Recovery.

It was weird walking back into the gym and everyone smiling as if nothing had happened.

I guess for them nothing did happen. Everyone was told that I was staying in America to work with the US program coordinator and see what I could bring back to Canada, which I did, but it wasn’t the only reason why I was there.

“Josie, it’s so great having you back,” Elvira’s Russian accent as thick as ever as she pulled me into a hug. “Oh look at you, you look so tan! Where were you?”

“Texas,” I smiled as Elvira cupped my face like a loving aunt, “You know that. It’s where the Karolyi’s are based.”

“Ah yes, where the cowboys are!” The former Soviet Olympic champion exclaimed, “Did you wrangle yourself up a cowboy?” She pantomimed circling a rope over her head.

My throat tightened, “No,” I croaked.

“Ah too bad. Now come along. We have a new talent. She moved here from Cambridge Kips last month,” Elvira pointed to the young girl in the front row, going through the group warm up, “She will be a senior next year.”

“Just in time for the Commonwealth Games.”

“And Worlds,” Elvira reminded me. We were no longer just hoping for national champions. Team Canada finished 5th at the last Olympics. We’re no longer welcome mats. We’re on the world stage. “She’s sturdy too. Never been injured before.”

Just based on warm ups, I could see why Elvira was excited. The new girl was strong and flexible, and fresh, she didn’t look beat up or worn out from the hours of training. “What’s the catch. Why did she leave Kips?”

“Her parents didn’t think she was getting enough attention,” Elvira eyes darted off to the side, where parents were allowed to sit and wait. We discouraged them from watching but some parents would throw a fit, if they couldn’t see their precious baby train. “They didn’t think she was progressing fast enough.”

I sighed, “When will parents realize that it’s better to have two parents and two coaches and not four coaches.”

Elvira gave me a sidelong look, “You don’t know, Josie,” I always liked how Elvira said my name with her Russian accent. Zhuh-seeee. “You will understand when you have children. You will see then how hard it is to let someone else take them and nurture them. You will realize that your child's success matters more than yours.”

“What’s her name?”

“Elizabeth Rogers. But she likes Betty or Beth. She said she admires you that you were her hero, when she was growing up.”

I frowned, “Am I that old?”

“Dear, in gymnastics, 18 is old. You’re ancient and I’m practically a fossil.” Elvira clapped her hands, signaling the end of warm up. All the girls snapped their heads to look at us. There were more new girls than I thought there would be. “Girls, please welcome Josie back home. Now, everyone get into your groups.” There were 15 girls going elite this year. Interesting. The girls were divided among the coaches, sometimes by random, sometimes by request, but no more than five gymnasts per coach. Of course, Elvira had the best gymnasts. The ones that had potential to be Olympians. Elvira had two girls in her group and as her assistant I followed her to vault.

“Girls, do some timers,” Elvira dictated and the girls scurried off to start practicing their vaults. Tory went first, and then Betty.

Elvira was right. She was special. She seemed to launch into the air as she vaulted. It looked easy for her.

“Do you think she can do the Amanar?”

Elvira’s eyes went wide at the thought of the infamously difficult 2.5 twisting vault, “She’s doing a double right now. Maybe…”

“Does she have another vault? A Tsukhara or something. She could make vault finals.”

“Yes, yes,” Elvira nodded, watching Betty do another timer to get a feel for the vault again. “Very good, Josie. It’s so good to have you back.”

Zhuh-sseee



“Jocelyn,” My name on his lips sounded so foreign.

After being in the States, I had gotten used to the American pronunciation, Jaaawwws-liihn

Zho-se-leeeen.

It was familiar. It was home. It was me.

I almost didn’t want to say it. I didn’t want the taste of his name on my tongue, the feel of it on my lips. “Georges.”

Zhorzh.

“You’re back,” He looked worse for wear. Normal considering he just went toe to toe with a man, whose goal it was to knock Georges out.

“Yes. I am,” I looked at the ground, just looking at him brought back memories of that night. The night it all went to pieces.

“I missed you.”

I don’t know what he expected me to say. Did he expect me to act normally like what happened that night didn’t matter or happen?

Time heals all wounds.

Bullshit.

It’s been a year and everything still hurts the same.

“Please say something. Anything.”

“I don’t what you want me to say.”

“The truth. Why did you leave?”

“You know,” I almost wanted to scream at him, but we were at the gym. My brother’s place of work, it simply wouldn’t do for me to start screaming my head off, “You know why I left.”

“But for a year? A whole year?”

“Yes for a whole year and I still can’t look at you in the eyes,” I turned on my heel and I headed towards the exit. I didn’t need this. This was a mistake. I shouldn’t have come here.

He grabbed my wrist, “Wait.”

“Please, let go,” I whispered breathlessly. Breathe. Breathe. In. Out. In. Out. I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to block out the images flashing in my brain. “Please,” I half whimpered, half sobbed. I could feel him there. I felt my throat closing up, like his hand was around my throat again. “Please,” I pleaded.

“Jocelyn,” Georges grabbed my shoulders, “Jocelyn are you okay?” He asked in his rapid fire French. “Jocelyn!”

I opened my eyes and he disappeared and only Georges was left. “I-I’m sorry,” I stuttered in French.

His calloused thumb grazed my cheek as he wiped a tear away, “You’re crying. What happened?”

“I-I’m sorry,” I looked around. No one seemed to notice my episode, “I need to go.” And with that I ran out of the gym and to my car.

I sat in the driver’s seat, with my head against the steering wheel, sobbing.

“I’m here,” Jon cooed, as he rubbed my back. I didn’t notice him getting into the passenger’s seat, “I’m here.”