We’re turning to the flags now, and it might be some digital recording someone pressed play on—the same one from when I stood a step down from Emma yesterday—but it feels more like a full orchestra sitting off the floor playing every bar of “The Star-Spangled Banner” just for me.
I sing along, and the tears start to gather in the corner of my eyes. I don’t fight them or wipe them away, but keep singing, because this moment isn’t forever. It’s right now, and right now my dreams have come true and I want to feel this with every fiber of my being.
“… and the home of the brave,” I sing finally, and my voice cracks on that last note.
The crowd roars its approval and we wave again, lifting the bouquets of apple blossoms in the air to salute them back. Then there are pictures together, and pictures separately, before being led from the floor down back to the tunnel and into the mixed media zone, where reporters are waiting. I can’t even really see any of them, it’s all just a blur.
“Audrey, how do you feel?”
“Numb, I think?”
“Did you know you’d won when you stuck that landing?”
“Absolutely not. I didn’t know I won until I actually won.”
“You’re the first Korean American gold medalist in gymnastics! How does that feel?”
“It’s incredible. I’m so proud to represent so many people who have dreams like mine, and I hope I can inspire them to go for it! I might be the first, but I don’t want to be the last!”
“Audrey, what do you have to say in response to Christopher Gibson’s guilty plea?”
I stop and blink at the reporter who asked it. He’s the same shithead from our pre-Olympic press conference. Before I think of a response that would make Chelsea proud, I’m shuffled along down the line by Mrs. Jackson, who seemed to appear from nowhere.
“Thanks,” I say as she escorts me straight out of the lion’s den and back into the warm-up gym. The girls competing on floor have been escorted out into the arena, and someone’s music is already playing.
“Here,” she says, handing me a bag. It has a Team USA polo and tracksuit pants in it. “Put those on.”
Emma’s with her, already dressed in the same outfit, and immediately I understand what they have in mind. I switch out of the medal ceremony clothes to my tracksuit, still over the leo I wore for beam. One way or another, we’re going to finish these Games out there on the floor, together, as a team.
I hesitate for a second before taking off my medal. Mrs. Jackson has a wooden box for it.
“I won’t let it out of my sight,” she promises.
I nod, and then together, Emma and I sprint through the tunnel. Janet meets us at the entrance and comes off the floor, somehow understanding that we all need to be together for these last moments. We flash our credentials to security and head straight for the chairs by the floor podium, where Chelsea and Dani are waiting to compete.
Somehow, it feels like a different place entirely from where I just received my medal.
“Good, you’re both here,” Dani says, reaching out and squeezing my hand. “You were amazing.”
“Seriously incredible,” Chelsea adds, fiddling with the tape at her wrists. I glance up at the scoreboard. Four girls have already gone; four more to go.
The scores are reasonable, but nothing that Chelsea and Dani can’t match or pass. I breathe a sigh of relief. I want them to have what I did: one last moment of glory.
Chelsea is up next, and when her music starts, she performs with the casual confidence of an athlete who has accomplished everything she’s ever set out to in her sport.
It’s her victory lap.
She keeps her deductions to a minimum on each pass and dances with reckless abandon in a way that forces the judges to take notice. The crowd, whose thundersticks are clapping along on the downbeats, cheers her along. She has them eating out of the palm of her hand, and when she lands her final pass—the last of her career—she changes the usual choreography at the end of her routine to a simple bow to the crowd before she blows a kiss, a farewell to the fans and to the sport.
I scream along with everyone else as they rise to their feet to give her a standing ovation. Chelsea salutes the judges and then races down the stairs. Dani gives her a quick hug—she still has to go up and perform one last time—and then I embrace her tightly.
“Feels good to be done, doesn’t it?” I ask.
“It feels amazing,” she says.
I nod, because that’s something I didn’t realize I’d feel when I was finished. Joy and sadness, obviously, a little bit of fear, but also a tremendous amount of relief. Our entire lives have been about gymnastics for so long, there’s satisfaction in knowing that it’s over, and, as scary the unknown can be, that it’s time to move on.
Chelsea’s score comes up, a 14.3, which slides her into first place for now, with two competitors left. She’s going to medal. It’s just a matter of what color.
