by Taylor Dean
Troy didn’t have anyone to carry him and the thought made Luke sad.
Luke sat on the recliner, lowering down and propping up his crutches. “You wanna do something?”
“I am doing something.”
“Wanna do something else?”
“Nah.”
They sat in silence as Luke watched Troy play.
“I think God hates me,” Troy said suddenly, not missing a beat of his game. “I was doing something good and I got punished for it. It’s not fair.”
Luke gulped. “My mom always says God gives us trials to make us stronger because he loves us.” He didn’t know what else to say, but his mom said it all the time, so it must be true.
“I was already strong. Now I’m a weakling.”
Luke couldn’t argue with that reasoning even though he objected to Troy’s train of thought. Instead he asked, “Can I play?”
Troy tossed a controller at him without looking and it nearly hit him in the head.
They didn’t talk anymore. They played video games for the next few hours. Troy creamed him every game.
“Can I come see you again tomorrow?” Luke asked.
“Whatever you want,” Troy answered, shrugging as if he didn’t care either way.
He didn’t look at Luke, not once.
That’s okay, Troy, I got your light.
The thought crossed his mind and wandered around, bumping through his brain as if it had no place to go until it was noticed.
Luke took notice.
23
Luke and Jill
April 2003
Present Day
“Troy saved my life. And even though he was still living, his light had somehow been snuffed on that mountain top. I knew that even at twelve years old. I’ve always imagined that I’ve got his light; that I’m keeping it for him until he’s ready to take it back.” Luke scoffed, seemingly embarrassed by his words. “Kinda silly, huh?”
Jill felt touched by Luke’s sentiment and wiped away more tears. “No, it’s not silly at all.”
Luke shrugged. “That pretty much sums up the next two years. Troy didn’t go to school. His mom homeschooled him. I visited him every day after school. He came to expect me, and I came to expect silence. Even if we didn’t talk much, we had fun. We played video games, board games, or watched TV. Our friendship was strange, but at least we were still friends. We never went outside. Troy liked to stay indoors. Special shoes had been made for Troy. He spent a year in physical therapy and had to re-learn how to walk. In the end, he still limped and he walked with a cane, but at least he could walk.”
Luke ran his hands over his face tiredly.
“Troy endured my presence. I always felt as though I was unwelcome, but he had nothing better to do, so he accepted my company. I guess I kinda forced myself on him. I couldn’t stand the thought of him being closed up in the house all alone all the time. He started writing stories, dark stories. Every once in awhile he’d read one to me. Frankly, they scared the hell out of me.”
Luke tipped his chair back as one hand rubbed the back of his neck.
“Even though I was trying to hold onto our friendship, everything was different and there was no denying that the plane crash had completely changed our lives. High school hit and Troy still opted for homeschooling. I began to make new friends and somehow I managed to survive the beginning of my freshman year. Then one day I arrived at Troy’s house and he was angry with me.” Luke scoffed and fell silent for a moment. “More so than usual, anyway.”
24
Luke and Troy
January 1990
Thirteen Years earlier
Luke laughed along with the canned laughter ringing out from the TV speakers.
Troy didn’t laugh, even though it was his favorite sitcom. He stared at the TV with a sullen expression.
Luke breathed in and out with a heavy sigh. It was getting harder and harder to spend time with Troy. He sure didn’t seem to want him at his house and he wondered why he was even trying. Stephan and Robbie, the new friends he’d made at school, had invited him to hang out with them today and he hated turning them down.
“You wanna watch something else?” Luke asked.
“No.”
“We’ve seen this episode before.”
“So. I like it.”
Luke thought about Stephan and Robbie, spending their afternoon riding bikes out to the lake, skipping rocks, and hiking around. He tapped his fingers on his knee.
“You can go if you’re bored,” Troy said, his voice monotone.
“I’m not bored.”
“Don’t you have something better to do after school?” Troy actually looked at him, really looked at him, a rare occurrence.
“Not really. I’m good with this.” Luke was lying. He was dying to go do something else.
“Why aren’t you running track?” Troy’s face flushed red.
“Track?” Luke asked. He wanted to go out for track, but he felt it would be a slap in the face to Troy.
“Yeah. Now’s your chance to run track and you’re sitting around watching TV.”
“I’m spending time with you.”
“You can run track and yet you’re sitting around on your butt. You take everything for granted. If you can do it, you should do it. I can’t believe you’re not doing it.”
Luke rocked back in the recliner. “You want me to go out for track?”
“Yes. One of us needs to win trophies. And it sure won’t be me.”
“I’m not as fast as you were, Troy.”
“No, you’re not. With a little practice, you will be though.”
When Luke showed up the next day, he found Troy in the backyard, dressed in a sweat suit, with a whistle around his neck. He balanced himself with his cane, and a haughty expression on his face dared anyone to comment.
“Go change. We’re practicing today,” Troy said without preamble.
Luke didn’t hesitate. He was dressed and ready to run in less than two minutes, anxious to do something active.
Troy immediately started coaching him, as if he was born to coach. First he had him do warm up stretches, then a few slow laps.
