Running Loose

  As you might imagine, Carter doesn’t get too hyped up about track meets. About all track does for him, besides give him a pain in the butt, is keep him in condition, but he was really jacked up about my distance running. In the first three meets he was more excited than I was when I won, and that’s pretty excited. After each race he’d come screaming and jumping up to me, pounding on my back and being completely obnoxious. I loved it. At Tamarack Falls he even ran over and dragged the reporter for the Tamarack Times back over to get some pictures of me standing with my hands on my knees, gasping for air. He really helped me get back into the groove, back to the way things had always been.

  We parked the pickup in front of the school and went to English. Nobody gets as excited about track as they do football or basketball, so Friday mornings are like most others, but this one was different. Jasper’s voice came over the intercom and took me by complete surprise. “All students will meet on the front lawn in ten minutes for a special dedication ceremony in honor of Becky Sanders.”

  I just froze. Carter scribbled a note. They were planting a tree in Becky’s memory and setting a bronze plaque in concrete beside it. The reason I didn’t know anything about it was that it was planned during the week I was hauling into Stibnite, and they were just waiting for Jasper to come up with the wording for the plaque and have it made.

  The tree sounded like a good idea. The plaque sounded like a bad idea if Jasper was supposed to come up with the wording. And I could already hear his dedication speech banging around in my head, so I decided not to go. Besides, I didn’t want to cry and make a big dummy out of myself.

  When the bell rang, I headed for the gym, and met Madison in the hall. “Muscle spasm in my leg,” I said. “Okay if I put some heat on it?”

  Madison was no dummy. He said, “Sure, want some company?”

  “Naw, it’s okay.”

  I went on out to the gym and up into the training room, to find Carter sitting on the table. “Let’s have a look at that leg,” he said with a big grin.

  I dropped my pants and lay down on my stomach, while he felt my gastroc. “Um-hmm,” he said. “Muscle spasm. Better put a little heat on it.”

  “You turdburger, you heard me.”

  “Heard what? Quiet. This is a delicate procedure.”

  He rubbed a little analgesic on the leg, covered it with cotton, and wrapped it with an Ace bandage. “In case someone wants proof,” he said.

  I sat up on the table. “Thanks, Doc,” I said. “You’re right, I shouldn’t be alone.”

  “No lie,” he said. “Doctor’s orders.”

  “I wish they wouldn’t do that.”

  “Doctors?” he said. “Issue orders?”

  “No, peckerwood. I wish they wouldn’t keep trying to remember Becky the way I know they’re going to. It always seems like they miss the point.”

  “What was the point, Louie?”

  “I don’t know, but it wasn’t that she was going to be valedictorian or that she was a cheerleader or in Honor Society or any of that.”

  “It was for them,” he said. “Buddy, I hate to tell you this, but it’s not up to you to say what Becky Sanders stood for.” He sounded like Norm or Dakota. Bastard’s smart.

  “Yeah,” I said. “I guess you’re right. But Jasper just uses that kind of stuff. He’ll make it sound like she stood for all the things he stands for, and I know that’s not right.”

  “Can’t argue with you there,” he said. “I wouldn’t be surprised if the plaque says, ‘Becky Sanders builds young men.’”

  I laughed.

  “But it’s not important,” he said, “and the best thing you can do is forget it.”

  Carter was right, of course. It wasn’t important. But it sure bugged the hell out of me. When I went home for lunch, I purposely avoided the plaque because I didn’t even want to know what it said. I forgot about it completely during the afternoon, while I was getting ready for my races, and afterward, when guys were slapping me on the back and shaking my hand and giving me five because I won the two-mile by more than two hundred yards. I was close to qualifying for regionals, according to Carter, who already had my entry forms filled out for the Olympics.

  But I remembered it again as I sat in the training room, waiting for the rest of the guys to clear out of the locker so I could shower without contaminating them. Lednecky was in his office, working on some plays for next year, so I couldn’t use the coaches’ shower.

