Saturday Afternoon Wrestle
by MBP  mwfan318@aol.com 
Brooke and I square off


The doorbell rings. I open the door and Brooke stands there, sweating
profusely. Brooke is the proverbial 12-year-old girl next door complete with
braces and pigtails. She is pretty cute, and very athletic. She loves
competing with the neighborhood boys in baseball, basketball, soccer and even
football. Brooke is wearing a heavily saturated white tee shirt with dungaree
shorts, white socks and sneakers. I've known her all her life.

"What do you need, Brooke?" I ask.

She replies, "Could I have a drink."

I snort. "You live less than 20 yards away, Brooke. How come you can't get a
drink at your house?"

"My Mom's out with your Mom, and Dad's at work. I forgot my key."

I step aside. "C'mon in," I say as I return to the sofa. "You know where the
frig' is."

She heads to the kitchen and I sit back down and press the Play button on the
remote control. Two open books adorn the couch on either side of me: an
Advanced Placement Calculus math book, and a John Steinbeck novel on which I'm
writing a book report for Senior English class. I ignore both books and turn
my attention to "Joan of Arcadia" which I videotaped last night. In the
background Brooke is pouring some liquid which I guess to be soda.

Brooke returns presently, the big glass of Coke already half empty. She
glances over to the TV.

"I saw Joan last night," she says, turning her attention back to me. I ignore
her. She continues, "You know, Kevin, you should get some exercise. You're
turning into a lump. Why don't you come join us for football? Afterwards,
we're going to have relay races." The big grin on her face shows she relishes
the coming activities.

"Sorry," I say, as I see Joan picketing at Arcadia High School with her friend
Karen. "I'm too busy with my school work."

"Yeah, I see," Brooke says sarcastically. She bounds over to the sofa and
nearly pulls me off it. "Mom will be home in a little while. Can't you just
join us for a few minutes? Pleeeeeze."

I shake my head importantly as I look up at Brooke. "What will it take to get
rid of you?" I ask.

Brooke thinks for a few seconds, then a mischievous smile crosses her pretty
face. "Let's wrestle," she says as I look at her amazedly. "If you win, I'll
stop bothering you. If I win, you come out and play with me."

It's a ridiculous idea, but if it will get rid of Brooke I'm for it. "OK," I
say, rising to my feet. "Let's get this over with."

Brooke smiles, delighted at the prospect of more physical activity. She
stretches lithe muscles and eyes my inactivity.

"Aren't you going to warm up?" she asks.

"Why?" I say, somewhat derisive. I can't understand that Brooke even asks me
the question. The match will last less than 15 seconds. I plan to throw her
down, pin her, and get back to Joan. I just don't want to hurt her.

Brooke stops her exercise and turns to me, eyes twinkling. "I'm ready to go,"
she states. Her bravado is funny, but something is bugging me.

"Hold on a sec," I say, as I head up the stairs. "Be right back."

I return in 45 seconds with a clean tee shirt. It's my sister's. Actually,
Barbara and Brooke are about the same height, 5'2", although my 14-year-old
sister is quite a bit heavier. I toss Brooke the shirt.

"Put this on," I tell her as she catches the offering. "I don't want to get
all sweaty, especially with your sweat." I turn around discretely; she quickly
dons the shirt.

"Hey, thanks," Brooke says. "It feels good to get out of that rag." The tee is
the correct length, but there's plenty of room as it fits loosely. "And while
I'm at it..." Brooke pulls off her sneakers and socks. "Now I'm ready."

I hold my nose, indicating her feet smell. Actually, I don't smell anything,
but I figure I'll have some fun with her. Brooke stands on one foot and raises
the other to her nose. It's an impressive display of balance and flexibility.
She sniffs her foot.

"I don't smell anything," she says as I crack up laughing. She joins the fray,
also laughing. "We'll see who's laughing when I pin you." Brooke stomps around
like a sumo wrestler, and my guffawing gets louder. It takes a good couple of
minutes before we regain our composure. Brooke gets serious, however; it is
time to wrestle.

