Authors: Jonathan Friesen
Rush (25 page)
I turn back. The guy in red is gone.
I blink hard and splash through the clearing.
Late afternoon with skies this dark? Kid'll get lost for sure.
“Hold up!” I dart in after him.
Can't be more than a few steps ahead.
I run my hard, angry run, but fifteen minutes pass and I haven't caught anyone. No way he's still in front of me. He probably never started inâ
A flash of red rounds the next bend.
I push harder but don't gain.
Use your head, Carrier!
I duck onto a footpath that snakes through dense tree cover. Sticks and brambles crunch beneath my feet, and tree limbs gouge and scratch my arms. I pop out of the woods and rejoin the trail as the kid passes. He screams, startled, and races by me. It's not a boy scream.
Can't be.
I grit my teeth and pull alongside her on a straightaway through a field.
“What are you doin'?” I huff.
“I'm running a race.” She speaks easily, her breath barely audible.
I'm quiet except for the squeak of my waterlogged shoes. I pick up my pace, glance to my left. Our arms bump and we reenter the woods.
“You know nobody else is?” I say.
“What?” she asks.
“Running a race.”
She pulls up. I try to stop and turn, but my feet slide on a tree root. Both feet flip up, and I land on my gut in a puddle of mud. I groan, push up to my knees, and look up at her.
I watch raindrops trickle down her cheek; see them kiss her lips before continuing their path down her neck. The drops disappear behind the red shirt and shorts that cling tight against her, before they emerge and trail down her legs, drip off her body.
Lucky raindrops.
Lucky raindrops.
Her body is beautiful and she runs fast and I can't remember who spoke last.
“Weren't you racing, too?” She looks at me, all of me. I wish I were covered with more mud. My opponent cocks her head, gently bites her lip.
I look down. “The sky is dark. I thought you might get lost.”
She moves close. I glance up, but I'm still on my knees and I can't find an appropriate spot to put my gaze. I drop my eyes to her ankles.
Even her ankles are pretty.
“So you ran through the woods to make sure I'd stay on the trail?”
I nod.
She laughs. It's cute. “Where do you go to school?”
“Mitrista.”
“Well, Mr. Mitrista, I run for Minnetonka, and I don't need your help. But I am training, and I do need these miles.” She whispers, “Thanks for the push.”
She reaches out her hand, but when I don't shake it, she brushes soaked hair off my forehead. My eyes close, and when I open them she's looking at her smeary brown fingers. She smiles and leans forward. Her breath is warm against my ear.
“You're muddy.”
She straightens and takes off running.
I turn to watch. She stops and looks back over her shoulder. “Are you going to make it home?”
I nod my mud-caked head and point toward the ground. “I live here.”
Again, she smiles.
I look down where my finger points at the mud puddle.
I live here? What kind of stupid line is that? And get up off your knees, Carrier!
I live here? What kind of stupid line is that? And get up off your knees, Carrier!
I grab a nearby limb and haul myself to my feet. “I meant that I live near here.”
She's gone.
I glance around. My muscles don't jerk, and I close my eyes. I breathe deep, and like the third runner who finally catches up, the disease overtakes me. Slowly at firstâa hard eyeblink. But that's not enough; there's more that has to work its way out, and my teeth grind. Movement spreads to my shoulder, and soon my whole body springs to twitchy life.
Good thing she ran off when she did.
I run through our imagined conversation start to finish.
“Hi, my name's Sam. What school do you run for? What's your name? Do you like muddy guys who talk to you from their knees?” I exhale long and hard.
Shouldn't have bolted out of that small-talk lesson.
Shouldn't have bolted out of that small-talk lesson.
I stare one last time down the path where the most beautiful girl in the world had run. Then I take off my number, turn, and trudge back the way I came.
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