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In the three weeks since Benny had scared me with his car, I hadn’t run on the road once, just the track. But that needed to change. In spite of being exhausted from a lack of sleep, on Monday, I got up as soon as the sun rose and went running by myself. I had to increase my mileage if I wanted to run the Boston Marathon, and I needed to get over my fear. Running in the daylight didn’t scare me, just the dark. The road in front of our house wandered to Valencia Lake, four miles away, so I ran to the end of the lake, sat on a bench there for a few minutes, and turned around and jogged home.
I practiced noticing what was around me while I ran. Three medium-sized alligators lay on the sand beside the lake. They didn’t even glance at me as I ran past. It seemed that alligators weren’t as scary as people. Farther on, a great blue heron dove straight into the water and came up with a big fish. It flew toward the shore and landed awkwardly. I stopped to watch as it jiggled the foot-long fish around to be in line with its throat. Then it swallowed an inch at a time. The heron’s throat became fish-shaped until finally even the tail disappeared inside. The bird flew off, and I smiled and ran on.
When there wasn’t anything interesting to look at, I recalled the faces of people I’d known during my life. I especially liked to remember my favorite teachers. Some of them had been very kind to me, and I didn’t want to forget them.
A couple of miles into the run, a picture of a woman’s face formed in my mind. She had shoulder-length blond hair that was long and wavy, full lips, and a tiny mouth, almost like one of those expensive china dolls. Her face was familiar, but I couldn’t place her. I didn’t think she’d been one of my teachers. Possibly a babysitter. When I was little, I’d stay with babysitters while Mom worked, but I couldn’t remember one who looked like that. I enjoyed trying to recall her face more clearly while I ran.
But rain was threatening, so I cut my run short. At our cottage, I could hear through the open window that Mom and Dad were in the kitchen, arguing. I stopped outside the front door to listen.
Dad yelled, “We can’t stay here any longer. Why can’t I get through to you?”
Mom said in her calmest tone, “I hear you fine. I just don’t agree. We’ve only been here a few months, for heaven’s sake. We agreed to stay until Faye graduates from high school, and that’s what we’re going to do.”
A cold sweat covered me. Would Dad make us leave? He usually did, in spite of Mom’s protests. I wondered what kind of trouble he’d gotten into. I crept closer to the kitchen window, and an azalea branch scratched my cheek. I let out a groan. Mom and Dad instantly stopped talking. I waited, hoping they would start again.
Instead, Mom said, “Faye, is that you?”
Sighing, I rubbed my cheek and went inside. I asked as innocently as possible, “What’s going on? Is everything all right?”
Dad slammed a cup down on the drain board. “Just getting some water before I go back outside.” He turned to Mom. “Think about it, all right?” Then he grabbed his work gloves off the table and headed out the door.
Mom said to his back, “I’ve said all I’m going to say on the matter.” She looked at me. “Stop lurking. We’re just having a little disagreement. Nothing to worry about.” She rolled her shoulders. When Dad was gone, Mom turned to me. “Why are you up so early? Nightmares again?”
“I just wanted to run.”
She looked at me as though she didn’t fully believe me. “You haven’t had nightmares in years. Why do you think they’re back?”
“I don’t know.” They had started after Benny had scared me when I was out running, but I didn’t dare tell that to Mom. She would take any excuse to make me stop.
She sighed. “All right. Have it your way.” After a pause, she asked, “What do you want for breakfast?”
I hoped Mom had won that round of the never-ending argument with Dad and we could stay in Valencia for at least five more months. Staying for another year and a half was too much to expect. But after the marathon, when my scholarship to college was assured, I wouldn’t mind moving so much.
* * *
THE THREE OF US ATE Thanksgiving dinner together after Mom and I took the Barretts’ turkey and fixings over to them. I’d been thinking about the Boston Marathon, and I couldn’t get over the feeling that something about it was familiar. I couldn’t ask about it directly, because they probably wouldn’t answer.
When we had all dug into our food, I said, “I’ve been trying to remember all the places we’ve lived on Thanksgiving.” Mom and Dad had fun with it and thought of eight or nine different places. They laughed as they remembered all the different homes, some more run-down than others. Our cottage in Valencia was one of the best.
“The first Thanksgiving was in Massachusetts,” I said. “Did we ever live there?”
Mom said, “No, honey. We were a few months in upstate New York, but that’s about as close as we got.”
“Something about it seems familiar.”
