The Wrestler's Heart

I had no choice but to shave my hair
And wrestle- thirty guys humping one another
On a mat. I didn't like high school.
There were no classes in archeology,
And the girls were too much like flowers
To bother with them. My brother, I think,
Was a hippie, and my sister, I know,
Was the runner-up queen of the Latin American Club.
When I saw her in the cafeteria, waved
And said things like, Debbie, is it your turn
To do the dishes tonight? she would smile and
Make real scary eyes. When I saw my brother
In his long ahir and sissy bell-bottom pants,
He would look through me at a luttle snotty
Piece of gum on the ground. Neither of them
Liked me. So I sided with the wrestling coach,
The same person who taught you how to drive.
But first there was wrestling, young dudes
In a steamy room, and coach with his silver whistle,
His clipboard, his pencil behinf his clubbrf ear.
I was no good. Everyone was better
Than me. Everyone was larger
In the showers, their cocks like heavy wrenches,
Their hair like the scribbling of a mad child.
I would lather as best I could to hide
What I didn't have, then walk home
In the dark. When we wrestled
Madera High, I was pinned in twelve seconds.
My Mom threw me a half stick of gum
From the bleachers. She shouted, It's Juicy Fruit!
And I just look at her. I looked at
The three spectators, all cruching corn nuts,
Their faces like punched-in paper bags.
We lost that night. The next day in Biology
I chewed my half stick of Juicy Fruit
And thought about what can go wrong
In twelve seconds. The guy who pinned
Me was named Bloodworth, a meaningful name.
That night I asked Mom what out name meant in Spanish
she stirred crackling papas and said it meant Mexican.
I asked her what was the worst thing that happened
To her in the shortest period
Of time. She looked at my stepfather's chair
And told me to take out the garbage.
That year I gained weight, lost weight,
And lost more matches, nearly all by pins.
I wore my arm in a sling when
I got blood poisoning from a dirty fingernail.
I liked that. I like being hurt. I even went so far
As limping, which I thought would attract girls.

One day at lunch the counselor called me to his office.
I likked my sandwich in three bites. In his
Office of unwashed coffee mugs,
He asked what I wanted from life.
I told him I wanted to be ab archeologist,
And id not that, then an oceanographer.
I told him that I had these feelings
I was Chinese, that I had lived before
And was going to live again. He told me
To geta drink of water and that by fifth period
I should reconsiderwhat I was saying.
I studied some, dated once, ate the same sandwich
Until it was spring in most of the tree
That circled the campus, and wrestling was over.
Then school was over. That summer I mowed lawns,
Picked grapes, and rode my bike
Up and down my blovk because it was good
For heart and legs. The next year I took Driver's Ed.
Coach was the teacher. He said, Don't be scared
But you're going to see some punks
Getting killed. If you're going to cry,
Do it later. He turned on the projector,
A funnel of sulver light that showed motes of dust
Then six seconds of car wreck from different angles.
The narrator with a wrestler's haircut came on.
His face was thick like a canned ham
Sliding ont o a platter. He held up a black tennis shoe.
He said, The boy who wore this sneaker is dead.
Two girls cried. Three boys laughed.
Coach smiled and slapped the clipboard
Against his leg, kind of hard.
With one year of wresting behind me,
I barely peeked but thought,
Six seconds for the kid with the sneakers,
Twelve seconds for Bloodworth to throw me on my back.
Tough luck in half the time.

Gary Soto