“Hell,” the attendant was frustrated. “I ain’t got no help. I don’t know how I can change a tire over there and watch the station here. Can you boys pump gas?”
Micah and JJ looked at one another. “As good as a cow lays eggs,” JJ grinned as he looked up and down the country road, and not a car could be seen except for their school bus.
The man jumped into his service truck and drove away. Micah called the Booker school and gave the secretary the message. The cars with the cheerleaders pulled into the station; the girls got out, and Lindy made a beeline to Micah. The two started talking, but Miss Dorsey (Tom’s daughter was the pep squad sponsor) ordered her back to the car. Then the spinster-teacher pointed a finger at Micah, grimacing. “Stay away.” Though Nancy Dorsey said nothing else, her body language screamed that there was nothing about Micah she liked. The feeling was mutual.
It took about an hour with the attendant going back and forth from the bus to the station several times before the hole was fixed and the tire functional. He gave the two boys a half-dollar each for helping attend the station.
The rest of the drive to Booker was uneventful. The team changed into their racing uniforms on the bus in route. Once at the school, they only had a few minutes for warm ups before the competition began. Micah continued to stretch his muscles as the races started, and the Tierra Vista boys surrounded him talking. The friction between the Townies and the Cowboys had pretty much disappeared, and now they tolerated one another. More than that, they were becoming friends.
Micah spotted Lindy, and he trotted over to her. The boy and girl chitchatted for a moment. “You’re wearing a St. Christopher,” she smiled as she pulled the medal from under his racing jersey. “In between girl friends?”
“Never had one,” Micah replied. “Till now,” and his eyes twinkled at her.
“Sherwood, get your ass over here,” Coach hollered. Micah ran back to the field while Lindy wore his St. Christopher.
Micah watched the races and paid no attention to the spectators. They were a rowdy bunch. Every once in a while he would see Cory, Tandy or Dane run to the concession stand.
“Micah,” he heard someone yell his name. A male voice was calling him. He looked toward the Coach, and it wasn’t him. “Micah!” He turned. Mr. Dorsey was waving his hands, and next to him was Isabella, Elaine and his mother. Behind them were the Krigsmans; and then he noticed Poppi. He jogged over to the stands.
“Pops, what you doing here?”
“You’re old lady said you’d be running, and I took off from Kansas early to see you. My little buckaroo has grown up. Look at you. My God Micah, what happened? You’re suddenly a man.”
“Minute,” and Micah ran over to the cheerleaders and grabbed Lindy’s hand and guided her over to the bleachers. “This is Lindy, she’s my girl.”
Bill Sherwood struggled to get a word out. “Glad to meet you,” and the father beamed.
“Sherwood, I won’t tell you again,” Micah looked toward Coach Britt, who had a smile on his face, and then he pointed to the track. “You’re next.”
He went to the starting point. His competition looked eager, strong. This would be a tough race. Micah was in his starting position with mind clear when the pistol exploded, and he was off at a fast sprint, slowing to a swift jog after one lap. He concentrated, looking straight ahead keeping his mind blank and passing a runner. His pace was too fast, so he slowed. At the beginning of the 3rd kilometer, he started targeting the competition, challenging them one at a time. Micah ran through a turn and smelled a familiar, sweet aftershave floating in the air. All of a sudden his adrenalin surged, and he felt his hate take over. There was one runner ahead of him as he came into the final lap. His anger overpowered all other emotions. He flew, running faster than he had ever run before: his legs were screaming from exertion; his throat and lungs were burning. Sweat poured off him as he crossed the finish line never seeing the other runner, and then he heard his team yell, “Ohiwaye!”
Micah stopped next to Coach, who patted him on the back; Lindy hugged him; Cory rubbed his Mohawk. All of his anger and angst had disappeared, and he was overcome with celebration. He stood with the 9th Graders and received his 1st Place ribbon.
