Chapter
Four
Ben Havleck, January 2016
After
a disappointing race, the worst part is the wait until the next chance at
redemption. For Ben, that wait was going to be nearly three months. The money
he had been saving was enough for only two meet entries this winter. Half the
funds were for the PTFCA Indoor State Track and Field Championships on February
28th. But in order to even be eligible for this race, he would first
have to eclipse the 9:00.23 standard in the 3000 meter run.
He
had targeted the Muhlenberg Carnival on February 12th as the meet to
chase this mark, feeling that it allowed the best competition relative to his
limited resources. Currently, Ben spent a few nights and weekends working at
the local Barnes & Noble bookstore to pick up extra cash for his racing
expenses. His parents would have gladly donated to the cause. Their primary
concern had always been the happiness and well-being of their children. But Ben
did not want to be a burden. He understood why they had to move in the first
place and knew money was tight.
The
Havleck family, consisting of Ben, his parents Beth and Paul, and his five-year-old
sister Cayley, had moved out to Bloomsburg in an attempt to cut costs and find
work. Paul Havleck’s role in the technology and innovation department at Merck
Laboratories had been eliminated as the company was making a push to “get
younger”, improving its technological understanding and embracing the cutting
edge, fast moving new generation of workers. As a result, Mr. Havleck had
turned to the open market, and graciously accepted a teaching position at
Bloomsburg University. With two kids, one of whom burned and refueled calories
at an unthinkable rate, and college tuition prices rising, the position was
doubly beneficial. As long as he was employed, both children would be able to
attend Bloomsburg for free: removing a looming anxiety.
But
money was still a concern. Beth had returned to work for the first time since
Cayley was born and the family’s usual summer trip to Sea Isle City, New Jersey
was put on hold until things were better settled. Ben felt the extra stress of
funding a full racing season on top of his sister’s gymnastic classes would be
an unnecessary strain on the budget. Of course convincing his parents to let
him take a job without letting on his reasoning had been a bit tricky.
“Why
is it that you want a job Ben?” His father said to him from the head of the
dinner table as he spooned a helping of Mac and Cheese onto his plate. “You
made solid money at camp last summer, didn’t you?” Ben took a sip of water
before responding.
“Yeah
it was fine, I’m just looking to-have a bit more that I can use when I need it
…” he trailed off awkwardly. His mother took the Mac and Cheese from his sister
and passed it along to Ben.
“Honey,”
she said sympathetically, “this doesn’t have to do with college payments does
it? I think, with time, your father and I will be able to pay for whichever
school you want to-”
“It’s
not about that,” he cut across her more hastily than intended, “I just-well if
I go out to eat or need to go to the mall, I’d like to have some extra money to
pull from.” He was paying particularly close attention to spooning food on his
plate, avoiding the gaze of either parent.
“You
know you can always come to us if you need something.”
“Wait
Beth, I think I see what’s going on …” Snapping his head up, Ben eyed his
father nervously. “You have a girlfriend, don’t you son?” There was a bit of an
awkward pause. This certainly was not where Ben had seen the conversation
going. “Well, when you go out on a date, you need to have some money for gas or
a nice meal. That’s understandable.”
Well
… no I-there’s no girl I just-” he did not know how to finish his sentence. “Um
… Not yet, but maybe one day …” It was at least partially true and if it got
him to where he wanted to go …
He
could see his mother eager to ask a multitude of questions, but thankfully, she
restrained her impulse and instead chose to smile cheerfully. “Well as long as
the job doesn’t interfere with your school work … And we still want our family
dinners as close to intact as possible.”
“Sure,
no problem,” Ben scarfed down a few more bites of garlic bread. “I have an
interview tomorrow afternoon so I figure if you guys can drop me off, I’ll
bring a change of clothes and then I can just run back.”
“Didn’t
you just run today? And now you’re going to run tomorrow?”
“Everyday,
Mom.” He smiled and turned his attention to his salad as the conversation mercifully
switched to focus on his sister.
“How
was your day at school today Cay? Any exciting news like your brother?”
“Well
…” Cayley tapped her nose carefully while pondering her response, “Today at
recess me and Tommy Finster got married by the swing set,” she said
matter-of-factly. The family laughed together at the news.
“This
is so sudden Cayley, we didn’t even get to meet the guy!”
