Jessica Zambrano
301 South Road
Chapel Hill, NC 27514
A Match with Death
Ruth:
I wonder how painful it was for Oedipus to gauge out his eyes? Or Van Gogh to cut off his ear? If I injure myself I can spend my time in the hospital instead of a gym, andit wouldn’t be hard to “trip” down these bleachers. I’m not really in the mood to watch teenage boys grope at each other in their unitard singlet things. Actually I’m never in the mood for that. But I’m here to be “supportive”. Because supporting barbaric activities where man-boys throw each other to the ground to prove their manliness is the ultimate form of familial love. So is wearing a shirt that has “WIN, TWIN!” in Comic Sans font complete with a picture of your brother’s face on the front.
Elliot:
There is no fucking way this guy weighs 120 pounds. No. Fucking. Way.
“ELI! COME OVER HERE REAL QUICK!” my coach calls. He’s about to tell me they mixed up the roster. No worries. It’ll be a quick fix.
“It’s Elliot, Coach.” I remind him for the 5th time today.
Zambrano, Match…2
“Yeah Eli, so there’s been a mistake.” Well that’s a relief to hear. Seriously this guy looks like he could have busted outta juvie. Actually he could be 18, so maybe he busted outta prison.
“It’s Elliot.”
“Right, well there was a mix-up in the weight class and—“
“Oh good I thought—“
“You’ll be wrestling 150 today.”
“What?” This is a sick joke.
“It seems while filling out the roster there was a blank space for the 150 weight class and you know how 2’s and 5’s look alike. And we can’t afford to forfeit, Eli.”
150.
120.
A first grader could tell the difference between a 2 and a 5. And they could probably remember my name.I know 150 pounds doesn’t seem like a lot but when you’re 5’4” and have ribs where this guy has muscles on his muscles, you can’t help but think how he’ll use your bones as toothpicks. Currently he’s winking and flexing at my sister. He seems like such a douche. In fact he seems like the kind of douche who’d yell “THIS IS SPARTA!” right before he maims me. Actually, maybe I could use this to my advantage. I wonder if I could offer up Ruth in exchange for his forfeit?
No, Elliot, she’s your sister not a bargaining chip.
“HEY RUTH!”
Ruth:
Zambrano, Match…3
Why’s Elliot yelling my name? Don’t respond. No don’t run toward me! People are going to notice the shirt!
“Ruth, I need a favor.”
“Now?”
“If you care about me at all you’ll hear me out.”
“I don’t know what service I could possibly do you right now, but go on.”
“You need to seduce the Spartan warrior that’s going to make a pelt out of me. Please? Then I’ll convince him to forfeit, I’ll live, and everyone wins!”
“No.”Familial love my ass. My own brother is trying to sell me off like I’m a cheap possession. Even worse he’s trying to hand me off to some guy that is comparable to primitive caveman who undoubtedly has a pea-sized brain. And that’s being generous.
“But—“
“You should go back to the mat. It’s nearly your turn.”
Elliot:
That’s it. That’s the sound of all hope shattering. I wish I were bigger so I would at least stand a fighting chance. I don’t even know if my stomach is in knots because I’m so hungry, or because I know this guy could break my neck.
I walk over to the mat and strap the red Velcro band around my ankle. Shit this is really going to happen. We’re about to shake hands. I’m at eye level with his chest and—wait, is that a Jesus
fish tattoo? Yep. It’s a Jesus fish tattoo. Well this makes me feel better, I mean how is a guy with a Jesus fish tattoo going to kill me?
Zambrano, Match…4
Ava:
I am not paid enough to referee these matches. All day. I did not get my degree to spend four years refereeing here. I had a plan:become an athletic trainer for the NFL, wrap a couple ankles, play the field, have an NFL player fall in love with me, give me a huge rock to wear on my finger, get married, and basically spend my days shopping and going to the spa with my celebrity bffs. This is so not a part of the plan.
At least there are plenty of abs around. That makes this bearable. Some of these kids don’t even look like they’re in high school, so it’s all right to look. Take these guys, I’m about to ref for instance. You have the small one who looks like a bird terrified of leaving the nest. But the other one, whoa. Dark hair. And you know how ripped Sylvester Stallone was in Rocky III? This guy could be a contender with him in a hot body contest.He’s straight up sex on a stick.
Focus, Ava, focus! This is your job!