Three hours later, the bus pulled up at Camino del Rio. Cars were parked all around the gym, where parents were serving barbeque. This was a tradition, to have a community meal after the away meets. It was sponsored by the PTA and neighborhood supporters. Micah walked into the old building, and he saw his mother serving up her cherry cobbler. Poppi was talking to Tom, and Mr. and Mrs. Krigsman were speaking with Mr. Malvern.
Micah got a plate and filled it up. He was starving. He climbed the steps to sit in the stands, and he was soon joined by Beau. “We can be friends, can’t we?” Beau asked.
“I’m not the one who stopped being friends. You did.” He ate for a few moments. “Friends,” and Micah punched Beau in the arm. By that time, the Cowboys and Jan had joined them. And they quietly sat together and enjoyed each other’s company.
By midnight, Micah was in the den with Mr. Dorsey. “I am so proud of you. I ran on that field today. I’m living my youth again through you.
Micah frowned. “Why? I don’t understand that. You have a wonderful life.”
“Someday you’ll appreciate what I’m saying, when you’re my age.”
Micah shrugged his shoulders. “I’m going to the meet at Hamlin tomorrow. I want to watch Cory run my race.”
“And your dad wants to ride tomorrow afternoon. I think he’ll be okay on Nellie.”
“Sure, Nellie wouldn’t hurt a fly. But he wants to ride. I’ve never seen him ride. Poppi’s getting weird.” Micah grinned at the thought of his old man riding a horse.
Mr. Dorsey suddenly looked serious. “A deputy came by this morning; said that Harry had left town, that he wouldn’t be bothering us anymore.”
“Maybe,” Micah responded. He knew differently but there was no point bringing it up with Tom. He knew that a man with that much hate could never let it go.
He stepped out the back door and retrieved Raggéd. The two went to the barn bedroom. The dog was some protection, and he now slept in the boy’s room, not in the kennel. Micah lay on the bed fully clothed, asleep before ever putting out the light.
Tandy came by the next morning to walk with Micah to Tierra Verde. They arrived just as the bus did. At the back sat all of the kids from Rolling Ridge, and the front was allocated to Tierra Verde. They were competitors, so there was no give and take, no talking. They were the enemy until junior high when they all became school mates.
Micah smiled. He found group dynamics hilarious. It was arbitrary. It was frivolous much of the time. It could be hypocritical and enslaving. And the worse thing, it often promoted ignorance. He understood social structures. Mr. Dorsey’s was always explaining things from a sociologist’s perspective. Social groups give identity and educate kids in their norms and culture, and they help maintain power by enforcing the standards through subtle and not so subtle coercions.
In the long term, Micah thought, he was in trouble. He would never be a follower, and when his “different drummer” mentality conformed—good; but when it didn’t, he wouldn’t care.
Hamlin Primary was near Palo Duro High, so the trip was short and quick. Coach Terry and the Rolling Ridge trainer met them at the school. Each student went with their respective coach, and Micah stayed to help Britt.
“Does it feel strange not to be with your friends?” Coach looked at Micah and wondered what was flowing through his brain.
“No because I’m with them, and they were at Booker yesterday with me. So there isn’t really any big difference.” Micah lifted a box of equipment and followed Coach Britt to the field. “What was my speed yesterday?”
“Better than your last run, 19:25. If you keep running at around 19:30, you will likely win more than you lose. Remember you’re racing boys a lot older than you and who have been running for several years. A loss, when
it happens, is a learning experience. Your time was good yesterday, but I thought you were going to lose it until the end, and then you took off. Was something bothering you?”
“Not really,” Micah began to analyze his run. “I started out too fast and then slowed down. My mind was sort of wandering after that. Something triggered a memory and I became angry, that’s when you saw me take off. I didn’t eat lunch, and I think that had something to do with it too.”
“I’ll take responsibility for that,” Britt said. “These long trips put us at a disadvantage. It interferes with routine. The rest of the meets are closer to home.” There was a pause. “Think Cory will do well on the 5K?”
“He’ll win. People think he’s a goof-off, but Cory can be very determined. Right now he wants to show me that he can win.”
