by Eric Walters
“So you do think that he is doing the running, right?” I asked.
“I think he probably is, but anyone can be fooled. Look, kid, I’m not saying he isn’t a hero. Only time will tell. Have you met many heroes in your time?”
“I got the autographs of some of the Leafs once,” I said.
“I’m not talking about some joker who plays hockey. I’m talking about a hero, a real hero. Somebody who undertook a brave deed, maybe risked his life—that’s what the dictionary would probably define it as,” he said. “So that excludes hockey players, rock stars and actors.”
I shrugged. “I guess nobody I can think of then.”
“I’ve been around a whole lot longer than you and I haven’t come across too many. There were a couple of guys when I was covering wars, a doctor working in the jungles of Africa I interviewed once. You don’t come across them every day.” He paused. “But maybe, just maybe, this Fox kid is one of them. And if that’s the case, you should remember that you’ve met him.” He paused again. “In the end, there’s only one thing I know for certain right now.”
“What’s that?” I asked.
“I know I need another drink.”
9
MAY 23, 1980
“Thanks a lot.” My father’s voice was exuberant as he spoke on the phone. “You’re about the tenth person that’s already called today to tell me how well the story is running. Yeah, the piece will attract a lot of attention…. No, he’s very friendly, so I’m sure he won’t mind other reporters showing up, even TV people. He’s had some local press along the way but nothing on a national scale before.”
My father nodded his head and laughed at a comment. “Sure, I’ll stop in and see you the next time I’m in town,” he said. “Maybe we can have a drink in that little bar just over from the paper. What’s the name of that place?…Yeah, that’s the one! They have the best wings in town and…What do you mean it’s closed down?”
He listened. “Either way, I’m sure we can find someplace to get together. Thanks for the call.” He put the phone down again and turned to me, grinning. “It looks like that little story has made some big waves. That was a friend in Montreal. His paper’s sending him down to do an interview and he wanted to know if—”
My father’s sentence was cut short by the phone ringing again. It had been like that all morning. We’d picked up the early edition of the paper at a coffee shop near our motel and sampled the local bacon and eggs before heading back to our room. There was nothing else to do today but head back to Halifax for our four-thirty flight to Toronto.
“Hello, Mac here!” he said into the phone. “Good to hear from you!” He turned to me. “It’s my editor,” he mouthed.
“Did you expect anything less than a great article?” he said with a laugh. “Yeah, I guess you’ve been passing on this number because I’ve been getting calls here from…You’re kidding.”
He remained silent and nodded his head. “Well, I guess that is a pretty good response. So when I drop into the office tomorrow to pick up my messages I can return some of those calls. Hopefully you’ll have something for me to work on and…What do you mean?”
My father stood up and walked back and forth, the cord trailing behind him, holding the phone to his ear. I could tell by the expression on his face that whatever was being said to him certainly wasn’t making him happy. Had somebody said something bad about his writing?
“That doesn’t make any sense at all,” he said. “Yes, yes, I know the response has been good, but I’ve already done the story!” my father thundered.
He began to pace faster and his face became angrier as he continued to listen.
“Look, there’s no way I’m going to stay here and—”
He stopped mid-sentence and began listening again. In the silence I could just make out his editor’s voice on the other end—not the words, but the tone. He sounded as angry as my father did.
“Yeah, I know you’re the editor and the editor is supposed to assign the reporters, but—”
He was cut off once more. Again I could hear the voice on the other end.
“Have you at least got an angle I’m supposed to work for the follow-up story?” my father demanded.
He listened to the answer.
“Great, just great. I’ll remember this one,” he muttered as he hung up the phone without saying goodbye.
“What’s wrong?” I asked, although I had a pretty good idea what had just happened.
“I did such a great job that my editor wants me to stay on the story,” he said.
“You have to stay here?”
“Not here. I have to follow Terry and his friend for another day or so and file more reports.”
“Am I staying with you?” I asked.
“You were supposed to be with me for a few days anyway. Don’t suppose it matters much whether it’s here or back in Toronto. Is that okay with you?”
“Whatever. Here’s as good as there, I guess.”
“How long does your school suspension run for?”
“Tomorrow’s Thursday, right?” I asked.
“All day.”
“I’m suspended for the rest of this week and the first two days of next week.”
“So staying here with me isn’t a problem. We’ll be back long before that. Get your things packed,” he said.
“Packed…but you said I was going with you.”
“You are, to the next place. My editor told me he’s taken the liberty of booking us into the same motel that Terry and Doug are staying at tonight. Apparently he’s even made arrangements for us to go out with them and travel in the van tomorrow.”
Now that sounded like a lot of fun, sitting in the back of a van travelling down the road at a couple of miles per hour.
“Oh, and while I’m thinking about it, we’d better let your mother know we’re staying a while longer. You can give her a call while I go and get another pack of cigarettes.”
