The class in which I thought it would be the easiest to get a good grade, P.E., turned out to be one of the hardest. I was preparing for the physical fitness test at the end of the quarter, doing push-ups, sit-ups, and chin-ups, and climbing ropes, running sprints, and lifting weights. I was doing fine, until the day it happened.
I was running a few minutes late that morning. When I got to the locker room, my classmates were already getting dressed in their gym clothes. I was in such a hurry that the foul smell of dirty socks and sweaty T-shirts did not bother me. I rushed to my locker, elbowing my way through, and began opening the combination lock with one hand and unbuttoning my shirt with the other. I unhooked the lock, flung the door open, quickly grabbed my gym clothes, and discovered my tennis shoes were missing. I checked inside again. Nothing. I put on my shorts and T-shirt and ran outside and lined up with the rest of my class. The coach blew his whistle. “You’re late,” he shouted, looking me up and down. “Why aren’t you wearing your tennis shoes?”
“I couldn’t find them, Coach,” I responded, holding back my tears. “They’re gone from my locker.”
“Well, you’d better find them. It’ll cost you five points each time you don’t suit up completely.”
At the end of the period, I checked in my locker again and looked all around the locker room. I was out of luck. I did not even enjoy taking a shower that day or going to classes. When I got home that evening after work, I told Papá and Mamá about it. “Maybe you didn’t put them back in the locker,” Mamá said.
“No, I am sure I did.”
“Maybe you didn’t and someone picked them up,” Roberto said. “Did you check in the lost and found?”
“Yes, I checked everywhere.”
“Well, if you can’t find them, we’ll have to buy you a new pair,” Mamá said.
“But it won’t be until the end of next week, when Roberto gets paid,” Papá added, biting his lower lip.
My heart sank. There goes my grade, I thought. I went outside, stood underneath the pepper tree next to the outhouse, and cried silently.
I did not suit up for P.E. for the next few days. Then one evening, when Roberto and I got home from work, Trampita and Torito ran up to me. Trampita was snickering and hiding something behind his back. “Look what we got!” he exclaimed, dangling a pair of worn and soiled tennis shoes in front of me. “We found them in the dump,” Torito said proudly.
I excitedly tried them on, turning my head away from them to avoid the foul smell. “They’re too big,” I said, disappointed.
“Try them with two pairs of socks,” Mamá said. “They’ll fit better.”
I went to the dresser and pulled out the thickest pair of socks I could find and put them on. I slipped on the tennis shoes and paced around the kitchen. “They’re still a bit loose. But they feel better,” I said. Trampita’s and Torito’s eyes lit up.
I soaked an old rag in a pot of hot water and scrubbed them. The steam made them smell worse, and when I finished, they were more gray than white. I placed them outside on the stairs overnight to dry and air out. The next morning, at P.E., I lined up for roll call fully dressed and happy not to lose five more points.
A few days later, my feet began to itch. I told the coach and he said I might have athlete’s foot. I thought it was a compliment until I found out what it really meant. I took off the two layers of socks and I noticed I had cracked, blistered, and peeling areas between the toes. This lasted a long time, even after I got a new pair of tennis shoes. I ended up getting a C in P.E. at mid-semester.