I quiet down and the two of us circle as wrestlers do. Brooke lunges in,
trying to get in on my legs. She succeeds a couple of times, but I easily
shake her off. Brooke is quick. She moves smoothly on bare feet. I have
trouble getting a good hold on her. Finally, I gain control and I throw her
down to the carpet, a little harder than I like. Brooke doesn't seem to mind.
I follow her down and take hold of her around her waist. It doesn't go as I
expect. Brooke is slippery and strong. I need to partially release my hold to
move into position to pin her, but every time I do this Brooke almost gets
free and I'm forced to reestablish my original position. She can't free
herself, but I can't make any progress. I decide to quickly release her waist
to move my hold to her upper body, but in that split second Brooke frees
herself and scrambles away from me.

I start to rise as I expect both of us to start again from the standing
position, but Brooke surprises again. She tackles me. I am off-balance in my
half-standing position. Brooke succeeds in knocking me over. She lands on my
shoulders and attempts to press them to the carpet with her knees as she tries
to control my arms with hers. Brooke can't do this, but I am still shocked
that it is difficult to stop her. I feel her knees pushing into my shoulders.
I buck and succeed in unseating her. I try to press my advantage but Brooke
scampers away and we both stand.

Both of us breathe a little heavily as the strange thought enters my head: She
came closer to pinning me than I did to pinning her. My match with a
12-year-old girl is still on after at least a minute. I move to Brooke and
grab her. She grabs me back and we grapple standing, each of us trying to
topple the other. Brooke is not doing anything special. She simply is pitting
her strength and balance against mine and holding her own. It takes what seems
like forever, but I finally gain the upper hand and drag her to the carpet.
I'm on top of her. She can handle my weight but is having trouble moving me. I
stay in control as Brooke writhes and bucks. She wraps strong arms around my
neck and shoulders and squeezes. The pressure hurts but I hang on. Brooke
grunts loudly and really lets me have it, using considerable power, while she
continues to try to extricate herself. I relent as the pressure mounts. I give
up my hold to pry apart her arms, but Brooke disengages as we clamber away
from each other. I get to my feet, and pause to take stock.

The match feels as if it's taken a long time, but it is probably only three or
four minutes old. Brooke's strength is amazing. She is not quite, but nearly
as strong as me. Being a boy, and five years older, I expect to be much
stronger. Most of the girls I know, like my sister, are of average strength.
I'm not friendly with any of the girls on the sports teams, but I imagine
Brooke matches to one of them. If one thinks about it, it actually makes some
sense. Part of a person's strength is inherited, and Brooke is athletic and
naturally strong. Also, with her constant physical activity, Brooke's 90
pounds are as toned and well-defined as possible, without her actually being a
bodybuilder. I'm stronger than her, but not by enough to win the wrestle on
strength alone.

My weight advantage of 65 pounds actually gives me a greater edge than my
strength. Although Brooke can support my weight, once I'm on top of her it is
difficult for her to move me. This is my main advantage; one I hope to fully
exploit.

Brooke mentioned earlier that I'm out of shape, and this is not true. I'm not
overweight for my 5'9", and I've wrestled here for several minutes without
completely tiring. However, I'm not in "Brooke shape." She spends all of her
free time being physical, and is in peak shape. Three years ago, I was like
that, but school and girls have taken some of edge off.

Brooke's competitiveness is tremendous; mine is born more of desperation. When
the match started, I knew I would win easily. Now I'm simply hoping to win. It
will be incredibly humiliating for me, a High School senior to lose at
wrestling to a girl in the 7th grade. I'm starting college next fall, and
Brooke will still be in Middle School. How will I deal with losing to a young
girl? I may find out.

Brooke grins at me, as if aware of my thoughts. I wonder what she was thinking
at the beginning of our match, and what she is thinking now. I think she now
believes she is going to win. She may be right.

We meet. I hook a foot behind Brooke's leg and push. She is not ready for my
maneuver and falls heavily to the carpet with me landing flush on her. Brooke
grunts and emits a little cry of pain. I can't worry about hurting her. I wrap
my legs around hers and I encircle her small body with my arms, clinging
tightly. She pulls at my shirt with her free hands, kicks with her captured
legs, bucks and moves. I keep my advantage. I'm getting tired and know this is
my final hope. I maintain my tight hold as Brooke fights on. She can't get
out, but is not giving up. I hang on for my dignity as my young opponent tries
all avenues of escape. She succeeds in dislodging a leg from mine, then frees
the other one. I get a funny feeling that I'm in trouble.

