Participant
by Arthur Simone

(Arthur delivers to the audience.  Behind him there is a projected slide of Arthur as an 11-year-old at a swim meet.)

As a pre-teen, I would run around on summer weekends at swim team meets in just my purple Speedos and flip-flops, eating pickles and sucking on bagged ice from the bottoms of red plastic igloo coolers.  My poor skinny little thighs would inevitably become fatigued from too much play, dusty and cooked with sunburn, leaving me weak and paralyzed for that frantic 50-yard freestyle swim in the country club pool that tasted of chlorine and nerves.  The race heats would come and go, with some distant phantom kid with the last name of Carmichael eventually taking home first place because he deserved it while I took home the consolation prize- the "participant" ribbon. (Arthur pulls out green participation ribbon)

 

My introduction to the factory green participation ribbon, "Good job," and "Nice effort" stank of a manufactured equality, that buffer for hurt feelings of purple Speedo kids who so obviously failed their physical tests because they kept thinking too much about pickles and ice.  The gesture was resented, participation slowly became shame as I thought about how fucking silly I looked half-naked in flip-flops.  (the projected slide changes to Arthur as he is now, 24 years old.)

 

(Pause) When she told me thirteen years later, "It isn't you, it's me," and "I'm no good for you," and "I don't think about you that way," all I could think about was that phantom first place kid named Carmichael that she's started seeing somehow because he deserves it.  (Arthur begins to undress)  The café glass of water I stare into as she breaks up with me sips of chlorine and nerves again; I failed my physical test.  Was it the pickles and ice, the weakness and sunburn?

 

She tries to give me a participation ribbon:  "Good job," "Nice effort," she says,"I think you're really nice and I'd like to still be friends."  You can see me turning factory green as I say, "Keep your fucking consolation prize."

 

(Arthur is in a purple Speedo and flip flops as he chomps down onto a pickle.  End)