“Sure, I can do that,” I said. Although just because I could do it didn’t mean I would do it. I didn’t have anything more I wanted to say to her now than I had when I didn’t call in Halifax.
MAY 24, 1980
“COME ON, WINSTON, time to get up,” my father said as he gently shook my shoulder.
“Get up?” I said groggily. “It’s not even light yet.” Waking up before dawn in yet another fleabag motel was nothing like the glamorous image I’d always had of a reporter’s life.
“It won’t be light for a while. It’s just after four-thirty. We have to hurry or we’ll be late.”
“How can we be late for anything at four-thirty in the morning?”
“The van leaves at five. If we’re not there they’ll leave without us,” my father explained.
“Why so early?”
“I imagine they need to leave early to get in the miles they need every day. It isn’t like he runs very fast.”
I threw off the covers. Getting ready wouldn’t take long. I hadn’t even bothered to unpack the night before after arriving at the motel so I’d slept in my clothes—a pair of jeans that hadn’t seen the inside of a washer in too long and a long-sleeved Pink Floyd T-shirt.
I stood up and staggered into the bathroom. The reflection staring back at me almost made me do a double take. I looked tired, dead tired, and my hair was sticking up in two dozen different directions. My mom always said I got my wild, curly brown hair from my dad, but it was hard to guess that now, when he had barely enough left to cover the top of his head. I wouldn’t have time to wash up, but I could throw some water on it and try to comb out some of the wildness.
“There’s an all-night diner next door!” my father hollered at me from the other room.
“Do we have time to eat?”
“Not breakfast, but doughnuts.”
I chuckled. Doughnuts we
re my usual breakfast—and lunch and dinner—when I was on the run. Apparently my father and I still did have a couple of things in common.
“Why don’t you pick up a dozen or so!” I yelled back. “Lots of chocolate dip! And how about a coffee…a big coffee…double-double!”
“A man after my own heart!” my father called out. “I’ll bring my bags with me. You bring yours and I’ll meet you at the front door of the motel in five minutes.”
I heard the door open, then close.
I splashed water on my face and then some more on my head, trying to soak down my hair. With both hands I flattened it out, trying to somehow make it look less awful. I should have unpacked my comb, but it was buried deep inside my suitcase. If I could have found it I could have found my toothbrush as well, which was, let’s face it, even more important. Bad hair was one thing, but I really hated that taste in my mouth when I woke up. I was probably the only person in the world who tried to practise proper dental hygiene when he was on the run.
None of this was going to do much good. I got out of the bathroom and grabbed my bag. Quickly I left the room and hurried down the hall.
“Good night’s sleep?” the clerk asked as I passed by the front desk.
I was a little surprised to see anybody else up already. “Not too bad,” I said. “I just wish I could have found my toothbrush and some toothpaste.”
“Allow me,” he said. He reached under the counter and pulled out a small plastic package. “Here, take one of the motel’s complimentary kits.”
I stopped in my tracks as he handed it to me.
“Brush, toothpaste and a small comb,” he said.
“Thanks, thanks a lot.”
I opened the door to leave.
“Hope you enjoyed your stay…come again!”
“Yeah,” I said doubtfully as the door swung shut behind me. I couldn’t see that ever happening. This motel was not only in the middle of nothing, it was rundown in the middle of nothing. I knew that Terry and Doug were grateful to get motel rooms donated, but you’d think they could have done a bit better than this! If I were running across the country, I’d want to sleep somewhere a lot nicer than this place.
I took a few steps to the side and sat down on a bench. It was still damp—just like everything else. Damp and dark and misty and chilly.
I put my bag down and tore open the kit with my teeth. The toothbrush was in two pieces and I put them together. Next I opened the tiny tube of paste and squeezed out a bit. I put it in my mouth—minty tasting—and started to brush. Not perfect, but a lot better than doing without.
“Good morning.”
I turned around. It was Terry. He was dressed in track pants and a sweatshirt.
“Boy, would your mother be proud of you,” he commented, chuckling. “Mine is always reminding me to do things like that.”
“I…um…wanted to get rid of the taste in my mouth,” I mumbled through the lather.
“I hate that too. Sometimes you get a seriously bad case of morning mouth, especially if you’ve been sleeping on your back.”
I spat the foam out into the bushes and then deposited the toothbrush back in its bag and stuffed it into the outside flap of my suitcase.
“It’s a bit chilly this morning,” I said, trying to make conversation because I was uncomfortable with the silence.
“A bit, but it’s one of my favourite times to run. Once I’m out there with the moon casting the only shadows, there are no cars, no people—just the shadows of trees and the farms.”
I couldn’t help but picture that scene in my mind. It did sound sort of nice.
“Do you like to run?” Terry asked.
“I used to do a little cross-country,” I said.
“What a coincidence, I’m doing a little cross-country myself,” he said with a laugh, and I couldn’t help laughing along with him.