Coach Britt smiled. “That’s a good reason to do well. I think he could beat you if he wanted to.”
“I know he could,” Micah smiled. “But he’s afraid of failure. He’s like me, only I don’t let my fear stop me from trying, but Cory lets his fear paralyze him. But he’s starting to step out of his comfort-zone and is pushing himself to do things that are uncomfortable. Track has a lot to do with it.”
The Coach grinned, “And maybe a little competition from you is giving him the kick-in-the-ass he needs to achieve the best in himself.”
“Perhaps,” Micah responded to the Coach as he followed him to the field for warm ups.
Mr. Dorsey and the Krigsmans were at the meet to cheer on Cory and the other runners. And on the bus ride home, Cory proudly showed-off his blue ribbon. He beat his closet rival by a good quarter lap.
The boys hopped off the bus at Tierra Verde. “You riding this afternoon?” Tandy asked.
“Yeah, but with my old man. Come over later.”
“Maybe,” and Tandy ran across the pipeline.
Micah retrieved Nellie from the small pasture and saddled her, getting her ready for pops. Then he grabbed Styx and started riding around the corral. He looked at his shadow on the ground as he galloped across the hold. There was something peculiar about it, and he stopped to study it a little closer. The shadow seemed to be 3-dimensional, alive. Then, independent of his own movements, it raised an arm and pointed at the creek. Micah looked toward the arroyo and the cottonwoods that shaded it. Peering over some scrub, Harry watched. After a couple of moments, he faded into the brush.
Micah was being stalked.
The boy reached into his boot to check his knife. It rested in a leather pouch sown on the inside shaft of the right boot. He could grab it with his left hand, flip the blade out and be able to defend himself within an instant. A person would have to look closely to detect that there was a hidden pocket. He had practiced grabbing the switchblade and flipping the sharpened blade, jabbing and slashing at an invisible enemy. He meant to cause damage if the time came, when the time came.
“Bucky,” his dad yelled from the barn.
Micah rode up to the gate and hopped off the black gelding. Bill grabbed his son in a bear hug.
“Got Nellie ready for you,” and he led his father to the white mare. “Sure you can ride, you need me to show you how?”
“I think I can handle it,” his dad grinned.
“Okay, but let me know when you’re getting tired. You’re pretty old, you know.” His dad looked disapprovingly at his son.
Micah headed toward the flint hill with his dad following. He didn’t think pops would make it much further than that, and he was right.
“Told you. You’re not used to it. Bet you can barely walk. Here’s some water,” and Micah tossed him his canteen then retrieved some jerky and raisins from his saddle bags. The two sat on the flinty mound.
“So what you want to talk about?”
“What makes you think I want to talk about anything? Maybe I just wanted to be with you.” Bill started chewing on a strip of jerky.
“Okay.”
“Strange thing happened at home.” Poppi commenced.
“Willow Wood always has strange things happening,” Micah said, but he was interested because his dad had never mentioned anything odd occurring at the house before.
“Got home last night from your race and went to the icebox to get a beer, and they had disappeared, vanished. Mom said she didn’t drink any, and Isabella didn’t know anything about it. Weird huh?” Bill copied the language he heard his son use many times.
“Oops!” Micah studied his pops. “Told you we had ghosts.”
“Were these ghosts about 11 years old?”
“Möglicherweise!” He spoke German to his father.
“It’s more than possible; I think it’s highly likely. And I bet the chief ghost was named David Micah Sherwood.” Bill showed no emotion as he spoke.
“Peculiar name for a ghost, you think?”
Bill reached over and gave his son a slight push. “I think if you get into my beer again, you’ll be a ghost sooner than you expect—you and your friends.”
“I meant to replace them, but I forgot. It seemed like a good idea.”
“Drinking is never a good idea. Just look at me.”
“Poppi, what are you talking about?” Micah looked at his old man. “You’re no drunk. You work hard. I’m proud of you.”
