Eww . . . Gross?

I can’t believe she did that. It’s disgusting … and inspiring … at the same time. I know I would never do that, but then again, what if I had to?

I walked into the girls bathroom across from the debate practice room and there, lying on the floor, wedged under the door of the farthest stall, was the body of my middle-aged roly-poly debate coach. I could see her from the mid-back down to her feet; the ugly orthopedic shoes she wore were resting on her puffy feet, demurely crossed since she was wearing a skirt. The rest of her was under the door, in the stall. All I could think at that moment was, “Gross. All those germs! The bathroom floor!”

Then I heard her speak, quietly and gently. “Sarah, it’s ok. I’ll stay with you as long as you need.”

My debate partner Sarah was what some might call a fragile person. While she was a beautiful girl with long dark hair and soulful eyes, her appearance disguised the pain below the surface. She had been involved with drugs in middle school and she suffered from severe depression. She had cut herself several times and even had tried suicide twice. As her debate partner, I kept a close eye on her at practices and at tournaments. I was more than just her partner—I was her friend, and I worried she might try to hurt herself. It was difficult to know what might set her off, what might trip the switch in her head that made her turn to hurting herself. We were a great debate team, but the extra attention she needed could be exhausting. Don’t get me wrong: I loved Sarah as my best friend, but I knew she was tormented by troubles I couldn’t comprehend.

While we were brainstorming ways to counter the arguments run by our archrivals during the debate meeting, Sarah had asked to use the bathroom. No big deal. The bathroom was just ten steps away from the classroom. When she hadn’t returned after fifteen minutes, I went to check on her. Sarah had locked herself in the handicapped stall and wouldn’t come out. I went back and reported it to Coach, who thought it might be best to give her a few more minutes. Ten minutes later and still no Sarah. This was when Coach went over to handle it.

Another ten minutes later and there was no word from either of them. I had to investigate. It was a standard school bathroom: three stalls painted in the school’s color of maroon, the third was extra wide for handicapped students. As I walked in, I saw Coach stretched out on the floor with the upper part of her body jammed under the furthest stall door. She was talking calmly to Sarah.

“Sarah, it’s ok. I’ll stay with you as long as you need. Besides, I’m not going anywhere—I’m stuck. The only way I’m leaving is if you get up and open this door. Literally.”

That got a little giggle out of Sarah. Imagine, a middle-aged female high school teacher squeezing herself under a bathroom door with no hope of leaving, just to make sure one of her students stayed safe. She had no qualms about lying in god-only-knows-what on a high school bathroom floor if it meant helping a kid. It was gross, ridiculous, and amazing – all at once.

It didn’t take too long before Sarah got up and released Coach from her trapped position, and they both came out, smiling. Coach calmly washed her hands, cleaned her glasses with a bit of her dress, and patted her hair into place. I was at the bathroom door and walked out with both of them. Practice continued as though nothing had happened and we were readied to take on our nemeses at the next tournament. But it wasn’t “nothing.” It was everything.