“Upstate New York is pretty similar. Maybe we’ll go there one day and you’ll see. We could visit Plymouth Rock, too.” She scanned the table. “Bud, would you pass Faye the sweet potatoes?”
Mom’s eyebrow was twitching the way it did when she was lying. I had no idea why she would lie about where we’d lived, and I didn’t want to push the subject when things were going so well. I got quiet, and Mom and Dad talked for a few minutes about the states they’d never visited. Pretty soon, they fell silent, too.
Mom lied to me even when she was having fun, even when there was no reason to lie. Dad probably did, too, but I couldn’t tell with him. Sick to death of my family, I concentrated on eating as much as I could. Since I’d started running so many miles, I felt like a bottomless pit.
* * *
FRANCIE INVITED ME for a sleepover that Saturday night. I’d never been to a sleepover before, so I accepted. I was taking a risk that I’d wake up Francie’s whole family with my thrashing and screaming. I’d have to warn her about my nightmares before we went to bed.
Her house was much larger than our little cottage and blissfully quiet. Her parents were at a party, and Kyle had gone back to college. Fortunately, I wouldn’t need to face him. Francie and I heated up Thanksgiving leftovers and listened to records in the living room. Later, in the dark, I told her how Benny had scared me to death. I warned her that I might wake up screaming.
“That little creep. I’ve been in school with him since first grade, and he’s always been a jerk. We’ve got to do something about this. He can’t get away with what he did to you.”
“Of course he can. He’s a boy. He can do anything.”
She turned on her bedside lamp and stared at me. “Surely you don’t believe that.”
I counted it out on my fingers. “All right, let’s just look at athletics, for instance. Boys can play football, and girls get stuck being cheerleaders. Boys can win medals in track, whereas girls can’t. There aren’t any sports for girls in Valencia except for intramural softball. But boys have everything from archery to... well, everything. So tell me about the difference between boys and girls.”
She thought about it for a while. “You may be right about athletics. But that’s going to change. This is 1967, after all—women’s liberation is a big deal. Don’t change the subject. I’m not going to let Benny get away with harassing you.”
“All right. What do you have in mind?”
She considered. “Maybe something to do with his car. Or else somebody ought to scare him when he’s alone.”
I laughed with anticipation. This was getting fun. “How about we let the air out of his tires, then?”
“Yeah, that works. Not too mean, but it should make the point. We can leave him a note so he’ll be sure to get the message.”
We giggled and made plans. Benny lived in town, about three miles from Francie’s house. She wasn’t allowed to borrow the family car without permission, so we would have to walk. Or run. At three in the morning, long after Francie’s parents had come home and gone to bed, we stuffed pillows under the covers to make it look like we were still lying there. It was hard to muffle our nervous laughter as we tiptoed out.
The night was clear and cool. Stars shone down on us like blessings. Valencia closed up by ten on weeknights and eleven o’clock on weekends, so that night we were able to run down the middle of the street. I wasn’t afraid at all, running at night with my friend beside me. Our feet hit the pavement in sync, and I felt so light I thought I could run all the way to the coast, or beyond.
Benny’s huge rattletrap of a car was parked on the street in front of the house. The porch light was on, but the rest of the house was dark. I took the back tires and Francie the front. After I unscrewed the cap from the valve, I pushed in the point with a nail file. A loud whooshing made me jump. Stopping for a minute, I looked around, but nothing moved.
I was on the second tire when a dog across the street barked. Then another dog down the block answered. Francie and I looked at each other, trying to decide whether to run away or finish the job. I gestured that we should take off, but she shook her head and bent down to finish letting the air out of a tire.
The door to Benny’s house burst open and a man yelled, “What’s going on here?”
Francie signaled for me to run, but I stood rooted to the spot. All I could do was stare at the man in the doorway.
“What are you girls doing?” He was in a robe and flip-flops, walking quickly down the sidewalk. Francie and I were both standing on the side of the car closest to him. He grabbed my arm—not hard but firmly enough that I couldn’t squirm out. “Who are you, and what are you doing to my son’s car?”
Lights flickered on in the house. A woman stood in the doorway. “Mike, what’s going on? You’re waking up the whole neighborhood.”
“Call the cops, Emmy. They’re vandalizing Benny’s car. And wake Benny up. I need him out here.” While he held me, the man stared at Francie. “I know you. You’re Richard Ivey’s kid. Get over here.”
The next few minutes were hours long. Neighbors came out to see the flat tires, chuckled a little, and went back inside. But Benny’s father made us sit down on the sidewalk and wait for the cops.
