Coach Jimmy (story story)

Coach Jimmy

While I stood staring at the rows of empty bunk beds down the long, narrow room, a rusted iron door straight ahead of me suddenly popped open.  Randy took a leap toward me, stopped, and brought out a stuffed white bag.  He gave me a mischievous grin.

“Hey!  There you are, Philip!  I’ve got another surprise for you here in this bag,” he said as he looked into the bag.  “We’ve got a lot of Snickers, Hundred Grand, Butterfingers, Twinkies, a bunch of cakes, and a whole mess of other sweet stuff!”

“Wow, you got free candy from that minimarket owner again?” I asked.  The minimarket owner near our guitar camp enjoyed the buzzing sound of rock music in our rehearsals, so he often generously donated free candy and other junk foods.

“Yeah, that nice store owner gave me this big ol’ bag when I bought a pack of gum just right now.  Problem is, Coach Jimmy hates us eating all that junk food ‘cause it hurts our guitar playing.”

Coach Jimmy was the head of our guitar camp, where twelve aspiring young guitar players about my age live and practice many hours a day.  Early every morning, we would all wake up with haziness, only to smell of the fresh wood of our acoustic guitars and be instantly revitalized.  Randy, two others, and I had formed our own rock band, and in the chilly mornings we would play the latest rock songs to heat up the atmosphere.  I loved the music we played, hoping my enthusiastic little band to one day become a big-time rock band.

I was beginning to wonder if Randy would stick to our band for the many exciting years to come, so I asked him.

“Randy, do you have the same dream I have? You know… for our little band to one day be in the top charts.”

“Well, I—“  Before Randy could finish his sentence, that rusty iron door blasted open once again, reminiscent of what happened just three minutes ago when Randy entered.  This time, the rest of the camp entered in their bright blue uniforms in a straight line.  The dim lights created the surreal feeling of an army marching toward us.  Behind them was an ominous black shadow that seemed to float like a dark cloud.  That shadow turned out to be Coach Jimmy.  In apparent anger, he slammed the door shut and then turned to face us with his icy cold face.  He spoke.

“Alright, you spoiled pigs.  Give me your full attention NOW!”  He did not have to ask for our undivided attention, for we had all been silently staring at him ever since.  He continued in a lower tone.  “All that junk food you guys have been eating is hurting your playing.  No one can concentrate with all that sugar in their heads, and lately your playing has been getting worse.  Since you guys refuse to stop eating that, I’m forced to take drastic measures.  For your own good, and to make sure that your parents’ money to send you here won’t be wasted, you guys will no longer be permitted to leave this room.  I will lock it.  You guys will only eat my food from now on.”  Coach Jimmy left the room.  I stood motionless, shocked.

After that I only got to eat two very meager meals a day.  My life became bitter as I was forced to starve.  I couldn’t take the pain anymore so I broke out of the camp by disassembling the window one night.  When I got outside I immediately used a pay phone to call my mother and I told her everything.  After the call, I went back to camp for sleep.  When my mother came the next day, she could tell my health was deteriorating because of my pale face.  She had a very long and painful talk with my guitar coach, who denied that he ever starved us.  Obviously, my mother didn’t believe him because the other kids had pale, sad faces and were thinner than before. 

I knew I had made the right decision, but it was extremely painful for me to leave my dream of becoming a rock star.  Everything I ever wanted was destroyed.  Before I decided to quit and tell my mom, I had thought bitterly about the obvious consequences, but knew no alternatives.  I lost not only my life’s greatest desire, but my friends as well, since I never saw them again when I left camp.  The painful lesson I learned was that idealistic dreams never come true.  This event in my life had changed me emotionally like nothing else has ever done.  After that I knew that I was going to have to advance life in another way; to create a new dream that was much more realistic.  This helped me advance in the long run because it made me more mature, and far more experienced in the bitter realities of the real world.  My mind was now more open, since now I must search for a new direction for my life to proceed.  Another way I have matured is by losing my innocence.  I learned that life can be bitter, but bitterness is the only way we can mature.  Though my life so far is not a success story, I have the rest of my life ahead of me, patiently living it one minute at a time.