses. Another gasp.

Little did I know. It wasn’t my ‘bad turn,’ ‘mistaken move,’ or even my ‘wrong pole.’

I glance up haphazardly and see Emma, standing confidently in front of the landing pit. She’s holding my fiberglass pole, and with the proudest smirk on her face.