Jump

After telling this story in person to a friend, I realized it was worthy to go on the blog, and then proceeded to find out I had already posted it on my first blog that I had to delete... It's honestly just young Sistah Ceej being typically unathletic and my Mother being the humorous person that she is. Please enjoy.

This will probably be as surprising to you (people who know me) as it still is to me, but when I was younger I actually used to do gymnastics. Do? Play? Participate in? I'm not too sure what action verb to use instead of “did” gymnastics. My Mom decided I should participate in this sport for an unknown reason to me. Maybe because she knew I was going to turn into a clumsy, non-flexible person (like her hahahah sorry Mom, love you). Either way, it didn't work out. I didn’t succeed in the sport and never really pursued it after some b**** kicked me off the balance beam… different story …but this one in particular really cracks me up. So…

We, as in my Mom and I, were running late for gymnastics practice. At the time, my Mom drove a black and white Dodge Caravan (a pretty old looking mini van with panda vibes) , license plate GPA210. Nothing fancy, no automatic sliding doors, bulky black plastic for handles and everything else that you can picture in a basic 90’s minivan. I want to say that the facility was 15-20 minutes away from my house but we were already running 30 minutes late. As my Mom drives, I’m making sure I have everything I need being a preteen going to gymnastics practice… my leotard (LOL), socks (I’m assuming), and my water bottle. We are sitting at a red light where we need to turn left to lead directly to the gymnastics warehouse. I’m sitting on the edge of the passenger seat with my hand on the handle, ready to get out of the car as soon as possible because I’m the type of person who gets anxious about being late (I think due to the fact that my Mom is one of those people who are chronically late for everything, so much so that now she sets her clocks a little less than ten minutes later so that she’ll always be on time … but she's still late). So I’m already flustered and extremely tense, palms clammy and sliding around the handle. I think about having to walk into ongoing practice while all the girls stare me down mid routine and how I have to rush to change into this stupid leotard. Oh the terror of being late brings so much anxiety! I feel my hands perspire underneath my white knuckled grip. The light finally turns green and my Mom says, “Okay Ceej, get ready to jump out” and it all spirals from there.

I was sitting, waiting, ready to spring into action with all my gear in hand, and she releases the trigger to open fire. I open the door (yes, the van is still turning left) to jump out. And my feet push off the ground and I literally jump. I’m so close to practice, yet so so far. I realize that the car is still moving and it was just a warning and I shouldn't be MID AIR. So I squeeze my grip harder on the door handle. I hold on with all my might and as my body weight drops to the asphalt, my right hand diagonally crosses my body like a tightened seat belt. At this point, we are mid turn and the car has not yet slowed because we are in the middle of a busy street that my mom can’t just stop in. Luckily, I somehow manage to get my footing and am lightly jogging with the car, holding onto the handle with the door open and my Mom looking like she's about to cry. "CEEJ, GET BACK IN!!" We make the full turn and all seems well until my slipper breaks. A car turns down the same street as us and is gaining speed. You'd think at this point, I just hop right back in right? Wrong. I lose my slipper, then my footing. My toes on my left foot dragging turns into both my legs dropping into horizontal position behind me and my Mom DOES NOT STOP. Okay, maybe she was driving at like 7 mph but it felt like 20. She’s worriedly motioning for me to come back inside the car with her hand that is not operating the steering wheel while simultaneously glancing up at the rear view mirror to ensure that the car behind us isn’t gonna run my legs over trying to go around us because she's driving so slow. I literally felt like time was in slow motion and I was as motionless and helpless as a rag doll being dragged by a little girl running towards a puppy she got for Christmas. This goes on for what feels like forever, but in hind sight was probably less than a minute. My Mom pulls to the side of the road and stops so I can stand freely. I find my footing, look down at my legs to find a strawberry on each knee, with some asphalt skid marks running down both shins and a few rocks the size of peppercorns that leave indents in my skin once I dust them off. Of course theres some blood streaks too, but hey whatever, I’m a tough kid, that was expected. I look back down the road and my slippers have been run over a few times and the people driving over them have no idea that I was just dragged down the street in them. I look up at my Mom. She’s straight up laughing. “I told you to GET READY to jump out. Not to actually jump out.”