Finding Home

I looked up and saw a red car pull up to the curb. It was a sign that someone had finally come to get us. I called to my little sister who was doing cartwheels on a line the size of a balance beam and she picked up her bags and followed. The trunk of the car was opened for us and we put our bags in and got in the car. The driver and passengers surprised me. They were all so young. The driver looked to be no more than seventeen and the passengers around the ages of nineteen and twenty. Elena got in fist and I followed, hesitant. My sister and I were sent here from Scotland. We were the gymnastics stars of our country. But all that changed with the death of our only remaining family member in Scotland, Uncle Andre. We had been under his care for years. He had never missed one of our meets or exhibitions. Then he got sick; then he died. So we were put on a plane, bound for America, to go to one of our last relatives. It was my mother’s cousin, Amanda Ricard. She was married with three children. She had gladly agreed to take us and even promised to set up our gymnastics careers in America, but I could hardly bear the thought of leaving my beloved Scotland behind. We knew next to no English and there was no one in America who could coach us like our old coach had. It was hard on me, but I can only imagine how hard it was for Elena. She was only nine years old and she was tired and cold and in a strange place.

We had traveled from the airport on a bus now to this lonely bus station in the middle of nowhere in Oklahoma. It was only when the car showed up that I finally began to feel that journey was almost over.

So she slid into the middle of the car and I followed and shut the door. Then we were off. The teens were playing loud music and singing along. I caught some words now and again, words like contract, print, mighty, fine, some and so on, but other than it was all noise to me. Elena plugged her ears and put her head on my shoulder, soon falling into a deep sleep. I laid my head on hers and just listened to the sound of the speeding car, the loud music, the wind rushing through the windows and the voices of the others in the car. Before I knew it we had reached a little house. It was hard to make out the details because the sun had set nearly two hours before. The car pulled up, we grabbed our bags and then it left again. I grabbed Elena’s hand and walked her up to the door before hesitantly turning the knob. A woman, early in her forties, looked up as the door opened and smiled. She spoke in English but the words were hard to catch. All I heard were “must” and “Marek” that being my last name. She kneeled down in front of Elena and took her hands. In slow Gaelic, she asked, “Which one are you?”

Elena hid herself behind me; she was acting shy and not wanting to speak to this stranger.

“She’s Elena and I’m Nadia,” I said, my words slow so this woman who had moved away from Scotland in her youth could understand.

“Nadia and Elena, isn’t that appropriate? Together you make up an old gymnast’s first and middle name.” She smiled but I didn’t smile back. She stood up. “Well, come, your room is this way.” She led us through the one story house to a stairwell leading down to the basement and then into a large bedroom with two queen-sized beds and two dressers. “Here you are. Make yourselves at home.” Then she turned and left the room.

I took Elena’s bags from her and put them at the end of her bag. We had only brought what was most precious to us and an old friend of our family had promised to ship over the rest of our things once he had it boxed up. Naturally, we had both brought mostly things that had to do with gymnastics. We had brought all our leotards and sweat suits along with some clothes and a few of our medals and along with some other personal items. Elena got into her pajamas and then snuggled under the blankets of her new bed, practically shivering. I sat down and put my hand on her.

“Nadia, I want to go back to Scotland,” she said in a whisper, afraid that this cousin of ours would here. “I don’t like America.”

I stroked her ashy blonde hair. “Elena, we have no choice. One day, when I’m grown up, I’ll go back to Scotland and you’ll come with me. We’ll have a house of our own and we can go back to the old gym and train like we never left.”

“Do you promise?”

“I promise. Please, Elena, go to sleep.”

She nodded and needed no more prompting. She fell into a deep sleep. I suddenly felt the need to move around. I had been a plane and a bus for hours on end. I did a back flip, my pointed toes skimming the low ceiling. Then I did a cartwheel, fell into a split and stood back up. I felt a little better now. I pulled on a pair of sweats and slipped into the second bed. Then I closed my eyes and slept away my first night in America.

 

d d d

 

I ran forward, sprang off the springboard and dived onto the horse in a one-half turn onto my hands. Then I did a piked one-and-one-half somersault off the horse only to land in the arms of my new coach, Michael Henry. She set me down on the mat and looked me over. I had been in America for six months now and I had gone to an open gym where gymnasts seem to just play around on the equipment to keep myself in shape along with Elena. I had coached her and cared for her, not letting one mistake bring her down. Others in the gym had watched us in curiosity and silent amazement. I am sure no recognized us. We were only stars in our own country. Amanda had said we could only go to a place to train professionally when we could speak English well enough to understand our new coach. So we had studied hard and we could now speak the language.

