The Girl in the Stands

There’s this girl in the stands during practice.  Sometimes I think I’ve seen her before, around school, in the halls, in class.  She seems haunted.  If I reach out and touch her there won’t be anything there.   Do I dare?  She’s at most of the practices, but by the end, she’s gone, disappeared to wherever ghost girls go.

She dresses in Wave girl clothes, the uniform from last year.  I don’t ask Gitt about it.  I almost did ask Gitt, but it means a conversation I’m not ready to have. 

“Do you see that girl?”  I ask.  The other drummers look at me as if I’ve gone insane or I’ve been to too many parties.

“See that girl, up there.”  I point to the bleachers.

The ghost has skipped out by then or floated off.  Her timing is remarkable, perfect actually.  But their attention is on all of the other Wave girls and one in particular.  Look how Gitt moves that thing, they say. 

And then I am momentarily distracted by hip swings.  Gitt seems superhuman.  And most of us can’t keep up with her, her astronomical G.P.A.  Sometimes I wonder when the mother ship will return ready to take her away to Harvard, Princeton, or Yale, though rumor has it she's set her sights on Oxford.

The ghost seems as if she has a secret or many secrets she wants to share, many something’s she is trying to say, but each time I wait until the end of practice to find her and find out, I miss the great mysteries.  What classes is the ghost girl in?  Is she a freshman, sophomore, junior, or a senior?  Where have we met before? 

“I’m leaving early.” 

The other drummers act as if I’m not even there.  My ghost girl and I can’t compete with Gitt.  They  start up a beat, this cool rhythm to go with all of her moves.

Did you just see that?  Da-Da-Da  She’s bending over now.  Da-Da...Da... Da

I wave them away and walk off the field in the direction of the stands.