  When everyone was gone, I went down and soaked myself for a long time. I turned on three of the nozzles and lay down with my butt covering the drain so the bottom would fill up. You get little square hickies on your butt from the drain suction when you do that, but it really feels good to let all that hot water pound down on you. ’Course then you have to stand up and wash off really good to keep those strange and exotic fungi that grow between people’s toes from cropping up in your armpits or someplace.

  I dressed and walked through the deserted school building and out across the lawn to the pickup. Usually Carter waits for me, but he had to go do something for his mom. I saw the tree, a dinky little thing with very few leaves. It will grow. The plaque caught the sun and flashed in the corner of my eye as I was about to get in, so I went over to see it.

  BECKY SANDERS 1964–1982

  THS 1–2–3–4 Cheerleader 2–3–4 Student Council 2–3–4 Class

  President 2 Honor Society 2–3–4 Band 1–2–3–4 Cougarettes 1–2–3–4

  Girls’ State 3 Carnival Queen 3 Class Play 4 Valedictorian 4

  “A shining and joyous example of all that

  Trout High School aspires to be”

  Anthony Jasper

  Superintendent/Principal

  Trout High School 1982

  Now I didn’t mind having her yearbook stats there at all, and if you could forget what Jasper aspires Trout High School to be, the quote was even tolerable. But that egomaniac had the au-freaking-dacity to sign it. His name was there in his handwriting! I’m sorry, but that was a little much for me. I mean, Becky didn’t even hate him. She felt sorry for him.

  I went home. Norm and Brenda congratulated me on my victory, fed me, and we sat around shooting the bull until Norm dozed off and Brenda went into the kitchen to knit and listen to the radio. Then I picked Norm’s keys off the dining room table, hopped into the pickup, and drove down to the station, where I got the sledgehammer we use to repair tire trucks. It was about eleven. I drove to a spot about a block away from the school, parked the pickup, and walked the rest of the way, swinging the hammer around to the side and over my head. It’s possible I was whistling “John Henry.” When I got to the schoolyard, I went over to the plaque and swung four or five times as hard as I could, blasting it loose from the concrete. Then I picked it up, jogged back to the pickup, and drove out to the bridge, where I chucked it into the river. As I whipped a tight U-turn and headed home, I could almost hear Becky laughing.

  CHAPTER 19

  Becky may have been laughing, but Anthony Jasper, Superintendent/Principal, Trout High School 1982, sure as hell wasn’t. He was hacked. I’ve never seen him so hacked. Monday morning he didn’t leave the customary notice on the bulletin board stating his desire for an audience with me. He met me at the front entrance.

  He said, “Into my office!” as I walked by.

  “Yes, sir.” I hustled up the stairs, through the outer office, and into the inner sanctum.

  The door slammed, and Jasper stalked around behind his desk. “Sit down!” he said.

  I sat. He didn’t.

  “By God, Banks,” he said, and the look in his eye was almost murderous, “I don’t know what you think you’re trying to do, but before this day is over, if I have my way, you’ll be out of this school for good!”

  I dug down deep for my best surprised look and said, “Why? What’s going on?”

  “You know damn good and well what’s going on,” he said. “Look me in the eye and tell me you honestly don’t know what I’m
talking about.”

  I looked him in the eye and said, “I honestly don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “You’re a liar!” he said. “On top of everything else, you’re a liar. I feel sorry for your parents, Louie. I really do. Parents have an obligation to protect their kids, but you must push that to the very edge.”

  I put my hands up. “Look,” I said, “I’d be more than happy to have you call Norm and Brenda and get them up here—”

  He waved me off. “Where were you last night?”

  “Home.”

  “All night?”

  “Yes, sir. Oh, no. I went out for a drive about ten-thirty or eleven.” Just in case he checked with the folks. They didn’t know anything about it.

  “Where to?”

  “Around the lake a ways. Why? What happened? Whatever it was, I didn’t do it.”