“Nadia,” Michael said, “who taught you that vault?”

“My old coach in Scotland,” I answered, thinking this was a stupid question with an obvious answer.

“Have you ever landed off it before?”

“Once. I sprained my knee though. I’ve never gotten the one-and-one-half somersault.” I had been out for two months but I had still trained some, being extra careful.

“Do you know what that vault is called?”

“The Tsukahara Vault.”

“Yes, it is. Why did you want to learn it?”

“The Scotland Nationals in Glasgow were a year away. My coach knew I could win the beam, easy, along with the floor and the bars, but the vault has always brought me bronzes or not at all. He thought if I learned this vault, we would have a shot.”

He seemed thoughtful for a moment then said, “Show me your beam routine for the Nationals.”

“I didn’t have one yet. We were focusing on the vault. I still have five months before I came here.” 

He looked over to where the younger girls were practicing. His eyes fell to Elena on the beam. She was just mounting, using a press handstand that I had just taught her when I coached her in the gym over the past six months. Then she slid down from handstand into a split, turned her body so that her legs hung over the side of the beam and then stood up and started into a front flip followed by a cartwheel. He looked back at me. “We are in Oklahoma City, yes?” I nodded my head. “There are State Championships in three months. Our biggest contenders are the gymnasts of Bart Conner’s Gymnastics Academy in Norman. Many of my gymnasts here have been training most of the year to be selected for our team. Only five girls will go. I want you and your sister to be on the team but you must prove that you are the best.”

I simply nodded my head. I heard this all before from my coach. “Be the best.” “Be the champion.” My old coach had believed in Elena and me more than anyone else ever had.

“Do a bar routine for me,” my coach said and he went to adjust the bars.

I put chalk on my hands and then blew on them to cool them down so I wouldn’t have sweaty hands and slip. Michael motioned me forward. I had noticed that everyone around me was watching. I ignored them and ran to the bars without pausing. I swung onto the bar with enough power to drive me up into a handstand and then passed from the low bar to the high bar. Working carefully, I went over the old motions in my head. I performed a Comaneci Salto with only a slight mistake. I almost missed the bar but I grabbed it and finished the routine with a perfect dismount. Then I simply walked away from the bars, knowing that it had only been an average routine. A pretty blonde-haired girl shot me a dark look from over by the beam. Michael was smiling broadly at me.

“Well done, Ms. Marek.”

“It was only average,” I said honestly.

“You did a Comaneci Salto.”

“Very poorly. I nearly missed the bar and fell. I guess I don’t live up to my namesake very well, do I?”

“Oh, no, you did very well! Good work.” He glanced down at his watch. “That’s it for the day. You can all go!”

Elena immediately ran over to me and together we walked to our lockers and pulled on sweat pants over our leotards.

“Why don’t you go back to where you belong?” a voice asked from behind.

I turned to see the blonde standing behind me with her hands on her hips. Another blonde and a redhead stood behind her. “This is where I belong.”

“No it’s not. Why don’t you go back to your precious Scotland and take all your fancy tricks with you. We don’t want them in this gym.”

“Fancy tricks win fancy prizes. I thought you wanted to win the States.”

“Fiona won the beam and the vault in the States last year,” the other blonde said.

“Oh! So you’re Fiona Rights. You’re the best here.”

“Yeah and don’t you forget it when I take home all the medals and you don’t. We’ve been training for this all year. I have an idea. Why don’t you go and join Bart and Nadia’s brats in Norman. I’m sure you’d fit right in.”

“I’m sure I would. But I’m not here to fit in. Fitting in makes you average and invisible. No one sees you when you do. But when you stand out, that’s when you become a star.” I gave her genuine smile and then took Elena by the hand and led her away.  I didn’t need their petty criticisms.  So she was good at a vault and beam. That didn’t make her anything more special than the brown-haired little girl who was packing up her things in the locker on the end.  With another, more confident smile, I left the gym with Elena beside me.