His wife said, “Oh, Mike, didn’t you do something like this when you were a kid? It’s the middle of the night. Let them go. See how scared they are.”
And we were. I was trembling so hard I wasn’t sure I could stand up if I tried. Francie looked the same. But Benny’s father refused to budge. “No, they need to learn a lesson.”
Then Benny ambled out and stared at us. He’d put on shorts and a T-shirt but was barefoot. He just shook his head as if he had no idea who we were or why we would do such a thing.
Mr. Maxwell pulled our note out from under the windshield wiper and carried it to the porch. I glanced at Francie. She nodded toward her house. It was a good time to run, but I couldn’t move. Mr. Maxwell read the letter and called Benny over.
“Son, I want you to listen to this.” He read aloud: “This is for running an innocent girl runner off the road. Think about it, you jerk.”
He peered at me. “Hey, you’re the girl who ran in the track meet. I recognize you from TV.” He turned to glare at his son. “Did you run one of these girls off the road?”
“No, sir.”
He turned back to us. “Did this happen to one of you? Did my son run you off the road?”
My mouth was too dry to form words, so Francie answered for me. “Yes, sir, he drove his car so close to my friend that she had to run on the shoulder, and she fell into an anthill. She could have broken her ankle.”
A police car drove up. Fortunately, it didn’t use a siren or flashing lights. Two men, one in a uniform and the other in slacks and a dress shirt, got out. The uniformed one asked, “What’s going on here?”
Nobody answered. I wondered what my parents would do when they received a phone call to come and bail me out of jail. I felt the beginning of one of my spells. My vision got cloudy, with neon lights dancing around and blocking out the porch light. My head felt as if somebody had hit me with a hammer. To keep myself from fainting, I put my head down between my knees and listened to the silence that dragged on.
Finally, Mr. Maxwell said in a strange tone, “Nothing, Officer. It was just a misunderstanding. I don’t think we need you.”
One of the officers said, “It looks like somebody let the air out of your tires.”
“No, my son must have run over some nails.” Mr. Maxwell shook his head and shrugged.
The man in street clothes turned to me. “Are you all right, miss?”
By this time, my vision was beginning to clear, and I didn’t feel so strange. My head still ached, but I looked up and nodded.
“Well, then, why are you girls out in the middle of the night?”
“We were going for a run, sir.” My voice squeaked. “It’s cool out now, so it’s a good time to run.”
The corners of his mouth curled up. “Is that so? What are your names, and where do you live?”
I considered making up a name or address, but for once, my ability to lie deserted me. I couldn’t think of anything but the truth, so I told him. I started to breathe hard and shook like an out-of-balance washing machine.
He looked over at Francie. “I’m going to let you two go now. But I want you to run right home. We’ll follow you to make sure you get home safely. And from now on, do your running in the daylight. It’s not safe for young girls out late at night.” He handed each of us a card. “If you have any more trouble from this young man or anybody else, you give me a call. And don’t take the law into your own hands.” He grinned, showing that we hadn’t fooled him. I nodded, afraid I might break into tears of relief.
The police radio squawked, and the officers looked back at their car.
Mr. Maxwell said, “How about if I drive them home? I don’t mind, and I think my son has something to say to them.”
The officers agreed and drove away. When they were gone, Mr. Maxwell said to Benny, “I’m ashamed of you, son. I really can’t blame these girls for trying to teach you a lesson. Now, apologize for what you did.”
Benny’s face flushed. “It wasn’t like they said. They’re trying to make me look bad.”
“Benjamin, what did I just say to you?”
Looking at me with a combination of hostility and embarrassment, Benny eventually said, “Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“All right, then.” Mr. Maxwell turned to his son. “In the morning, you can pump up these tires. Get back to bed. I’ll take these girls home.”
“We’ll be happy to run, sir,” Francie said hopefully. “It’s not that far.”
“No. I’ll take you.”
He drove us to Francie’s house without saying another word. When we thanked him for not telling the cops what we did, he said, “I’m sorry for my son’s actions. What he did was wrong.” He hesitated. “But don’t do anything like that again. If I see you out at night again, I’ll call both of your parents. You hear me?”
“Yes, sir.”
We tiptoed into the house, clutching the cards from the police officer. Francie’s parents’ bedroom door was still closed. The house lights were still off. I couldn’t believe our luck. We’d gotten away with it.
Francie and I lay in her twin beds and laughed wildly before we spent hours talking ourselves down from the excitement. I fell asleep knowing there was one person in the world I could trust. And I woke up in the morning without having had a single nightmare.