  “Somebody vandalized the plaque we dedicated to Becky Sanders. I know it was you. I mean, who else would do a thing like that?”

  My voice rose. “Are you crazy?” I settled back. “Excuse me, but why would I do something like that? I thought it was a neat idea. Really.”

  His eyes narrowed. “If you thought it was a ‘neat’ idea, as you put it, why didn’t you attend the ceremony? You think I’m stupid? I notice things like that.”

  I didn’t address whether or not I thought he was stupid. I just looked at the floor in front of my feet and said, “I didn’t go to the ceremony because it still hurts too much and I didn’t want to make a fool out of myself.”

  He just stared.

  “What did they do to it?” I asked. “Mark it up or something? Can’t it be fixed?”

  “No. They broke it out of the concrete.”

  “Geez,” I said. “With what?”

  “I don’t know what you did it with. Probably a sledgehammer. Don’t play games with me, Banks; you’re in a lot of trouble. I’ll get the law in on this if I have to.”

  “I didn’t do it,” I said, my voice rising slightly again. “Really. I’ve done a lot of stupid things this year, but that wasn’t one of them.”

  “That’s right,” he said. “You’ve done a lot of stupid things. There’s no one else who would have any motive.”

  Motive. I was determined to stay cool. There wasn’t a shred of evidence. I even washed off the hammer when I took it back. “What motive? I mean, why would I do a stupid thing like that?”

  “Why would you make a shambles out of her funeral? Why would you make that ridiculous scene on the football field and then lie to back it up? You’re a sick boy, Louie. If I were Norm, I’d have you tested.”

  “I was out of my head at the funeral,” I said. “I’d never do anything like that in my right mind.”

  Jasper’s eyes narrowed again. His voice went low, and he pointed his famous index finger right at my heart. “Banks, I know I’m right, and I’m going to prove it.”

  “I’m sorry, sir,” I said, “but there isn’t any proof because I didn’t do it.”

  “Until I do, you’re suspended.”

  “I’ll take that to the school board,” I said. “I haven’t learned an awful lot from government class this year—believe me I haven’t—but I have learned that I’m innocent until proved guilty. Even you are bound by that. You can’t just accuse me of something and make it stand.” I sat forward. “Really, Mr. Jasper. I’d swear on a stack of Bibles that I didn’t do it.”

  He just erupted. “A stack of Bibles doesn’t mean a damn thing to you!” he screamed. I had him on the run. “I heard you at the funeral! God knows what is sacred to you!”

  “Then I’ll swear on the Koran! Or the Bhagavad-Gita! Or a yearbook! I didn’t do it!”

  “Go to your class,” he said. “Get out of my sight.”

  I stood up to leave. “Excuse me, sir,” I said, “but did you say it was knocked completely out of its concrete base?”

  He glared.

  I shook my head. “Whoever did it must be an animal. That thing looked like it was really in there. Maybe you should ask Boomer—”

  “Get out of here!”

  I hustled off to class. My suspension was obviously a bluff.

  I wasn’t that comfortable around school that day. A lot of people must have shared Jasper’s opinion that I’d busted up the plaque because not many spoke to me and I could feel them looking. Carter stopped me after English and said if I did, he didn’t want to know about it, so I told him the same thing I’d told Jasper. I said I knew it looked like I did it, but I didn’t, that I’d like to find the guy, too.

  Madison never said a word about it. He was bound and determined to coach me in track and leave the rest of my life to me. I was in the training room dressing down after school when he came in to change.

  “Heard a rumor,” he said.

  “You, too?”

  He shook his head. “This rumor’s about track. I heard Washington has been training for a week to run the two-mile.”

  “Oh, God!” I said. “Where’d you hear that?”

  “John Lamaar, his coach. Says he needs the challenge.”

  “When?”

  “Lamaar says he thinks he’ll run it at district, as his fourth event. He’s going to stay out of the relay.”

  I thought for a second. “He can’t be in that good shape,” I said. “Not with only three weeks’ training at the outside.”