“Watch your posture! Keep your shoulders back!” Troy shouted.
Luke thought he was already doing that.
“Lean forward on your heels slightly. Then gravity will help propel you forward. Don’t lean with your hips, shift your weight forward from your ankles. Don’t sit back in your stride.”
Luke completed another lap, pleased with the results.
“Keep your cadence going with a short, quick stride. Go fast, but relax. You’re too tense.”
Luke tried to concentrate on every bit of advice from Troy. Instead he just felt as though he was about to trip over his own two feet.
Troy sighed with exasperation. “Let’s practice skipping, it keeps you light on your feet.”
Luke objected. “I’m not gonna skip. No way.”
Troy rolled his eyes. “All right, then. I know another way to keep you light. Take off your shoes and socks and do a lap barefoot.”
Luke obeyed, wondering if Troy was toying with him.
“The grass stimulates the nerves in your feet. Once the foot lands, it immediately wants to be picked up. It helps you to not land so forcefully.”
Luke did feel lighter, almost lithe. What a difference. After a few laps, Troy told him to replace his shoes and run with the barefoot motion in mind.
Troy studied his every move, barking out criticism.
“Don’t look down when you get tired. Keep your head up,” Troy scolded. “Shoulders down! Keep those arms swinging like pendulums. Don’t swing your arms in front of your chest. Keep the motion forward and back, just barely touching your body.”
Luke had no idea there were so many nitpicky details involved in running properly. But the difference was marked. He already felt more agile, more nimble. Troy knew what he was talking about. Of course, his father had coached him for years, s
ince the day he could walk. And now he was passing on that knowledge to Luke.
“Land with your foot directly beneath you, Luke! You’re over-striding.”
“I don’t know what that means,” Luke grunted, wiping the perspiration from his forehead.
“You’re landing with your foot too far in front of you.”
“So, how do I fix it?”
“Try running with your feet kicking your own butt. It reminds your legs where your feet should be landing. It’s all about muscle memory.”
“Are you messing with me?” Luke asked, his hands on his hips.
“No, I’m not. If you don’t want to do it, I’ll find someone else to coach. Take it or leave it.”
Luke considered Troy’s words, wanting to tell him to go fly a kite.
But he didn’t. Troy appeared animated, his pale skin flushed with color, his cheeks bright with crimson stains. It was the most alive he’d seen Troy in a very long time.
Luke swallowed his pride and attempted to run while kicking his own butt, feeling like an idiot.
“See that, that’s where your feet should be landing. Memorize it,” Troy yelled, sounding pleased.
Ah, genius. Troy’s father had taught him well.
He didn’t have it down—that would take awhile—but he now understood the concept. Practice would be key.
“Watch the heel strike! Don’t land on your heel and don’t land on your toes, land on the ball of your foot.”
Troy the taskmaster kept him practicing his stride for three hours that afternoon. It was too much to take in on one day, too many things to master at once.
Yet, it was the day he fell in love with running.
25
Luke and Jill
April 2003
Present Day
Jill pondered Luke and Troy’s relationship, letting their story ruminate through her mind. While their friendship was certainly unique, and Troy should’ve been hailed as a hero, and Luke should’ve been commended for holding on to the companionship, it was obvious that their relationship had turned somewhat toxic. She actually felt a great deal of trepidation over what was coming next. Was the story going to get worse or better?
Luke’s faraway expression proved he was in another time, another place, reliving his past.
“Can we move to the sunroom?” she asked quietly. The wooden kitchen chair suddenly felt as though she was sitting on a rock. Her legs had fallen asleep and the pins-and-needles sensation left her in need of a good stretch. She didn’t want Luke to lose his train of thought, but he needed a brief respite as well. A change of scenery would meet both of their needs.
They both stood, stretched, and made their way into the sunroom. Luke seemed to look right through her as he immediately started up with his story once again. The reprieve hadn’t done him a lick of good. He was intent on telling his story and nothing was going to stop him now. Jill was eager to listen—and hoped the ending was happy, for her, for Luke, and for Troy.
“When our sophomore year rolled around, Troy decided to attend high school. He asked for my help and I jumped at the chance to do something for him. I met him every morning and walked with him to school while carrying his books. We only lived around the corner from the high school. It seemed silly for his mom to drive him. And the exercise did him good. Once at school, I met him in between each class, carried his books, and unlocked his locker, swapping out the books he needed for the ones he didn’t need.”
Jill wondered if Troy really needed that much help. She doubted it. Yet Troy had let Luke wait on him. It didn’t shed a good light on Troy, in fact it made him seem hateful. Luke wanted so much to help Troy, he couldn’t see it. “So, you were friends again?”
