Moving Forward in Reverse by Scott Martin & Coryanne Hicks

Author:Scott Martin & Coryanne Hicks [Martin, Scott & Hicks, Coryanne]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Biography & Autobiography, Nonfiction, Retail
ISBN: 9781478314714
Google: GNp_mgEACAAJ
Publisher: CreateSpace Independent Publishing Platform
Published: 2013-03-16T04:00:00+00:00

24

On to Gonzaga

I was standing on flat ground in front of a building made mostly of concrete. There was a sign out front. Grey speckled stone and concrete to compliment the building, it declared in cold, metal letters:

The

Charlotte Y. Martin

Athletics Centre

With an eager sigh of anticipation, I shuffled past the strand of neglected bike racks, a precious few bikes scattered throughout like forgotten dishes in a drying rack, and yanked wide one of the four glass doors.

I left the stagnant heat of Spokane in summer for the air-conditioned desolation of a building on Gonzaga’s presently near-deserted campus. Cement walls towered above me. A gabled sunroof lent the memory of warmth to the otherwise austere central hallway. I shuffled onward until I reached a long, glossy wood counter. Seated behind the catwalk-esque desk sat a pale-skinned girl with wavy blond hair bound in a low ponytail. As I approached, she transferred her gaze from the computer monitor she had been watching to my approaching form. Seeing her face-on, I realized she had startlingly clear skin: crisp and white as if the only sunlight she ever received was through the glass-paned roof towering over her head. She smiled at me in a warm but detached way.

‘Hi,’ I greeted her, calm and composed (I hoped). ‘I’m looking for the Athletics Department.’

‘Certainly. Upstairs and down the hall to your left.’ I nodded once and continued on my way.

Upstairs was a gangplank of a walkway that led left and right, linking the two cement walls of the hall. I turned left, as she had instructed and shuffled past a series of red-framed windows, each one providing a glimpse into another facet of the Centre like a living museum. I peered through each window in turn: a room crammed with rows upon rows of treadmills and elliptical machines and stationary bicycles and rowing machines and Stairmasters; an indoor, full-sized track of red turf that overlooked basketball courts on the ground floor below; several rooms of shiny wood floors lined with mirrors. With the exception of two lonesome joggers on far removed treadmills, the place appeared devoid of life and disremembered. Even the joggers seemed to be remnants from bygone days.

I shivered and navigated past a few more display-case rooms until a sign indicated the Athletic Administrative Offices could be found through a door to the left. As I passed from the light of one set of florescent bulbs to that of another, a woman’s voice beckoned to me from my right.

‘Hello!’ she chirped like a door chime the moment I crossed the threshold. I turned my head and determined the source of the call to be a middle-aged woman with fluffy brown hair that filled out the space around her head as generously as she did the navy “Go Zags” sweatshirt she wore. ‘Can I help you with something?’

She beamed at me from behind a counter covered en masse by stacks of documents and manuals for the fall athletic programs. My eyes fell on a familiar cover on the left side of her desk and a small smile tweaked my lips.

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