Elizabeth Ulbrickson is the daughter of Al Ulbrickson, the rowing coach of the University of Washington. That's all you need to know.
"The Boys in the Boat" (2023)
INTERMISSION: This chapter is narrated by Joe Rantz
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Maybe I shouldn't have kissed her.
I'd never been good with women. I'd never been good with people in general. I'd never been good at talking to them, communicating, expressing myself with words. I had always been an isolated kid.
Maybe I shouldn't have kissed her. Maybe I stepped over the line. Maybe I crossed it, blinded hopefully. But she did say You could've done this sooner... But now she won't talk to me, she won't even look in my direction.
Maybe I should've opened a bit more. Maybe I should've told her my mother's name was Halley when she talked about that comet. Or maybe I should've been more quiet. The whole hand thing was weird. It was stupid. You're so fucking stupid.
Maybe I ruined everything before it was ever something.
I was sitting on my bed, while glancing at her drawing. (I had a bed, a comfortable place to rest my body, a safe place to sleep. I struggled to believe that was real). I couldn't help but think about those drawings on George's wall that she made at 14 years old. And I couldn't help but to compare to what I was doing at 14: burying the sorrow and anger of being abandoned, of being left behind.
The drawing was pretty, though. Maybe I shouldn't have taken this, actually. Or maybe it was the best thing I could've done. Maybe this is all I will ever have of her. Maybe this effortless depicted landscape is the finish line of what I thought we were about to have. Maybe this is a souvenir. I think I'm okay with that.
Of course I'm not okay with that.
Elizabeth had an unbelievable power over me. She had the power to make me believe. Just believe. Believe in anything, really. Believe in everything, mostly. Believe in me.
It was hard to explain why, but if I had to take a guess it would be the way she talked to me, the way she expressed herself. Her words were like honey. Her blue eyes sparkled, glimmered. She glowed in the way the moon aspires to do, in a way that made the sun rot in jealousy.
