Two P.E. Stories

I'm trying a digital minimalism challenge for the month of March, which, for me, basically means I'm staying off of Facebook and Instagram. My personal rules do not rule out my blog. 

But I am amazed at how bored I get during the day, and how my mind wanders to things I haven't thought about in literally years. The caverns of human memory are deep. 

On a walk a few nights ago, the floodgates of remembering junior high and high school P.E. classes opened for some unknown reason, and I found myself thinking of a few different P.E. classes, and then telling Sam about them, because, what else better to do on a semi-spring day in our nation's capital? 

One of these memories which came to the forefront was from tenth grade. The details and faces are hazy, but I remember there were two cousins in my P.E. class (which, if it was tenth grade, would have been my aerobics class, which is another story for a different day, because wow, I don't think I've worked harder in my life than in that class). I think one of the cousins was in Band with me, which means I knew her slightly better. She was also kinder to me. The non-band cousin I didn't know at all, but she was on the Yearbook staff. She was not as kind.  

Anyway, one day when we were all in the locker room changing into our high-school approved P.E. gear, the Yearbook Cousin was talking about how one of the pages she was working on was about trips/adventures students had undertaken that summer. I can't remember if someone had asked her what she was working on for that class, or if she was mainly talking to her cousin about it, but I recall that it was more of an open, "this is what I'm working on," conversation, and it seemed to me that she was wanting more stories and photos. 

I had gone on a really cool trip that summer with my family. We had gone to Europe--to Germany, Denmark, and Sweden--and I had had a great time. I mentioned this to the Yearbook Cousin, and said that I could get some pictures if she was interested. She didn't seem very interested, and said something non-committal. 

She probably thought I would forget, but I did not. I got some pictures from home, made copies of them, and at some point in the next week or two, again, in the locker room, I handed them to Yearbook Cousin, saying that the trip I went on was really interesting, and that she could use my story if she wanted to. I do not remember her seeming particularly pleased, but she put the pictures in her locker and then off we all went to get pummeled by burpees. 

But what I do remember is that after that class, as I got changed, the cousins left before me, and when I turned around to leave the locker room and head off to whatever class I had next, I saw the pictures I had handed Yearbook Cousin on the locker room bench, very much unwanted. 

And that made me sad. 

I didn't want to cry, because I only had seven minutes to get to my next class, and it would take longer than seven minutes for a red, puffy, tear-streaked face to return to normal, so somehow I gathered up my courage as I gathered up the photographs, put them in my backpack, used a minute of my time to drink deeply from the water fountain to keep back my tears, and then went on with my day. 

Telling this story to Sam, I can laugh about it now--both at the sheer absurdity that belongs to high school P.E. classes, and at Yearbook Cousin's passive aggressiveness (there are so many better ways to handle a situation like that . . . just take the pictures and if you don't want them throw them away at home. Don't just put them on the locker room bench like a cutting room, especially in front of the girl who just gave them to you. Anyway. Just. Really, really weird. I don't even remember her name. I also don't remember the name of Band Cousin. But I do remember this experience.) 

That memory awakened another deep P.E. memory, this time from 8th or 9th grade in junior high. Again, names and details are very fuzzy. But I remember that there was a girl who was a grade younger than me that decided for some reason that I was her enemy for a couple of weeks, and she was just really snarky towards me. I will call her Ponytail Girl, because I remember she wore a high ponytail. But it wasn't for very long, and I think I remember being more exasperated than anything--I usually just became very "ice queen"-esque when people were being unkind to me (I wouldn't respond, I would ignore them, etc.), so I'm pretty sure that was the extent of the unpleasantness, and I don't think it lasted more than a week or so.  

And, I probably wouldn't have even remembered that, except that three or four years later, that same girl came up to me at EFY in a classroom in the Wilkinson Center at BYU and re-introduced herself and said that she was happy to see me. I didn't really remember who she was, so I was more confused than anything, but I don't think she was happy with my response, and later I heard her friend saying something like, "All that matters is that you tried to repent. It's her fault if she won't forgive," or something like that. I then spent the rest of that session trying to find her again trying to be more friendly, but, alas, she'll always remember me as the "girl who wouldn't forgive," who, in reality, was just confused. 

You just don't know what's been eating away at people, nor can you read minds. 

There is no rhyme or reason to these stories, really. Just random P.E. stories which have been on my mind. 

Again, the caverns of human memory are deep and uncanny.