“All right, are we ready?” I say. They both nod.
I smile quickly at Sexy McSexAppeal and raise my whistle to my pouted lips.
And I blow.
Ruth:
My area of expertise is not in interpretation of human actions but that referee is obscenely predatory on the male specimen. Someone else has to have seen that, right?
Elliot:
“Uh—“
Zambrano, Match…5
Rule number one of wrestling. Don’t pay attention to the referee, pay attention to your opponent. Even if your referee looks like she could be a supermodel. Or else your head will be smashed into the mat quicker than you can—“
Ava:
Takedown-2 points.
And in three seconds. This match will be over within the minute.
Ruth:
Maybe I should’ve…what’s the expression? “Taken one for the team.” In any case he has a verbal agreement with me that in the event of his untimely death, more than likely caused by his own lack of intelligence, that I get all of his material possessions. So there are pros and cons to this situation.
Elliot:
There’s only a minute left. I’ve almost made it through a round; I’m impressed. I wonder how many more times I can crawl to the outside circle.
His grip’s loosening…
And suddenly I’m kicking my feet out from under my body as spastically as I can until he lets go.
Praise whatever higher power is looking out for me right now because I am back on my feet. And I got a point for my escape. The score is only 2-1.
Ava:
Zambrano, Match…6
4 seconds. 3. 2. 1. I blow the whistle. I have to hand it to little Bird Legs. I thought he’d be a goner. He still might be. The other guy looks like he’s about to erupt. I wonder if he’ll Hulk out?
Ruth:
As circumstances would have it, it seems I will not be pawning off Elliot’s possessions quite yet. It’s round 2 and the bleachers are so heated with soccer moms and overbearing fathers that the yelling is shaking the bleachers. I mean really, you’d think this is ancient Rome and that this is a gladiator battle, while the crowd cheers on for a victor, knowing that for someone to win, someone else must die. Well maybe that’s a bit grim. The likelihood of him dying is so minute that I’d dismiss the possibility all together. Honestly, Elliot can be so dramatic while speaking to the point that he’s overly hyperbolic.
Elliot:
Why do parents feel the need to yell so loudly when I really can’t pay attention to the words they’re saying? Who had the brilliant idea of yelling at someone as a way to boost morale? Yes I get you want me to win, but how the hell does yelling increase those chances?
Ruth:
“COME ON ELLIOT! GIVE ‘EM SOME OF THAT, AND YOU KNOW DO THAT THING. DON’T LET HIM GET YOU LIKE THAT, FLIP HIM, FLIP HIM!”
Oh yes, because doing “that thing” is very useful advice. You sir should be the leader in a future war that America will surely get itself into.
“Oh yes do that insert generic term here. And grab him. Don’t let him go! Don’t give up! More, more, more of that! More really violent over enthusiastic phrase here. What are you doing
Zambrano, Match…7
insert child’s name here?! Come on! Then complete psychotic episode with a disappointed shake of the head, crossing of the arms across the chest, and an overly clichéd sports metaphor, appropriate to the sport of course.” I say to the guy next to me.
“That’s not even funny. I’d even say it was fable-minded of you,” he said. He was incredibly pleased with himself. If I were him I would be too, he strung together two whole sentences, and almost correctly.
“I feel sorry for you because you’re so feeble-minded, you nimrod.”
Ava:
Looks like Bird Legs has a sister. And the boy next to her is cowering like a dog with its tail between its legs. Shit! What just happened? Bird Legs is on top. But did the Hulk do anything before? Um I think I’m just going to do nothing. There’s only 47 seconds left. And it’s only 4-2, it’s not really that unfair. Here comes my least favorite part.
And I’m on the ground, sliding around, pretending that I can actually see what the hell is happening with one kid on top of the other. Oh shit. Bird Legs has flipped the Hulk on his back! How the fuck did that happen?!
I raise my hand and smack my palm down to the mat, harder than I mean to. I just chipped a nail. My last manicure was a day ago. It cost me fifty dollars. Fifty. Fucking. Dollars. How am I supposed to get my NFL player with gross looking nails?!Jessica Simpson did not get Tony Romo by having bad nails.
Elliot:
Why hasn’t the match been called yet? I’ve had this guy pinnedfor like four whole seconds now, what gives?
Zambrano, Match…8
Ruth:
Maybe I should restrain the parents from strangling the ref.
Ava:
Uh oh. I screwed up.
