They threw Frank's tracksuit in the sea together, and there it floated outwards with the tide, like pond-life. Some things aren't worth keeping in life, and this seemed one of them; what wasn't one of those things was the kind of friendship that keeps you asking questions, and Lorrie and Frank were full of them.
Lorrie had been a successful childhood gymnast, that was the answer to question number four of Frank's:
'What were you best at when you were ten years old?'
Lorrie detailed that even though she had been talented at gymnastics that she didn't so much enjoy it because she didn't like how tight everything had to be, tight hair, tight leotard, tight smiles and tight little thoughts that made for tight victories.
She described for Frank the day she left her gymnastics team:
'I turned up for training in a trench coat and said I wanted to do something new, and so I cartwheeled with my hair down and snarled at everyone. After four cartwheels I sat myself down on one of the mats and ate myself a cheeseburger which I'd bought on the walk in, it tasted good even if it was squashed-up and luke warm. I was asked by my coach if something had happened, and i told her I'd gotten my period, and she tried to look like she knew how that felt, but the struggle in her eyes told me she couldn't remember, and I was lying anyway, because I was at that age where you lied just because you could. I was thirteen. I never went back to training again. My coach Mrs Brady called my house for weeks after that day, trying to get me to change my mind. She would tell me i had 'it!' She would tell my parents I had 'it!' too, and my brother, even though he didn't care to listen. Then my parents would tell me I had 'it!' and my friends, the annoying ones, they'd tell me I had 'it!', and so i decided I wouldn't be friends with these people any more, because they obviously didn't listen to me, because if they did they would've heard me say, near a thousand times, that i didn't know what 'it!' was, and that I had no interest in knowing what 'it!' was, because I was different now. I thought wearing a trench coat might have made that clear to people, but I was wrong. I'd be wrong about a lot of things at that age, so it happened, but at least I could lie and say that I wasn't. My parents had gotten too old to lie and be convincing about it. There's a small window in life to be an effective liar and in my opinion it runs from the age of about 12 to 24, I appreciate this estimate may alter from person to person, but in consideration of the people I've met in my life, I find this to be a pretty accurate estimation'
How old are you now? Frank asked Lorrie.
'25' She said.
'Let's go grab a coffee, I'm cold'
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