  “Maybe not,” Madison said, “but he’s a tremendous athlete, and he’s obviously not afraid of a challenge.” He laced his shoes. “You know, we haven’t had a distance man qualify for regionals since 1968, when Dave Orwell qualified in the mile. That’s fourteen years.” He winked. “Just a thought,” he said, and walked out.

  I trained the rest of the week like a man possessed, as Mrs. Kjack is fond of saying about the way Mark Robeson plays the accordion. The first-place finisher at district goes to regionals, no matter what the time, and I didn’t even know what the qualifying time was. I wanted to go as the number one man from our district.

  The weather was with me, the ground was dry almost everywhere, and the days were getting longer, so I had more time to work out. Running hills got to be my forte. I figured if I could really stride out and keep the pressure on going up a long, steep hill, a flat, oval track would be a cinch. I’d start on the short course up by the lake, take off into the hills at the old cemetery, and run ridge after ridge until I thought I couldn’t take it. Then I’d run back. The thing that ran through my mind most was the mile at the beginning of football season. At the end, when I’d given it everything I had, Boomer just spurted past me. I could just see Washington striding out the last fifteen yards after following me for seven and seven-eighths laps, to pass me like I was a traffic cop.

  Friday. The district meet was being held at Salmon River because they have a rubberized asphalt track, fastest in the league. That gave Washington the advantage of a home crowd, which was bad because he’s a showman all the way.

  I got to the meet ahead of the team because the bus had a flat tire. We passed them about thirty miles out of Salmon River, waving and blasting our horn. I was in a hurry to get there, so I’d have plenty of time to warm up. Several of the other teams were there when we pulled in, and I went over and found an empty spot in the infield and plopped down my gear. I already wore my sweats and uniform because I couldn’t shower with the team after the meet, so there was no use in bringing clothes. I sat down to put short spikes in my shoes—you can’t use long ones on asphalt—and as I was finishing the second one, I noticed a shadow. Looking up behind me, I saw Washington, standing with his hands on his hips, grinning.

  “Comin’ after you today, my man,” he said.

  I smiled. “That’s what I hear. Gonna have to come hard,” I said. “Hey, how come you’re tryin’ to steal my show?”

  “Just wanna see what you got,” he said, “besides guts. I been watchin’ you run; you’re my hero. Got to take you on.”

  I nodded, squinting into the sun. That wasn’t logic I w
as familiar with. “I’m glad, I guess. Maybe we should meet on a neutral track, though, for your sake. You hear that hometown crowd you might get too excited. Too much adrenaline.” I pounded my chest. “Gotta watch out for your heart.”

  Washington looked around at the maybe fifty diehard track fans—mostly parents and a relatively small part of the Salmon River student body—and laughed. “Doubt I’ll be hearin’ much more than the blood poundin’ in my ears,” he said. “Two miles’s a long ways.”

  I got up and we started jogging.

  “So what’s it really like around here for you?”

  “You mean, ’cause I’m black?”

  “Yeah, I guess that’s what I mean.”

  “Well,” he said, “I didn’t have a date for the prom, if you know what I mean, but folks treat me pretty good, I’d say.”

  I nodded. “You in shape for this?” I asked. “Eight laps’s a long ways, like you said.” So much for my feeble attempt to psyche him out.

  “I’ll get by,” he said. “Listen, Louis, my man. Got to tell you somethin’. Lots of guys who run against me give up. Think I’m too fast and just give up. I don’t want you doin’ that.”

  I started to say I wouldn’t.

  “This ain’t my distance,” he said, and broke into a grin. “This ain’t my distance. But I’m gonna give it what I got. What I’m tellin’ you is you give it what you got, you might take me.”

  I said I’d give it what I got.

  “Listen”—he stopped me—“I came over to tell you two things. Don’t let me psyche you, and”—he paused—“however it turns out, you got my respect, and not a lot of dudes can say that. I know what happened when young Mr. Boomer tried to make a dead nigger out of me. Okay?”