“Friends might be too strong of a word. Our conversations consisted of basic stuff like ‘I hate algebra,’ or ‘Homework sucks,’ or ‘Do I really need to read Wuthering Heights to succeed in life?’ We didn’t have real conversations, not like we used to anyway . . . that is, if twelve year old talk can be considered conversations. The only time I saw Troy truly become energetic was when he helped me with my running. He continued to coach me. We’d set up in his backyard, and he’d stand there with his whistle, barking out criticism while I did laps. He’d pull out his stopwatch and time me during a run. ‘Not good enough, Luke. You’ve gotta do better than that,’ he’d yell. He was hard on me, but it was exactly what I needed. He challenged me and I responded. I knew he was living out his fantasy through me and I was happy to do it for him. It was better than lying around watching TV all the time. It got Troy outside and he became passionate about something again.” Luke was quiet for several minutes. “It was in our Junior year when things got complicated.”
Jill begged to differ. Things had become complicated long ago.
26
Luke and Troy
March 1992
Eleven Years Earlier
“Thanks for your help, Luke. I really appreciate it.”
Callie.
Callie Lewis. The most beautiful girl in the school. As far as Luke was concerned anyway. “Hey, no problem.”
He’d help Callie with all of her homework if she needed it. Shoot, he’d do her homework for her if she just asked. As long as they were able to be in the same room. As long as he could look at her all he wanted. Everything about her was so . . . cute. Her long brown hair. Her emerald green eyes. At least that’s what she called them. He’d asked her once, “What color are your eyes?” They were the strangest shade of green he’d ever seen. And she’d said, “Emerald green.” When a girl says she has emerald green eyes, a boy doesn’t forget it. Emerald green was now his favorite color. And Callie Lewis was perfection.
“Can we meet again tomorrow, Luke? Geometry is killing me.”
They’d just stepped outside the doors of the school and Troy was waiting for him, looking irritated. He was only ten minutes late. Callie had only needed help with a few problems on today’s homework.
“You bet.”
“Hi, Troy. Sorry I kept Luke for so long,” Callie said with a heart stopping smile.
“Hi, Callie.” Troy’s usual scowl was nowhere in sight. He smiled at Callie, observing her with shrewd eyes.
“You’re late,” he said to Luke when Callie left, his expression turning dark.
That’s okay, Troy, I’ve got your light.
“You’ll be late for practice and coach is gonna be pissed.”
Troy always stayed and watched track practice, taking his role as his personal coach seriously. Then he gave Luke advice on the walk home, talking non-stop about his form, his pacing, and his breathing. He was obsessed with the “art of running,” as he called it.
“I told you I would be helping Callie with her homework for a few minutes after school today.” Luke’s eyes followed Callie as she walked down the sidewalk. She always wore brightly colored cardigans and straight legged jeans that showed off every curve she owned. And there were a lot of curves. Her hair was always curled, falling down her back in perfect waves. What he wouldn’t give to run his fingers through it.
“Luke! Earth to Luke! Can we go now?”
“Yeah, sorry. Need anything from your locker?”
“No, I’m good. But I need you to concentrate. You won’t do well at Friday’s meet if you’re easily distracted by a pretty face.”
A car drove up next to Callie. It was her mother picking her up from school. Luke waved as they drove past; smiling as Callie rolled her window down, stuck her hand out the window, and waved with enthusiasm. “What did you say, Troy?”
“Never mind,” Troy spat.
Geez, what was bugging him?
Luke spent time with Callie every day after school for the next two weeks, sometimes helping with homework and sometimes they just talked. Today he’d finally kissed her. And she’d responded, kissing him back in a way that surprised him. As soon as he got his driver’s license, he was going to ask her out to dinner and a movie. He’d ask her to Junior prom too. He wanted to
dance with her in his arms. She giggled a lot and he loved that giggle because it was the sound of happiness. Callie’s happiness.
Luke had noticed Callie Lewis in his sophomore year. Sometimes he watched her in the school cafeteria. He watched the way she ate, the way her lips pursed when she drank from a straw, the way she tossed her hair over her shoulder, the way she smiled and laughed. He watched her eyes dart about the room watching other classmates.
She never noticed him.
He liked the lyrical sound of her voice and he liked the graceful way she walked. He found out she was a ballerina and it showed in the way she held herself. She could walk without making a single sound, as if she floated down the hallway. She’d performed in The Nutcracker at Christmas time and he’d finagled his mom into buying tickets for the family, saying it would be a fun family activity. His mom had jumped at the chance to offer her family a bit of culture.
Other than the moments when Callie had been on stage, he’d been bored out of his mind the entire time.
It didn’t kill his obsession. He liked the way she held her pencil, and the way she stared into space during English Lit. He especially loved the way she stopped and helped a girl who had dropped her books in front of her locker. She was the perfect girl. No other girl compared to her. He didn’t notice other girls and he didn’t try to spark up conversation with other girls, because Callie Lewis was perfect. And other girls didn’t exist.
Even though he’d never once actually spoken with Callie Lewis.
He tried a few times. Hovering close to her lunch table, determined to just say “hi” or “how’s it going?” He always lost the courage. She didn’t know he existed.
Until Junior year Geometry class. She sat next to him and asked for help with a problem.
“What?” Luke squeaked, wondering what had happened to his voice.
“Can you help me with a problem?” Callie said, looking directly into his eyes.
“You have a problem?”
“Yeah.”
“And you want my help?”
“Yes, please.”