With her legs free, Brooke pushes against the carpet with her feet, literally
lifting me off the ground. I hang on; she does it again and again. My hold
loosens a bit. Using her flexibility, Brooke swings her legs up and tries to
lodge them between my head and her body. I push them away several times, but
Brooke eventually succeeds. She pushes against my head and neck; I can no
longer hold her. Continuing with the momentum, Brooke pushes me against the
carpet. Her legs are holding my body down. She captures my legs with her arms
and continues with the leg pressure. It's a strange position, as Brooke is
essentially sitting on the carpet and is only controlling my upper torso with
her feet, but I'm so tired. I finally break free, but it is short-lived.

Brooke mounts my shoulders again with her knees, trying once again to pin my
arms with hers. She still can't totally control my arms, but I'm weakening and
she's doing better than before. Plus, I can't do anything about her knees as
they press down my shoulders. Brooke wraps her legs around and under my chest,
effectively pinning me. My arms are still not under control, but it's a matter
of time. I try bucking but I have no energy and it has no effect. Trying to
emulate Brooke's flexibility, I swing my legs back to ensnare her head, but I
can't come close. I glance up at Brooke but she is totally committed to
capturing my arms. She captures a wrist and pushes it to the carpet, but I
free it. She does the same with the other wrist, but still can't hold me
still. We continue this dance for a little while, until the light bulb goes
off in Brooke's head. She releases my arms and simply sits in her position,
looking at me, smiling at me, daring me to get free. It is as if Brooke
finally realizes she has me pinned. She crosses her arms across her chest as I
lay there, drained, with Brooke securely in control.

She says, "Do you give?"

I say nothing. I'm not getting free, but I can't say the words that indicate
I've been beaten by a younger, smaller girl. I avoid her eyes, but it doesn't
matter as she starts bouncing up and down, happily.

"I can't believe I beat you," Brooke says, underscoring my distress. She
shakes her head. "I thought it would be fun to wrestle with you, but I didn't
think I could win. You always were so much bigger and stronger. But I guess
I'm stronger than you."

I say nothing, although I don't think Brooke is stronger: just a better
wrestler with more stamina, competitiveness and flexibility. But I don't feel
like getting into a strength contest at this time with her.

Brooke releases me and stands; I stay on the carpet. She teasingly places a
foot on my chest and laughs, flashing a double biceps victory pose. I feel
like grabbing the foot and tackling her and showing her who is boss. But she
already knows. I burrow myself further into the carpet, trying to vanish
through the floor. Brooke grabs my hand and drags me to my feet and hugs me
tightly. Man, she is strong! She gets on her toes to peck my cheek with a
little kiss.

"That was fun," she says, all flushed with victory. "We have to do it again."

I nod, without conviction. Actually I'd like to try it again. I wouldn't
underestimate her from the beginning, and maybe I can be in better shape. I
watch as she slips on her socks and sneakers. I look at her lean, shapely legs
and pert little butt and shudder; how could I have lost to this slip of a
girl?

Just as Brooke finishes getting dressed, the door opens. It's my Mom! I flush
with embarrassment, thanking my lucky stars she didn't arrive a few minutes
earlier to see my defeat. I wait for the inevitable.

"Hi, Kevin," my Mom says as she finally sees Brooke. "What are you doing
here?" my Mom asks.

"I was locked out and Kevin gave me a drink," Brooke replies as she smiles at
me. She doesn't say anything else to my Mom. When Mom turns around, Brooke
inaudibly mouths to me, "It's our little secret." I'm incredibly grateful, as
Mom knowing it would triple the humiliation.

"I guess my Mom is home also," Brooke says, looking at my mother. She nods.
"Thanks for everything, Kevin." As she leaves, Brooke makes a mocking muscle
at me; my Mom misses it.

"She's a nice little girl, isn't she Kevin," my Mom says, looking at me. I
stop staring at the door and nod. "She's going to be a real knockout in a
couple of years." I can't help but think it is an interesting play on words,
but Mom looks ignorant of my defeat. I gather my books and head to my room,
where it will take quite awhile before I feel normal again.