Love in Gym Class
A Short Story by K. L. Tabor
Written using the suggestion "Séance"
Originally featured on 04-28-2009
As part of our series "Where the Wild Words Are (Words Gone Wild!)"

 

I’ll take the girls, you take the boys and line them up on opposite sides!

They shout with glee in small blue shorts

with gymnastic whistles worn just for sport.

 

You take the boys and make them sprint.

Crouch them low and wait to go.

We’ll take the girls and make them wear

long black lashes and hair-sprayed hair.

 

The girls dig their nails in nice and deep and stare each other down.

 

He’s mine, they whisper to their left and turn and whisper to their right.

The boys paw the ground and watch it all with glee, with fear, with fright.

 

They spring us back; a sailor’s trap. A metal vise, wound up too tight.

 

RELEASE! They shout, go find your mate!

I do not want to one girl says, looks at Megan and hesitates.

 

I rushed at you, you rushed at me.

 

A girl in brown protested quietly.

And curled herself into a ball and was crushed beneath the weight.

 

RELEASE! They shout and like a metal spring undone

we shoot across the room in groups of one. plus one. plus one. plus one.

I’ve found you, I’ve found my mate! I’ll love you till the day I die.

 

Hold me close my little dove, he whispers in her ear.

And holds her still unto himself; Sweet Megan, you’re my dear.

 

Perfect! Fantastic! The gym shorts jump and whistles blow.

Love is so beautiful so lovely so grand.

Let’s glue them together where hand touches hand!

 

The boys hold tight, as tight as they dare.

Five drops of super glue for each; There!

They’re bound for love! For joy!

Every girl holds every boy.

And squeezes tight with all their might.

And boys squeeze back and both sides squeeze

and heads grow large as knees knock knees.

 

My head hurts, she whimpers small.

Be quiet! We’re in love, said all.

Squeeze tighter, squeeze tighter the gym shorts said

till all the faces huge and red.

And with a sudden burst explode!

A hundred pieces on the floor.

Read More By K. L. Tabor

COPYRIGHT 2006-2011
Portland Fiction Project

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