“That’s
ok, I saw him picking his nose at lunch time so I divorced him.” She nibbled
from her meal. “Chuckie Pickering let me share his chocolate pudding so I think
I’ll prolly marry him tomorrow.” As they continued to laugh, Paul glanced
sideways at his son.
“We
have a few puddings left in the fridge if you want to take them with you on
your date. Sounds like they get results.”
Chris Cline, September 2016
He
stared across the table, staring blankly, his thoughts focused internally. “Do
you ever wonder … Am I playing the wrong
game?” Chris paused, thoughtfully. “Is this what I’m really meant to do?” He stroked his chin
artfully in the moment. Then he drew back his free arm and launched the Ping-Pong
ball in a high arc through the air. It soared across the table before splashing
gently into the lone cup on the other end. “Because seriously, I might be the
next Jordan.”
“Whoo
yeah, that’s game baby!” Ernie and Chris exchanged a casual low five as their
opponents on the other end walked away solemnly. “How many games is that now?
Like six?”
“I
don’t know, but I’m gonna need to take a break.” Chris wobbled slightly as he
took his first step, but steadied himself quickly before sitting down on the couch.
He turned to look at the clock, his vision slightly behind his head. 11:05 PM.
Ernie flopped down to his right.
“You
know I really enjoyed the overdramatic, existential routine you pulled back
there. Nice twist on the cocky flare you usually play with.”
Chris
grinned, “I prefer to think of it as confidence.”
“Liquid
confidence maybe.”
They
sat briefly in silence while the music from the party filled the air. As I recall I know you love to show off …
But I never thought that you would take it this far …
Ernie
momentarily considered his cup. He lifted it to his lips for a moment but then,
thinking better of it, lowered it again.
“So what time are we going in tomorrow?”
It
was officially the last night of summer. West Chester North’s first day of
classes began in less than eight hours. Well,
for most of the school anyway. West Chester’s football team had been given a
special reprieve from morning classes so that they could fit in an extra film
session in preparation for the opening game of the season: a match up with
cross-town rival Coatesville.
“I
assume we still have to be there by 7, we just won’t actually have to do any
school work until after lunch.” Chris looked across the room and noticed Paul
Mintz slumbering peacefully in a reclining chair. “Our only job is not falling
asleep during film.”
“Which
is going to be harder than a typical first day most likely …” Ernie said,
stifling a yawn. He fiddled absentmindedly with his sweatshirt zipper and
looked around the party, eventually catching sight of something behind Chris’s
head. “And that’s my cue …” And Ernie rose to his feet and exited casually
through an opening to his left.
“What
are you talking-” but Chris’s confusion was alleviated when a pair of hands covered
his eyes from behind and a female voice came to him in his blindness.
“Guess
who?!” She said in a playful tone.
“Hey
Melissa,” Chris said, half-laughing, half exasperated. She removed her hands
and moved into his line of sight, sharing a passionate kiss before taking up a
position beside him.
“So
I was just talking to Shannon and she said that her sister thinks that ….”
Chris put on his best attempt at an interested face. She had been his
girlfriend for a few months now so he had learned to mentally prepare himself
for gossiping and fashion discussions. “…. And I was all like, well of course
I’d be happy for you, but like really if she gets it instead of me I would be,
like, totally outraged because she barely even, like, knows any of our cheers
or anything …”
Melissa
Fredricks was head cheerleader for West Chester North’s squad and easily one of
the most popular girls in school. A simple look at her Facebook page would
reveal over 1,000 friends (and double that in pictures). She had spent her
early high school years dating older boys, including the previous quarterback
of the football team. Chris’s mother would have described her as one of the
“fast” girls at North: she was doing things at a “faster pace” than a typical
girl was at her age. The outfit she had decided to wear to the night’s party
would have supported his mom’s theory.
“I
can’t believe we have to go back to school in a couple hours. And you’re not
even going to be there with me for half the day!” She hugged him as she
finished her sentence.
“Yeah
… it’s a bummer …” Her hug had pinned his right arm to his side, allowing for
only an awkward one-armed response. “Did we ever figure out how we are getting
home by the way?” Chris glanced over at the clock again. His parents were
likely already concerned about his lateness.
“Can your parents still come by?”
“No,
I never asked. I thought we were just getting a ride with Jacob.”
“Jacob?
Are you serious?” Chris stared across the room at Jacob who was laughing
hysterically at something Ernie had just said. Both had their arms around each
other’s shoulders. Possibly in a display of friendship, possibly out of
necessity to maintain balance. “I’m not getting in a car with him.”
