Taylor Tries Again

By: TMax

First version published on StoriesOnline.net

Second and expanded version published on zbookstore.com

Copyright © by TMax - tmax02610@gmail.com

All rights reserved.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law. For permission requests, contact Max Thomasson at tmax02610@gmail.com.

The story, all names, characters, and incidents portrayed in this production are fictitious. No identification with actual persons (living or deceased), places, buildings, and products is intended or should be inferred. Although, would love it if this actually happened :)

Book Cover by TMax

Second Version edition 2025

Taylor Tries Again

My right foot smashes into the leather, my arms fly to the side, the grey ceiling beams move into focus before a bang jars my ears, and my elbow explodes in pain.

I refuse to cry. Instead, I stand tall, thrust out my chest, and stomp to my best friend, Lasha.

Her arms enfold me, helping me stay strong and not cry. I turn back to the balance beam, glaring at the offending apparatus.

“You got this,” Lasha says and rubs my shoulders.

Yeah, maybe. Blue and yellow glassy mats surround the long, brown, suede-covered beam, which looms innocently  in wait. I stare at the darker brown end where someone left water to dry on the beam. A blue springboard awaits my bounce onto the beam, my hands to land just before the darker patch.

My tailbone itches. I open and close my hands as I stare at the placement spot. I close my eyes, take a deep breath, and visualize the mount. Five powerful strides, double leg explosion, head tuck, hips up, feet to the ceiling, hands placed just past the beginning of the beam, fingers spread with a light touch of the supple, firm suede, arms spring, hips rotate, left-foot ball then heel, right foot beside - overspin, yelp, and hard landing on my ass. I fight the image to stay on the beam.

Lasha’s toxic, musty air tickles my ears. “You got this.”

Caring fingers dig into my tightening shoulders, causing pain to shoot down my spine.

Yeah.

Stride, bounce, hands, fall. No fall. Stride, bounce, hands, stay on the beam, don’t fall. Don’t fall.

I open my eyes to the beam and wait for my hands to steady.

I begin my approach - right, left, right, left - my hip tightens. I won’t make the spring. Growling, I clench my fists and hobble to the side, smashing my feet on the unforgiving plastic mats. No ! I smack the beam and stamp my foot where my ass landed two months ago, two months of hobbling, texting instead of doing, watching instead of doing, and missing all the lead-up competitions.

My teammates visited when they had time.

I turn and force myself not to limp to Lasha. My tailbone itches with each step while I avoid Lasha’s concern.

Yesterday, I made the spring before my hips failed. Saturday, I touched the beam. Friday, I placed and rotated.

 Lasha’s hands grip my neck. “You can do this.”

  “ Yeah. ”

I turn back to the approach. Smokey, woodsy, breaths comfort me. I study the lead up - right foot there, left foot there, right, left - a sharp pain wiggles up my spine.

Her fingers dig, pressing and hurting tight muscles. Her shoulder ministrations meet my tailbone’s shivers in the middle, at my stomach, which contracts, and bile fills my mouth.

“You got this.”

“ No ,” I shake my head, “ not today. ” My tailbone needs more time to heal.

“It’s ok. It’s just nerves , ” Lasha offers her arms. I turn into them, crying.

The doctor told me the tailbone had healed, allowing me to return to practice. The doctor reassured me and showed me the X-rays. Yet, I can’t do a simple but dangerous jump.

Her hands rub up and down my spine, soothing my soul. I let out a sigh and forced my eyes shut.

Her concern, fear, and doubt drip from her voice , “You’ll get it.”

She rubs my lower back  as Natalie joins the hug.

“It’s just nerves. You’ll figure it out.” Natalie whispers. One arm goes around Lasha, and the other around me. She kisses my ear and squeezes tighter. Mint covers her musty, rotten egg breath.   “You’ll be ok.”

Lasha kisses my forehead  as Natalie rubs my tailbone.

“Enough girls , back to practice ! ” the coach  yells from across the gym.

Natalie squeezes my bum before returning to her visualization.

“You’ll get this.” Lasha kisses my forehead before returning to her stretching.

“ When? ” I ask no one.

I move to practice rings. Flawless. Bars. Floor. Flawless.

“Are you going to be ready for Saturday?” Coach limps over, slightly favoring his destroyed knee.

My heart sinks while my body stands taller, arching my back for more height. I gaze up at V-shaped  eyebrows, narrow eyes, and a frown behind a well-trimmed beard.

“Sure,” I mumble.

My heart rate falls, slowing to a thudding beat in my ears. Coach offers sturdy arms accented by a too-tight shirt, and I slump into them. His soft belly and musky cigarette scent comfort me. To curb the cravings, I have recently taken up the foul habit. I borrow Lasha’s because I find Coach’s   cigarettes too harsh and toxic.

“Is it the tailbone still? Does it hurt?” He asks as he rubs my back, pressing his fingers up and down my spine. I shiver and moan as his fingers press between each vertebra.