Regardless of where he was, what time it was, who was there, what they were doing, or why they were doing it, Peter Mayhew very rarely felt out of place. Anywhere. Ever.

Towering over the other students in the class by a few feet as they all stood in a row with their backs to the wall, even he felt slightly awkward.

“Hey,” a little girl standing to Peter’s left whispered.

Peter looked down at her curiously. He was terrible at guessing the ages of children. In Peter Mayhew’s eyes the human development stages went as follows: baby, toddler, small child and big child (both of which were approximately 12 years old, if Peter were asked to clarify), teenager, young adult, and finally, adult - which covered the period of time from when an individual turned 25 until their death.

He didn’t have to guess to know that the small child that had just spoken to him was 9 years old. The 9 year old gymnastics class was the only one he could fit into his schedule this week.

Ordinarily an adult would never be allowed to attend a children’s gymnastics lesson but his good friend Andy was one of the coaches for this particular gymnasium. Andy and his partner Jake had been Peter’s dear friends for many years and, when Peter flippantly mentioned his interest in learning to do a few moves, Andy invited him to come and attend one of his classes.

“What’s up?” Peter whispered back.

“Your feet are wrong,” she replied, voice low so as to not attract the attention of her coach.

“Wrong?” Peter asked, looking down at his feet accusingly. “They seem okay. Are you sure?”

The little girl giggled.

“Look at everyone else,” she suggested.

Peter did so, paying close attention to the other student’s feet. Every single tiny gymnast had their heels together, toes out. Looking back to his own feet Peter realized that his, like that of any 31 year old man that had never attended a gymnastics lesson in his life, were the only feet not in such a position. He corrected that and turned back to the girl.

“Thanks for the tip,” he whispered. “You must be good at this.”

“Hem hem,” Andy chutted as he approached his students. “Grace, we’ve been over this. There will be time for chatting after class.”

“I’m sorry Coach Andy,” the little girl to Peter’s left, Grace, said sheepishly. Both her knees and shoulders drew together slightly at the public admonishment.

Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.

“My fault, Andy… Err, Coach Andy. Sir. She was just trying to keep me from looking silly,” Peter said, rushing to his tiny new friend’s defense.

Andy looked Peter up and down appraisingly in the way that only flamboyantly gay men do. Brows slightly together, lips scrunched up, chin close to the chest, arms folded, and one hip slightly out.

“Grace, dear, that was very sweet of you. But I should tell you that keeping Peter Mayhew from looking silly is a task far beyond us mere mortals.”

The children all laughed at Peter’s expense as they turned curious faces to get a look at him. Peter gave Andy a very flat expression.

“Thanks,” he said without inflection.

“Mr. Mayhew is our special guest today,” Andy went on as though nothing happened. “Can everyone say, ‘hello Mr. Mayhew’?”

“Hello Mr. Mayhew,” came a chorus of tiny voices.

Peter stepped forward, turned to face the children, and smiled brightly. “Hello, children.”

“Mr. Mayhew asked if I could help him learn to do a standing back tuck,” Andy went on, pacing in front of his students with his hands clasped behind his back as Peter resumed his place with his back against the wall. “Who would like to volunteer to demonstrate?”

A girl on the far end of the row stepped forward eagerly.

“I will,” she said with an air of superiority, her shoulders back and head held high.

“Thank you, Amanda,” Andy said, beckoning her over to the middle of the floor. “Peter, watch closely.”

To his left Peter heard a sharp nasal exhalation. Grace, judging by the look of contempt on her face, was not a big Amanda fan. Amused, Peter smiled. Amanda’s backflip was impressive. Effortless. And she landed it easily. There was another sharp nasal exhalation from Peter’s left when Amanda threw both arms into the air triumphantly as though she’d just stuck the landing at an Olympic event.

“I have those same shorts,” Peter whispered to Grace.

She snorted.

Coach Andy nodded, patted Amanda on the back, and then sent her back to her place against the wall.

“One thing of note,” Andy said, looking directly at Peter as he strode over, stopping between Peter and Grace, “is that Amanda has already practiced all of the steps involved hundreds of times. You, Mr. Mayhew, will need to start from the beginning. Grace, can you tell Peter the first thing I taught you about performing a flawless standing back tuck?”

“First,” she said the word slowly, eyes rolling upward as she recalled the memory. “First, you make us jump and land on our back. Then roll all the way over and push up to stand.”

“Exactly right. Will you show Mr. Mayhew how to practice the first step?”

Grace nodded and then led Peter to a raised and cushioned blue platform.

“It’s soft, so it won’t hurt. I’ll show you,” Grace said. She put her back to the cushion, leaned forward, and let her hands hang down around her knees. “You put your hands here so you can use the momentum when you jump.”

Grace demonstrated, jumping and then essentially just flopping onto her back and rolling through the motion of a backflip on the cushion.

“Now you do it,” she instructed, stepping off.

Peter nodded seriously. He got into position, bent his knees, and readied himself to flop. He jumped, leaned back, and landed much more heavily on the cushion than he had meant to. Instead of gracefully rolling back to his feet like the little girl did effortlessly, Peter winced and groaned. The first step toward learning to do a backflip threw out his back.

“Coach Andy!” Grace shouted, turning to locate the adult.

“Grace,” Peter said with a weak, pleading voice. He beckoned her closer and the girl hurried over, dropping to her knees and looking at him with concern in her big blue eyes.

“Closer,” Peter said, whispering now.

Grace leaned closer.

“Don’t…” he choked out. “Ever…” Peter paused, grasping at his back dramatically. “Get old.”