Magic Beans

Let me start by telling you that I hate gym class. Like, I really hate it. It is anathema to me. In short, it sucks all kinds of balls (like kick balls, baseballs, and basketballs). This hatred started back when the gym teacher pointed and laughed at me after the school bully threw a kickball right into the back of my head and I went sprawling. Of course, all the other kids started laughing too.

Then there was the time that same bully a basketball overhand at my head. Hoping to prevent it from hurting my face, I protectively put my hands out. SNAP! I heard my middle finger break and could barely hold in the cry. I went to the teacher, who didn’t understand that I was trying to tell him that I had broken my finger. Instead of sending me to the nurse, he sent me back into the lion’s basketball den. Later on, I found out my middle finger was broken.

Then a year later, the same guy decided to do the same thing at me. And, like someone who never learns, I responded the same way. And the same thing happened. He threw the basketball at my head. I put up my hands and SNAP! The same finger. The middle one. The one I broke when I slammed it in a bathroom stall at Wendy’s.

Then there was the time that I broke my ankle in middle school. The Doctor gave me a free out of hell free pass. Oh, sorry, that was a Freudian slip. I meant a get out of gym free pass. After the cast was off, the grade bully tried to step on my ankle.

So, this is all leading to the day that I decided to get back at gym class in a unique way. I had gym class at the end of the day.

It was midterms and I don’t know if you had this annoying progress exercises in gym class. How many sit-ups can you do in a minute, how many push-ups, how many pull-ups. This was to determine if we had gotten any better at sit-ups by players kickball every day for three weeks. It honestly doesn’t make any sense if you actually think about it. It’s like, do they really think the act of playing kickball will help us at all in doing sit-ups, push-ups, or pull-ups? Seriously!? And people call me crazy.

I had gotten to know the class jock in gym class because the teacher liked to pair the worst students with the best during the day to day activities. He was freaking ripped. During the pretest, he did 60 sit-ups in one minute. He wasn’t an jerk, I’ll give him that, he gets a gold star for “not an jerk.”

The day I decided to sabotage my own midterm physical test, I went through the kitchen line, picking up my tray. It was one of those trays with separators for the different foods they serve. I only got one type of food that day. The people serving lunch looked at me oddly, but I just ignored them. I get to the checkout counter where you hope you remember your code or else your so embarrassed you’ll feel like you’ll die. No? That’s just me? Oh, well. The woman at the checkout counter stared at my plate, then up at me, then back at my plate. “But you always get pizza.”

“I do. But today is different.” She shrugged her shoulders and thank the heavens and the saints and the devils and everyone else, I remember pin code.

I walked and sat down at the table with my disabled friends. I found that they were much more accepting of me and my eccentricities. Then, I noticed the weird looks I was getting. “What?” I asked innocently.

“You didn’t get pizza,” one of the told me. “You always get pizza. Like, always.” It was true. I had gotten a breakfast pizza every single day of school since my freshman year. I was a sophomore now.

“I wanted something different,” I smiled mischievously. I looked down at my plate. Every single compartment, even the one that was supposed to be for milk, was filled to the brim with beans.

I saw Erica, the girl I had had a crush on since middle school, on the other side of the lunchroom. She was so beautiful and I wanted to talk to her so bad. But she wasn’t exactly approachable since she was now one of the most popular girl in school.

I had tried to ask her to the 8^th grade dance by leaving notes in her locker and inviting her to put notes in mine. We had exchanged several notes and she was nice and kind. She asked me who I was and after a few weeks of us conversing, she asked me to tell her who I was. I tapped her on the shoulder in class and said, “We’ve been exchanging notes. Would you go to the 8^th grade dance with me?” She promptly turned around and never acknowledged me or my locker again. I was not the most popular kid in school. But I think you could have guessed that by now.

So, I shoveled the beans into my mouth. I hate beans, but I wanted to do this right. Go big or go home. And I was going to go big, real big.

The time of the gym class came and we all knew what we had to do. The gym teacher said we would have new partners starting today. He used some weird way to determine our partner that just confused the hell out of me. I just stood there uncomprehending and not doing anything until the teacher finally had pity on me and chose my partner for me. I felt my heart leap into the air like an eagle only to realize in midair that it was actually a chicken and fall straight down to earth like a rock with a weak cluck. My partner was Erica, my crush.

And then my heart distorted reality and just decided that I was going to impress this girl so much that she would be forced to acknowledge that I was amazing. Then we would live happily ever after enjoying each other’s company and spending nights watching the moon’s journey through the night. Like I said, a distorted reality. All I had to do was just do a ton of sit-ups and she would love me.

It was her turn first, so I put my hands on her feet like the teacher told us to do. She did 25 sit-ups in one minute. I held up my hand for a high five, “Good job! You did 25.”

She wouldn’t even look at or acknowledge my existence. Then it was my turn. I stretched my neck like I had seen the jock do, I realized he was laying next to me. I thought, Well crap, he’s going to do better than me no matter what. She’s probably going to watch him wishing she were his partner. Well, I will defeat him. This is where I must have become delusional because I believed I could actually do better than him.

I felt Erica’s hands on my feet. The gym teacher blew his whistle. And I sat up, whew, no sweat, I got this covered, I thought to myself. My brain noticed that there was a pressure in my abdomen, but my heart was still delusional. I will impress her. I fell back and sat up again. The pressure was growing.

I fell back. This is how I picture this happening. My brain, heart, and stomach are sitting around a war table. My brain screams, “Whatever you do, don’t sit up again. It won’t go well.”

My stomach responds, “I concur with the brain, if you sit up, the enemy will know our position and will release the gas.”

My heart decides, “I’m in love.” And I sit up again.

And a sound is emitted from a place I shall not name that sounds a lot like two cheeks rapidly vibrating together. I fell back and when I hit the ground, more air escaped from that dark cavern.

I knew I had succeeded at my act of rebellion. So I started laughing silently, and the loudest fart I had ever released came out. I don’t know if you have ever been inside an empty gymnasium, but it echoes a lot. And this fart echoed for far longer than it was emitted. I couldn’t help it, I was laughing my butt off now figuratively because with the start of each laughing fit, more farts came out. And I will admit, because of how hard I laughed, I may or may not have sharted.

Once I got control of myself, I heard laughter beside me. The jock was literally rolling on the floor laughing his butt off. I started laughing again, causing more farts to bubble out of my butt.

Then, I remembered Erica. I looked down at her and I am not even going to try and describe her facial expression to you because your mind can imagine it much better than I can describe it. I broke down into hysterical laughter.

The teacher blew his whistle after apparently a minute. I just laid on the ground with a smile on my face, still chuckling, but no longer farting.

The jock crawled over and said, “I only got two in before you started farting right in her face.”

“Wait, you only did two sit-ups?” He nodded. “I did three before I started farting.” I beat the jock just as I wanted, but I didn’t impress the girl. It must have been magic, but you can't have everything.

I guess it’s true what they say, “beans, beans, the magical fruit, the more you eat, the more you toot.”