Time.
I blow into my whistle extra loud to make it seem like I’m vigilant.
Elliot:
Dying would be much easier than this. Maybe I’ll drop from hunger before this guy can get me then he won’t have a chance to unleash any sort of punishment on me. With any luck I might make actually make it to go to my own prom. Or lose my virginity. Oh fuck, I am not going to die a virgin! That is not a part of the life plan! Okay, okay. Just breathe.
Okay. Last round of this match. You can do it. Justgotta last 3 more minutes.
Ava:
Takedown-2 points, red.
This is how I’ll be thinking the rest of the day. Eight hours to go. Then I’m going to go home, take a bath, cuddle with Jack Daniels, and binge watch episodes of Keeping Up with the Kardashians while I eat my liquor filled chocolates and sob because I can’t afford Kim’s plastic surgeon.
Ruth:
4-4. Elliot might actually have this. And miracles do happen, the ref is actually paying attention instead of gawking at muscles for brains.
Whoops thought too soon.
Zambrano, Match…9
Ava:
Looks like Hulk is about to drop Bird Legs outta the nest.
Elliot:
“KILL! KILL! KILL! KILL!” is all I hear. And it’s chanting. Who in their right mind would chant about killing me at a public event?! And in a school?!
I see them.
There are six mini clones of him sitting on the bleachers, all with dark hair and blue eyes. There’s only one explanation.
They’re of an alien race and I’ve been chosen as the sacrifice.
Ruth:
“KILL! KILL! KILL!” The chanting is terribly eerie and melodic at the same time.
You’d almost think this was a Catholic Church service instead of a gym. Then again the Catholic Church is peculiar, they’re like their own little occult that everyone overlooks because they’re Catholic.It’s been a while since I’ve brushed up on readings concerning Catholicism, but I don’t think they encourage killing. But hey, I could be wrong, this is a progressive age and whatnot.
Ava:
Kill…
As in Kilgaron?
That’s the kid’s last name! Francis Kilgaron! He’s the Irish kid!
Hmm, foreign.Wonder if I can get lucky?
Elliot:
Zambrano, Match…10
This is like being underneath a boulder. A boulder with thick, veiny arms that tighten like a wrench. And now they’re between my legs. What if this is his plan?!
What if he’s going to emasculate me first, then slowly suffocate me until my body falls lifelessly and he wins?
Ruth:
I wonder if the technical name for that move is “The Nut-Cracker”. If it’s not maybe I can coin that name and become famous?
Ava:
Bird Legs is on his back and it looks like he’s down for the count this time.
Elliot:
This is it, goodbye cruel world! I look over at Coach and quickly regret it. God damn if that’s the last sight I ever see.
Oh.
I’m not dead.
Well this is somewhat anticlimactic. What do I do now? I tried accepting death with open arms. I won’t have time to eat because I’ll go into the loser’s bracket. And if I don’t place Coach will have me running longer than Forrest Gump did.
Hold up…is that man holding a box of Buffalo Wild Wings?
There’s a Buffalo Wild Wings around here?! This has really opened my eyes that there are just some things left worth living for.
I start flailing around.
Ruth:
Zambrano, Match…11
I’ll call that one “The Dying Fish.”
Ava:
Escape- 1 point.
That’s good Bird Legs but it’s 6-5 and that won’t cut it. Especially with under 30 seconds.
Elliot:
A wise friend once told me and I quote:
“Go big or go home.” He is truly inspirational.
So I dive for this guy’s legs. And he comes crashing down. I do the only thing I can at that point; I take my bony-ass chicken wing elbow and put it on his chest so it would hurt. Yeah there may be some controversy over whether this is “legal” but the ref seems like an airhead and the way I see it, she owes me for getting my ass kicked more than was necessary.
Ava:
3 seconds. 2. 1.
For the last time this match I blow on my whistle and walk both kids to the middle. Kilgaron looks like he could use some comforting…
Ruth:
“Francis sweetheart, you did great!”
Francis?
All I hear in response to his mother are monosyllabic grunts and this revolting sniffling accompanied by waterworks. I swear I never witness this much crying in girls’ sports.
Elliot:
Zambrano, Match…12
I walk to Ruth and prop my arms on her shoulder.
“Francis, huh? I’d probably cry too if my name were Francis and I weren’t going to Buffalo Wild Wings. Sucks to suck.”