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Reese was busy rehearsing for the school play, so I didn’t see much of him for a couple of weeks after our date. I didn’t know if he was ignoring me or what, but there wasn’t anything I could do about it, so I put my energy into running.
February was perfect running weather in Central Florida—highs in the sixties, azaleas shimmering with pink or white blossoms, fragrant purple clusters of wisteria, and low humidity. Francie and I ran down country roads in the mornings before school, often accompanied by Jess, who came along to protect us from drivers trying to run us off the road. Some drivers weren’t willing to cross the solid line even a foot to give us room to run. Many of the worst offenders were women. They glared at us as we trotted onto the shoulder to avoid getting run over, as if we were insulting them by daring to run out in the open. They weren’t like Benny, who really was trying to scare me, but they scared me anyway. I was always the first to move onto the shoulder.
Speaking of Benny, he hadn’t bothered me again. I occasionally saw him in the halls, walking with his cheerleader girlfriend, but he looked away when I passed. Even though he wasn’t a problem anymore, I stayed close to Jess when we were running, in case some other nutcase bothered us. It felt a little awkward at first, running with a black man, but after a few days, I forgot about his race and got comfortable calling him by his first name.
Jess liked to run. “Like Jesse Owens, the man I was named for, the fastest man alive. Not the fastest black man—the fastest man. Nobody’s ever beat his record. And he’s from Alabama, the next state over. Jesse Owens won four gold medals for track at the 1936 Olympics and wasn’t treated right by the US government. President Roosevelt didn’t even send him a congratulatory telegraph.”
After knowing Jess for only a month, I’d heard the story numerous times, and I tried not to roll my eyes when he started on it again. Instead, I attempted to sidetrack him. “Hey, Jess, tell us about the Boston Marathon.”
The corners of his mouth curled up, and he winked at me. He was willing to switch to a different monologue. “Ah, the biggest event in distance running in the country, except for the Olympics. There are other races, but Boston is the only marathon. Both times when I finished it, I thought I was in heaven. Heaven, I say. You girls are gonna feel the same way when you cross the finish line. The crowds cheer you on, and you get to finally stop running.” He cackled and slapped his knee.
He’d told us this one several times, too, but I never tired of hearing it or imagining crossing that finish line.
“When y’all run that race, you’ll be part of history. Yes, indeed. Women were included in the earliest Olympic running events. One woman fell down after running the eight hundred meters in the 1928 Olympics. That was only about half a mile, but the judges ruled that women’s bodies were too frail to compete in running. That’s not true, as you well know. But women weren’t allowed to run the eight hundred meters again until the 1960 Olympics. Soon, women will be allowed to run marathons with the men, and you’ll be part of that.”
Francie and I glanced at each other and smiled. The man had so much wind that he could chatter even after running ten miles in the cool winter mornings. Although at least thirty years older than we were, he could run us into the ground. I hoped I would be able to justify his faith in me.
That particular morning was misty, with steam rising from the ponds and lakes we passed. The heavy mist obscured the dawn and made me wonder if I was on a different planet. The mist would burn off soon, and the day would warm up, but before dawn, the cool air was refreshing.
I tried to keep up but kept having to stop to rest. My breath came out raspy, and I slumped to the ground, putting my head between my legs.
Jess bent over and asked, “Are you sick or what?”
I kept my head down and shook it as I struggled to stay awake.
Francie squatted beside me and asked in a whisper, “Hey, are you on your period?”
I whispered back, “No. I haven’t had my period in a couple of months. Am I going to die?”
“If you are, so am I. My mom said that hard exercise like this can disrupt a woman’s cycle. Maybe that’s it.” I heard concern in her voice. “So what’s wrong, Faye? Did you eat breakfast this morning?”
I nodded.
“If not that, then what?”
“I’m still not sleeping very well,” I said, trying not to cry as I looked at their concerned faces. “I wake up nearly every night with these terrible nightmares. They started a few months ago when a guy from school ran me off the road one night.” Francie nodded, and I told Jess about the dream of being in a dark place and screaming and nobody would come and help me. “It seems to be getting worse.” I glared at Jess. “But don’t try to stop me from running. If I don’t run the Boston Marathon, I’m nothing.”
Francie and Jess stayed quiet. We watched the mist recede and the sun, bright and welcoming, rise above the orange groves.
Jess asked, “Are you afraid of something, Faye? Or did something terrible happen to you when you were younger?”
“I don’t know. Not that I know of.”
“Teenage girls can be really sensitive to things going on around them.” He sounded tentative. “Is everything all right at home?”
No, everything was not all right. My dad constantly harped about wanting to move to someplace where the work wasn’t so hard, but my mom refused. They fought about it all the time. Francie knew about the fights, but there was no way I was going to tell Jess.
“Yeah, it’s all right.”
He said, “I know a woman who’s a counselor in town. Her name is Terry Johnson. She works with other teenagers, and she might be able to help you.”
A counselor? Was I that bad off? It didn’t matter. “My parents wouldn’t pay for that.”
He hesitated. “But if she would do it for free, would you go?”
“I don’t know... I guess so.”
“Great. I sold a house to her a few months ago. I’ll see what I can do.”
We sat quietly for a while. Then I asked, “Are you afraid of anything, Jess?”
He answered right away. “I’m afraid of getting lynched for running with white women. Every time I leave the house, my wife kisses me and says, ‘Now you be sure and come back to me.’”