 

d d d

 

I looked at the team list and groaned. Fiona Rights, Stephanie Vansciver and Isabella Montago were three of the five gymnasts going to States. The other two were Elena and I. It was only a week before competition and the whole gym was in a frenzy. The five who had been chosen were given special attention by the coach as our routines were perfected and completed. I wasn’t to do a Tsukahara Vault but something similar. I would spring off in a one-half turn onto my hands and then simply do a somersault and land facing the vault. My bar routine included a Comaneci Salto that I still had trouble getting right. My beam routine was simple enough and my floor routine was face-paced and fun. Michael had been worried that Elena wouldn’t be able to handle competing at our level. But the peppy little ten-year-old had proved them all wrong with her complex (at least for a little girl) routines. In fact, in the listing of the names after the competition to see who would go, Elena had finished in second only then followed by Fiona and her two friends.

When the day finally arrived, we didn’t have far to travel. The gym in which the meet was to be held was a twenty-minute drive further into the city. We all wore our hair up in neat ponytails with white and blue ribbons to match our blue with white piping leotards and jackets that read in big white letters “Oklahoma City.” The other teams arrived around the same time we did and I felt the pre-competition jitters begin to take over. We walked into the large arena. Michael almost instantly pointed out another group of girls.

“Those are Bart’s and Nadia’s girls,” Michael said as we walked past them.

We started our warm-ups and I felt the nerves begin to ease away. I was at home at my competitions. I couldn’t help but notice that the Bart Team never sat down and they never stopped moving. Just like Nadia, I thought as I continued to warm up for my floor routine.

“Ladies and Gentlemen,” called a voice over the loudspeaker, “welcome to the Oklahoma State Championships. We have a wonderful collection of talent here that we are ready to showcase.” The voice went on and on and I tuned it out. Then I hear it say, “First on the floor, from Bart Conner’s Gymnastics Academy, is Amelia Johnson.”

I looked up but still continued my warm-up. Then I remembered. Never watch your competitors. It’s only a distraction. The girl scored high and well.

“Next on the floor, Fiona Rights.” The crowd cheered, obviously remembering her previous victories the year before. I tuned it out.

“On the floor, the former Scottish Junior Champion, Elena Marek.” My head snapped up. Elena was up. Though I knew I should never watch my competitors, I had to watch Elena. This was her first meet in months. She flipped and twirled and danced with a bright smile on her face. Here was her element. Here she had found what she had left in Scotland. She did a triple-back flip and then landed in a perfect pose to a thunderous round of applause. I couldn’t help but join in. She scored near perfect.

She ran over to me, her face bright in a smile. “Did I do well?” she asked in Gaelic.

“The best,” I answered in the same language.

“Next on the floor, last year’s all-around champion, Georgie Brighton!”

The competition was beginning to pick up. Before I knew it, my name was called.

“On the floor, the former Scottish National Champion, Nadia Marek!”

At the mention of my name, a woman’s head looked toward the floor. Her eyes met with mine, as though we shared some similarity. I looked away as my music started. I didn’t listen to it but instead focused on every flip, turn and move. When I had finished, the woman was staring at me in silent admiration. She didn’t join in the applause.

The competition continued with each of fighting for a higher score than the last. When the floor had finished, I took the gold, Elena the silver, and Georgie Brighton the bronze. On the beam, again I took away a gold medal with Fiona taking the silver and Elena to the bronze. For the vault I received the silver with Jennifer Hughes taking the gold and Elena taking another bronze. On the bars I executed a perfect Comaneci Salto, bringing tears to the woman’s eyes and a third gold medal of the competition with Elena receiving yet another silver and Stephanie a bronze. We were dominating the meet, just as Michael had hoped and wished. For the team competition we won the gold and Bart’s the silver and another team from Beaver taking the bronze.

When it came to all-around, the competition was tough. Georgie Brighton, most likely upset from a lack of medals, scored high. But when the smoke cleared, Georgie only received another bronze for her efforts. Elena received a silver and her smile grew bigger and bigger with each pair of hands that clapped together to offer her congratulations. She didn’t care what color her medal was; only that she was wearing one. The gold fell to me, much to Fiona’s dismay. 

As photographers and reporters crowded us, question after question was thrown at us. Elena, too scared and unused to this, hid behind me and whimpered. I answered the questions as best I could, but still felt as though they weren’t satisfactory answers. Finally, one question came up that would change my view on life in America.

“Nadia, when are you going back to Scotland?”

I blinked. “Scotland is my homeland but this, America, is now my home. I may someday go back, but for now, America is where I will stay.”