“It’s
fine, it’s just right around the corner-”
“No
way. C’mon, I’ll walk you to your house and then I’ll-I don’t know-run home or
something.” He looked again across the room, his face hardening. “It’s not that
far and I’d rather make sure we get back safely.” Melissa smiled slightly. She
appreciated his efforts to protect her, but also looked slightly put off about
the thought of walking nearly a mile.
“Ok
… But can you hold my shoes?”
Darkness.
Silence. Chris felt like it probably would have been an enjoyable experience to
make this jog under normal circumstances. He could immerse himself in his
thoughts, undisturbed. These days, it was rare to get a few moments alone. Of
course, tonight his thoughts were dominated by concerns. Would he be in trouble
for being out so late? For being at the party?
Snap. He stepped on a twig as he
continued to stride along through the night, causing him to look about
frantically before realizing he was still alone. His feet ached as he bounded.
Boat shoes were a counterproductive choice. Sweat was slowly starting to fall
from his face and collect on his upper-body. The collar of his shirt was moist
to the touch. Well, at least I won’t
smell like the party when I get home, he thought to himself. Another two to
three minutes and he would be home before midnight, able to sneak up to bed
with little suspicion. Chris took a deep, calming breath and turned onto his
street.
Behind
him, car lights brought the street in front of him into view. Probably just Jacob on his way home. He
checked back over his shoulder, trying to make out the vehicle. No luck. As he
continued on, the car pulled even with him and he could take another shot. A
Subaru. Definitely not Jacob’s car. But the car was slowing down. A little farther
along his path, it pulled over at the side of the road, sitting, apparently
waiting for him. Oh, shoot … Please don’t be a cop, please don’t be a cop
…
“Hi
there,” It was a friendly voice, projecting from what appeared to be a tall,
skinny man with glasses. “That’s quite the stride you have there.”
“Um
… thanks,” Chris mumbled. What the f- is
going on?! If he says he has candy in his car, I’m bolting …
“Have
you ever considered running cross country?”
“Uh
… not really …” Chris looked around as if searching for someone hiding in the
bushes. The situation was so bizarre, he wanted to make sure he wasn’t being
punked. “Honestly, I didn’t really want to run this far, so I can’t imagine
making it across the entire country …”
“No,
no” The man laughed briefly, “For the Cross Country team. We compete in distance races, about three miles long, across
a variety of terrains. Against all the top schools in the area. Our team will
be competing throughout the fall.”
“Oh
…” Chris’s mind jumped back to the runners he and his friends had encountered
at various points during the summer. To the bullying and dislike from his
teammates. “I play Football in the fall so I wouldn’t be able to swing it … Um
… Sorry.” He finished awkwardly.
“Well,
if anything changes, feel free to let us know,” the man said happily. And with
that, he drove off into the darkness, leaving Chris in silence once again.
You couldn’t catch me
dead in those shorts.
Ben Havleck, January 2016
It was a crisp fall
day at the beginning of November: stereotypical cross country weather. A long
row of boys, jumping up and down to stay warm, was confined on either side by
two long seas of fans and parents. A lone man in an orange vest fiddled with
his starter’s gun about halfway down an empty straightaway of grass. Ben stood
alone in a box nearly dead center on the course, wearing a plain, maroon cotton
t-shirt, black running shorts and a pair of white gloves. Bloomsburg did not
have an official team, which meant they did not have official uniforms. While
the other kids wore carefully designed racing singlets, Ben fidgeted in his gym
uniform top, trying to adjust the sleeves to his liking. He knew the first
straightaway narrowed quickly and was deceivingly short, making the first 200
meters a dogfight for position. He looked at his competition to either side.
They seemed much taller than he was. Or at least how tall he felt.
As the gunman raised
his arm, a hush fell across the crowd creating an eerie moment of silence. Ben
took a deep, calming breath. Then there was a shot. Then an explosion of noise.
The crowd erupted into cheers and Ben sprinted as hard as he could, struggling
desperately for space. Elbows were flying. Runners were collapsing down on top
of him from all sides. Beginning to panic, he stepped wrong and lost his
balance. He tried frantically to steady himself. He could feel his position
slipping, but he managed to not fall. He was in a decent spot. Probably about
12th. He made to go around the first turn, but as he did so, he took
an elbow to the chest and again started to wobble dangerously. Behind him,
jockeying had caused another runner to extend his arms out for balance. There
was a push in the back and Ben’s already fragile balance crumbled away.