“Where’s your father?”
“He’s coming. He just went to get us some breakfast…well, really some doughnuts.”
“Doesn’t that sort of cancel out the benefits of having already brushed your teeth?” he asked. “So much for your mother being proud of you.”
“Good morning!” my father called out as he came up from behind Terry. He was carrying a box of doughnuts and a tray with four steaming cups of coffee.
“Good morning, Mr. MacDonald, I just—”
“None of this ‘Mr.’ stuff, it’s just Mac,” my father said, cutting him off.
“Sure, Mac. I just wanted to thank you for the article you wrote.”
“Oh, I’m glad you liked it—hope it helps you guys out.”
“Yeah, my mother said she got a lot of calls from people about it. She said there’s been an increase in the donations. And yesterday we got more requests for interviews—newspaper and TV—than any day since we started.”
“Just doing my job. Where’s Doug?” my father asked.
“He’s just making a last-minute call. There are always so many details to take care of.”
“I got enough doughnuts for everybody and four coffees. I don’t know how you two take them so I just left them black and brought along extra sugars and creams.”
“Thanks. Works great for me. But Doug doesn’t drink coffee. I’m always telling him a little caffeine might be good to keep him awake. It gets pretty boring driving along a mile at a time.” He paused. “And speaking of Doug…here he comes.”
The van rolled up and came to a stop right in front of us. Doug jumped out almost before it had come to a full stop and hurried around the front to join us.
“Morning everybody. Sorry for the delay. I had to firm something up. There’s going to be a television crew from one of the national news shows coming up to film this afternoon.”
“That’s great!” Terry said.
“Now, we better get going. We’re already behind schedule,” Doug said.
“We are?” my father asked.
“Yes, it’s almost five minutes after five already,” Doug pointed out. “Everybody in.”
Terry moved over to the side door of the van with that distinctive gait of his. I’d almost forgotten about his leg, with him standing there in track pants. He grabbed on to the side of the van’s door and pulled himself up and into the vehicle.
“Why don’t you come up front with me,” Doug suggested to me. “Terry usually grabs some shut-eye while we drive to the starting spot.”
Doug slammed the side door closed and then circled around the front of the van and climbed into the driver’s seat.
My father held the passenger door open for me. I climbed in and was instantly struck by the smell—it was awful! It was a combination of sweat, rotting food and some sort of terrible chemical odour I couldn’t identify that practically turned my stomach.
My father climbed in the back. “Quite the smell in here,” he said.
“I guess we really should clean up a little more often,” Doug admitted. “But really, after a while you hardly notice it.”
I didn’t think if I spent a year in that van I’d ever get to that point.
I looked back over my shoulder. Terry was in the back corner in a small bunk. He’d pulled a blue sleeping bag up around him and his eyes were already closed. I slumped back in the seat and did the same while my father leaned forward to talk to Doug.
“Do we have far to drive?” he asked.
“Twenty-six miles.”
“I meant to the starting point. Is it far from here?”
“Only a couple of miles down the road. We always try to sleep as close as we can so we don’t waste much time in the van.”
We travelled along the lonely highway. The darkness was occasionally broken by the bright lights of a big rig coming down the highway toward us. Except for those trucks there was no other sign of life.
“How do you know
the place where Terry stopped running?” my father asked.
“I always have a general idea, and then we look for the marker that shows the exact spot,” Doug said. “Matter of fact, we’re coming up to it right now.”
Doug slowed the van down and pulled it onto the shoulder.
“The marker should be right up ahead.”
“What does it look like?” my father asked.
“It’s a white plastic garbage bag, held down by some rocks and—there it is!” Doug slowed the van even more and then brought it to a stop.
“Are we here?” Terry asked from the back of the van.
“We’re here.”
Doug climbed out of the driver’s door and I got out on the other side.
My father opened the big side door and he and Terry climbed out. Terry put his foot down right on top of the garbage bag. Then he bent down and touched his toes, stretched his leg, twisted and turned at the waist. “So much for warming up. I’ll see you all in a mile.”
“See you in a mile.”
Terry started running, and we stood there watching as he headed out into the darkness and mist. I watched until he got smaller and smaller and then finally disappeared into the black.
Doug bent down and picked up the plastic bag, shaking it free of the rocks and gravel that had pinned it to the ground.
“Do you ever have problems finding the marker?” my father asked.
“Sometimes it’s hard. Once it was impossible.”
“Impossible?”
“There was a strong wind that night and it must have blown away. We searched and searched but we couldn’t find it.”
“So what did you do then?”
“We drove back about three miles to a spot we knew we’d passed, a spot Terry had run by that day. Terry wanted to make sure that nobody could ever say he didn’t run the whole way,” Doug explained. “Did you notice how he put his foot down right on the plastic bag?”
I nodded.
“Every inch of the way, from one ocean to the next. Now we’d better get going so we can mark the first mile.”
10
