I visualized the rope all through my psychology class. The teacher, Harold Anderson, talked about Pavlov's dog while I thought of Joe Megna, his crewcut, and his fat face. I'd done a hundred push-ups every eight hours over the weekend in hopes of successfully climbing the rope, but I feared utter failure because my arms felt incapable of writing down Anderson's lecture about Pavlov's theories regarding repeated actions and reactions of animals verses humans. The bottom line, I was tired.

As I walked across campus heading for the locker room, I thought of skipping the class. I was too vulnerable, I was too sore. Megna would be all over me. Mortification would fill my next 90 minutes if Ientered that gym when suddenly seventh grade popped into my mind and I remembered the horrors of Junior High School gym class.

Keith Barrett was my locker partner and he could never remember our locker combination. I could remember it, but it would take me at least three tries to get it open. We were about the same size and never knew if we were wearing each other's gym clothes. I used to think that's why they made us partners, because we were the same size and could share clothes. Made sense to me.

I remember Keith because he was sick, cancer. The teacher would always make sure he was okay before we started. This class was the first time I ever climbed a rope, but now that I remember, it didn't happen right away then either.

Neither Keith or I could climb, not even half way. He would root me on and I him, but to no avail. And by the end of the first week of rope climbing, we were the only two unable to climb. Also, by the end of the first week, Keith would throw up everyday after class. I would wait for him and then we would go back to homeroom together. Many times we were late, but Mrs. Molloy always smiled with love on us and never said a word. In a few weeks Keith didn't come back to school anymore. And a few weeks after that, Mrs. Molloy announced that Keith had died and gone to Heaven. I didn't cry. Nobody did. None of us really comprehended what she meant. Keith was just in another place, but he still existed, somewhere. I knew that. I also believed unquestionably that Keith could see me. So at home I did pull-ups and push-ups eagerly to show him that he may have left me behind, but I would climb the rope, I would climb the rope.

All of a sudden I found myself changed and heading for the gym. Coach Megna glared, disappointed to see me. "All right Miguel, head for the rope. Let's get your failure over with."

I thought of Keith and my arms grew stronger but I knew climbing that rope today would still be impossible. I grasped my hands around it and pulled, but again I failed.

I was tired and disillusioned. What the hell was I doing here? What good was this doing me? I looked over to Coach Megna. For a moment I saw a glimmer of sympathy, which clearly dissipated into a grin. "Don't sweat it Miguel, not everybody was meant to be strong."

He laughed alone, my classmates just rolled there eyes. One of the more macho guys walked passed me on the way to his rope and said, "Hey man, keep going, it don't got nothing to do with getting there, it'sabout trying." I knew that and I nodded, but damn it felt great to have someone just a little on your side.