“Go ahead and suit up; you look healthy-fine to me.” The Gym coach said, looking over Wembly’s note. “This here doesn’t even mention what’s supposed to be wrong with you.”
Wembly had found the coach inside the gymnasium while the rest of the class was inside the locker room putting on their gym clothes. The coach was thick and manly, wearing shorts that were too short and a polo shirt that was too tight around the belly.
“I really shouldn't have to say what’s wrong with me… for privacy reasons, but I have pretty bad back problems. It’s really not medically safe for me to participate…” Wembly explained.
“Well…” The Coach began with hesitation. “That may be so, but I expect you to get as much out of this class as possible. You shouldn’t let your lame back keep ya from learnin’... I’ll tell you what… If you never use your back problems as an excuse to get out of participating, as best you can… I’ll let you sit and watch the other’s play from the bleachers. Deal?”
“Sure!” Wembly agreed with relief.
“Good.” The Coach said with a satisfied nod. “I’ll keep an eye on ya and I might quiz you from time to time to make sure you’re paying attention, but if you do what you can and don’t make excuses, you’ll earn your ‘A’.”
“Thank you sir.” Wembly said affirmatively. He wasn’t used to throwing around words like Sir and Ma'am, but he felt like it was appropriate for the occasion and the coach seemed to approve.
“Hey Douglass!” The Coach shouted at a boy as he exited the locker room. “Get this new kid a locker, shirt, shorts and shoes and meet us out on the field.”
“Yes, Coach!” He replied dutifully.
“That’s alright.” Wembly interjected. “I’m fine in my street clothes. It doesn't make much sense for me to get changed every day.”
“Now son, I can’t have that.” The Coach said with disappointment. “I thought we settled this already. You’re going to participate best you can, and not make excuses.”
“Right, sorry.” Wembly agreed.
“Your back doesn’t keep you from changin’ your clothes, and those uniforms make you part of the team. I expect you to be a man of your word.”
“I know... I’ll get changed. It’s not a big deal. Sorry.” Wembly said apologetically. He didn’t really care about getting changed, it just seemed like a waste of time but otherwise a harmless concession to appease the coach.
“Come one new kid.” The farm boy said, beckoning to Wembly.
The farm boy led Wembly into the locker room which was constructed harshly and dimly lit by skylights. He looked Wembly over and retrieved a set of clothes that he thought would best fit Wembly’s frame and showed him to an empty locker.
“Shouldn’t I have a padlock or something?” Wembly asked.
“Nobody’s gonna steel nothin’.” The boy assured him.
Wembly wasn’t so sure, but he didn’t have anything on him worth stealing so he decided the risk was low enough to trust the others for now, especially since all the other lockers were unsecured as well…
“That’s too bad ‘bout your back.” The boy observed while Wembly began changing his clothes. “When are they gonna to let you start playin’ again?”
“It’s not that they aren’t letting me.” Wembly explained. “I just have a sensitive back and don’t want to take the risk of injuring it. I don’t really like sports, honestly.”
“Shoot!” The boy exclaimed. “Not like sports? How can you not like sports? You can’t work all the time!”
“I don’t.” Wembly assured him. “I have other interests… I like video games.”
“Oh, sure. I used to like those too… and books.” The boy admitted. “But that stuff is for kids. When you finish your chores this afternoon, you should go down to the old Hebronson field. Nobody’s worked the land there this season so it’s all gone to grass and everybody goes there to play sports until late.”
“Ok… Maybe.” Wembly said half heartedly as he pulled on his shorts.
“Don’t forget your shoes.” The boy said, eagerly presenting Wembly a large pair of sneakers.
“Geeze!” Wembly exclaimed at the sight of the oversized footwear. “I don’t think I need those. I’m just going to be sitting on the bench and they don’t really look like they’d fit.”
“Coach said to get you shoes... You’re supposed to wear the whole uniform.” The boy reminded him. “Hurry and put ‘em on, I don’t wanna miss the game.”
Wembly snatched the giant shoes from the boy and inspected the inner tongue. They were size 12 and used. He sighed but figured it didn’t matter if he wore them as long as he was just sitting on the sidelines so he begrudgingly kicked off his own shoes and started to slip them on.
“No socks.” The boy noted. “Coach doesn’t approve of socks, they’re not part of the uniform.”
“What?!” Wembly exclaimed, looking down at the boy’s naked ankles. “Why not? These shoes are used, that’s unsanitary.”
“Coach says you need to feel the terrain beneath you and socks just get in the way. They’re clean, don’t worry.”
Then the boy produced a can of disinfectant spray and liberally sprayed the insides of the shoes to convince Wembly that they truly were sterile and anxiously waited for him to set aside his silly concerns.
Wembly groaned and unhappily peeled off his socks and placed them inside his shoes before slipping each foot into the oversized sneakers one by one. The shoes were surprisingly soft and comfortable. The fabric was densely woven and slick. His feet slid around loosely as he moved and it tickled his ankles with cool, pleasant sensations. He found that he couldn’t quite pull the laces tight enough to secure the shoes on his feet so he had to curl his toes as he walked to keep from losing them entirely.
“You’re all set!” Douglas shouted, giving Wembly a hardy clomp on the back before breaking into a light jog toward the door. “Let’s go!”
Wembly cringed at the pain in his spine from the impact, and wondered if people around here all had chronic listening problems, following Douglas out to the field, doing his best to keep the silly shoes from falling off.