From the ground, a
stampede of runners were beginning to go by, like a heard of scared gazelle. He
reacted the best he could: dodging and rolling through traffic, shielding his
face to avoid being stabbed by shoe spikes. And now there was music playing,
loud blaring music, not coming from any source in particular but sounding
vaguely familiar …
I tried so hard, and
got so far … but in the end , it doesn’t even matter …
Ben
awoke with a start and whirled through his blankets to turn off his alarm,
which was loudly trumpeting “In the End” by Linkin Park. Coming to his senses,
he checked the clock as it turned from 5:45 to 5:46. He lay flat on his back
and stared at the ceiling for a moment, the scenes from his dream still
lingering in front of his eyes. He reluctantly flicked his blankets away from
his body and dressed for his morning run to school.
He
pulled out a pair of white gloves and his knit hat from the basket by the door.
After a momentary struggle, he was able to corral most of his hair beneath its
surface. He gave a quick glance at his reflection in the mirror, tied his house
key into his shoe and ran off into the darkness. His light breathing and his
efficient stride gave a rhythm to his morning, accented by the occasional
click-clack of key meeting shoe.
Circling
by the school, he checked the status of his track: still covered in snow. He
was getting tired of making up workouts revolving around arbitrary distances
and longed for a bit more scientific approach to training. His previous workout
was five repetitions of the school perimeter with ninety seconds of slow jog
recovery in between each interval. Before that, he had done an out and back run
to Molino Park, running conservatively the way there and as hard as he could
for the three miles it took him to return home. He was able to make these tests
challenging, but the imprecise nature of their design made it impossible for
him to track his progress. He knew he was improving, but he wanted to know how
much.
The
Muhlenberg Track Carnival was only two weeks away and, although he was
confident in his fitness, his goal time was light-years ahead of his personal
best from the previous winter. Without any additional data to prove otherwise,
he could not fight the notion that he was being foolishly over confident.
He
ran some splits through his head as he circled back through the side
neighborhoods of his high school, carefully dodging a student driver rolling
straight through a stop sign. 72s per lap
outdoors, 36s indoors. He jogged through the parking lot, imagining himself
clicking off the marks one at a time. 36,
72, 1:48, 2:24 …
With
eight miles under his belt, Ben scarfed down a bagel before transitioning to
some light core work in the locker room. By the time he had showered and sidled
into history class, the second bell that signaled the start of 1st Period
was fading into silence. Hastily, he pulled out his notes and flipped to a
fresh page. Unlike some other classes, to which he would gladly have been late,
Ben immensely enjoyed his history class. It was amazing for him to learn about
all the little facts and subtle circumstances that ultimately had a gargantuan
effect on the shaping of society.
Currently,
they were studying the 1960 presidential election between Richard Nixon and
John F. Kennedy. It was an interesting example of the power of public opinion
and a good first impression.
“The
debates were televised and Nixon seemed nervous and uncomfortable, while
Kennedy was just the opposite …” His teacher paced through the rows of attentive
students, “Even if you are a hardworking, dedicated student, sometimes those
who are blessed with natural gifts like confidence or charisma will still get
ahead … It calls us to question what we perceive
or what we want to be important and
what is actually important …”
Chris Cline, October 2016
“Hey!
Are those new?”
“Yeah,
I just got them last night.” Chris was smiling as he stepped out of his car,
flaunting a pair of jet-black running shorts. They covered less than half of
his impressive quad muscles.
“Well
now you’re officially a cross country runner!”
“How
does it feel?”
“Honestly
…” Chris fidgeted a bit with the lining in his shorts. “I’m a little cold.” He
hopped up and down for a second and the trail surface grinded slightly beneath
his shoes. “You guys ready to run? I’ve got a doctor’s appointment at 12 …” Chris
trailed off as he spoke, realizing the implications of what he had said. The
mood among the runners, previously upbeat and jovial suddenly became awkward
and tense.
“Finally
getting your cast off?” Sam asked with a forced casualness. Chris looked down
at his left hand absentmindedly.
“Yeah
… Should um … make me a bit lighter …” He purposely avoided his friends’ eyes. It might not even matter. If they lose
tonight, there’s no decision. “C’mon, let’s get this run in. I’m freezing
in these things.”
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