We sat still, stunned. I couldn’t tell for sure if he was serious.
“My God, if you’re afraid of that, why do you take the risk and run with us?” Francie sounded as concerned and confused as I was.
“Because I don’t want to give in to my fears. If people don’t take the chance, how will things ever change? Y’all two need me, and I can help you. But I’m still afraid. This is the South, after all.”
I raised my head and stared at him. “I didn’t realize you were afraid, too. You seem so strong and... confident.”
“I think everybody’s afraid of something, Faye. Getting older helps you do a better job of living with it, I guess. And you learn that what you’re afraid of rarely happens. Even lynchings don’t happen as often as they used to. I’m willing to take my chances to do something good in the world.” He paused. “You ready to get started again? We’re a long way from school, and you’re almost late for first period. I don’t want the principal coming down on me because I got you back late. He already doesn’t like me much.” Grinning, he said, “We need to stretch out before we start. Can’t risk you getting injured only two months before the marathon.”
On the way back, the other two ran slowly, adapting to my pace. My legs wouldn’t go fast, no matter how much I willed them to. I didn’t like being the turtle instead of the hare. But it was going to change, I vowed. I’d do whatever I needed to run that race.
* * *
THE PHONE RANG AT NINE o’clock on a Thursday evening. Mom had already gone to bed, so Dad answered. After a few seconds, he called to me. “Faye, it’s Tommy. Don’t talk long. It’s already late, and it’s a school night.”
Tommy? Why would he call me? Tommy was this shy, brilliant guy in my biology class. The only conversation we’d ever had was when we had to share a microscope to look at slides.
“Hello?” I tried to sound cool, but I wasn’t sure how successful I was.
“Hey, Faye. Don’t say my name, but it’s Kyle.”
“Oh.” I paused for a minute, trying to figure this out. The last time I’d spoken to him was at Christmas, when we went over to his family’s house for dessert. He’d been with Linda that day and had barely paid any attention to me. “Hi, Tommy.”
I pulled the phone and its long cord into my room and closed the door. I’d learned that I needed to lie on the bed and pull the covers over my head if I wanted to have a private conversation. When I was reasonably sure my parents couldn’t hear me, I whispered, “Why are you calling me? And why did you say you’re Tommy?”
He inhaled and blew out for a long time. I could practically picture him holding the joint. It gave me time to calm my heartbeat and breathing. In spite of how he’d jerked me around before, I couldn’t help but hope that this time would be different. But was I being disloyal to Reese, even though I’d only been out with him once? I hoped not, but I wasn’t sure.
“I miss talking to you. And you told me your mom thinks I’m too old for you. So I figured they’d only let us talk if they think I’m somebody else.” I could hear his pride at putting something over on my parents.
“Uh, I miss talking to you, too. But what about Linda?” I couldn’t help asking the question, even if it made him mad.
“Oh, we broke up.”
“Again?” Those two were like a revolving door.
“This time it’s for real. Besides, we’re at different colleges.”
“And I’m three hours away in Valencia.”
“Yeah, but you’re nicer.”
Well. That was as far as I wanted to push that. I didn’t want him telling Francie that her best friend was a bitch. Actually, I hoped he wouldn’t say anything to Francie at all about me or this conversation. I knew I wouldn’t. She would say I was jerking Reese around, and maybe she’d be right.
There was silence on the phone for a long time, but it felt friendly. “So what’s new?” I asked, still unclear why he’d called me.
“There are even more antiwar marches now than there were a few months ago. It keeps getting worse. Last night, I was driving down the street while a march was going on. I had the right to drive down that street, but a bunch of them surrounded my car and started screaming at me. They even rocked the car a little. It was all I could do to not get into it with them. The police finally came and made them let me through.”
“Jeez. That must have been scary.”
“A little, I guess. But mainly, it pissed me off. We’re all sitting in our safe college classes, and boys who aren’t so lucky are getting drafted and dying in Vietnam. I want to quit school and join up, but my parents won’t let me.”
That’s what he wants to talk about? Again? Am I only worthwhile to him as a listening post? In a little more than a year, I might be at the University of Florida with Kyle, and if the war continued, I would definitely be one of the protestors. I took a deep breath. “I’m honored that you think I’m mature enough to have an intelligent conversation with you. You know I don’t agree with you, right?”
“Yeah. I remember. I thought you might have changed your mind.”
“I didn’t. But that doesn’t matter. What matters is that you need to stay in school. It’s dangerous over there. You might get killed. Besides, your parents would be devastated if you quit.”
After a while, in a reluctant tone, he said, “I’ll stay in school for now. But you’re not right about the war.”
We argued back and forth for a while, in a friendly way, until Dad yelled, “Dana Faye, get off the phone. It’s a school night.”
I said to Kyle, “I’ve got to go.”
“Could I call you again? Maybe next week, same time, same station?”
“I guess so.” Then, making my voice louder, I said, “Good talking to you, Tommy. See you at school tomorrow.”
When I placed the phone back in its cradle, Dad strummed a loud chord and gave me a goofy grin. “Who’s Tommy, anyway?”
“Just a guy in my biology class. He’s helping me with my homework.”
My dad winked. “Sure he is. You be careful, punkin. You’re barely sixteen. Those teenage boys only want one thing.”
“Oh, Dad.” I stomped back into my bedroom. There was no use getting into it with him, because he probably wouldn’t remember what he’d said in the morning. Besides, for all I knew, he was right.