Balance

6 5 6

by joyceholt

by joyceholt

Fourth of July in my mom's home town. "They're celebrating at the city park," my mom told us. "Old-time games and races and food and everything. It'll be fun!"

I trudged along in the wake of my excited younger siblings. I didn't know anyone here but grandparents and cousins. I was bored and hot and just wanted a cool spot in the shade to sit and read. Your typical sulky teenager on family vacation.

We passed sack races, wheelbarrow races, obstacle courses.

Not interested. A slow-footed kid, I'd come in dead last in every race of my life and saw no point in continuing my losing streak in front of all these strangers.

Then we came to the barrel-walking race.

"Wait!" I cried out, slowing our troop. "I want to do this one! Please? Can we stay? It's almost time to start!"

Bless my mom's heart, but she agreed. Probably relieved to see me show any little sign of interest.

I signed up in the 15 to 17-year-old category, and took off my sandals. Bare feet give much better control when barrel-walking, I'd learned over many summers in my back yard when fooling around with our old 55-gallon oil drum.

Just like soup cans, oil drums have corrugated ribs round their circumference. Two of them, each a third of the way from an end, dividing the drum into three parts. The slight ridge gives strength to the thin metal. Keeps the drum from buckling under normal usage.

If you walk that barrel in the center, you go straight. If you walk on the left portion, your path bends slightly to the left. On the right, your course turns slightly right. I could walk that oil drum all around my back yard, though making a sharp turn took a lot of jockeying back and forth, like trying to turn a car around in a tight spot.

Today I'd only go straight ahead.

Seven or eight kids my age or a little older lined up at the starting point. Everyone else still wore sandals or shoes. I was the only barefoot one.

The official counted down. "Three, two, one, go!"

I ran at my barrel, leaped at just the right point at just the right speed, hit that barrel at just the right point that my momentum carried me up to stand balanced on top. I walked backwards, rolling the drum forward, and in six seconds crossed the short distance to the finish line.

I hopped off lightly, easily, like I'd done hundreds of times before, grinning at the finish line folks, then turned around.

All the other competitors were still at the starting line, trying in vain to get up onto a drum for more than one unbalanced second.

For the first – and only – time in my life, I won a race!

I was slow-footed, yes, but I had balance. And an old oil drum in my backyard.

prompt: round