Bill put his arm around the boy and hugged him. “I love you Micah.”
The two sat quietly for a while before heading back to the barn.
That evening, Mr. Dorsey, Tandy and Micah had supper together. Everyone was happy except Micah, who kept seeing the image of the old foreman watching him.
“I’m relieved that Harry’s gone. I was worried about you all and Henry.” He looked at the two boys as he spoke. “I don’t understand how people become evil.”
Micah stared at his plate without touching his meal. He needed to tell Tom about what he saw, but he didn’t want to. It could make the old man sick with worry. He would handle it. That was his decision, and once made, it seemed to set him free. And he smiled to himself and started eating, slicing into his steak and savoring the rich and coppery flavor of the blood.
“Mother, help me make the right decisions,” Micah spoke within his mind. “Help me protect the people I love and keep them safe.” He looked across the crowded restaurant, and standing near an exit, a chubby, smiling black lady watched him. She put a finger to her lips telling him to be quiet and then faded into the smoky air. “Thank you,” he whispered.
“You feeling okay?” Tom had concern written across his face.
“I am great. You need to stop distressing yourself. It’s gonna put you in the hospital.” Micah responded. “Do I need to make a doctor’s appointment for you, ‘cause I will.” He looked at the old man, who grinned and resumed eating.
“You feel like running?” Micah looked at Tandy who sat on the floor back home in the barn. He shook his head yes, and they took-off. The night sky was clear; a half-moon lighted the prairie. They stepped out the back door, and Micah closed and locked it,(which he had never done before). He felt harassed, forced to secure his own room against a stranger, but Harry was dangerous, insane and intent on causing him pain. His hand rested on the switchblade in his pocket and the cold steel was ready to do his bidding.
The coyotes met them at the flint hill. They had a circling maneuver; the animals continuously sprinted around the runners seemingly scouting for danger. Micah had seen them reconnoiter during other runs. They were picking up something that he was unable to see or smell or hear.
Micah followed Tandy. He watched his friend, who had a continuous smile on his face. Seeing the night world clearly was almost like going to an amusement park for the first time. It was a new experience full of thrills. He thought back to his birth into the nocturnal realm. It made his life richer and fuller. It had also been frightening because he did not understand how it happened. Now he knew. Tandy was brave and a little rash; he made the decision expecting a reward but not knowing if there were risks involved. Micah thought that there still migh
t be unrealized hazards.
Micah and Tandy sensed danger; both boys stopped together instantly. The coyotes charged into the night on their left. There were some walnut sized stones lying along the path. Micah picked up a few and readied himself to throw them. Tandy saw Micah and copied him. The canines stop perhaps 50 feet away watching someone crouched under some mesquite between them and the boys.
The coyotes should have attacked, but they only observed. “Come out or get a rock between your eyes,” There was movement; someone slowly stepped toward the runners. “Cory, you freak, I almost hit you with a rock. Why you sneaking around like that?” Micah wanted to bash him.
Cory started laughing. “I wanted to see how long it would take you to discover me following.”
“How long?” Tandy asked.
“Too long,” Cory responded and then studied Tandy. “How’d you get the eyes?”
“Later, we’re running now,” Micah commanded and then took off.
They all fell in line and started jogging toward the playa then diverted cross-country. There had been little rain during the spring but a lot of fog. The prairie grass was green, but by the end of May, without moisture, it would fade back to yellow. The boys had developed a great degree of endurance in running. Except for the Cory stop, they had run well over five miles at a brisk pace without muscle distress or rest.
Micah felt every cell of his body when running: when his heart thumped rapidly; when his mind worked in overdrive never wishing to stop. He looked at his friends, and they stared directly ahead. They too were celebrating their strength and freedom. Their minds were elsewhere, flying over the prairie in some playful reverie.
“Thank you,” he once again said to Mother.
He honored the black lady as something mysterious and holy. A deity he knew both intimately and not at all. She was a contradiction: otherworldly and the substance of everything—God but not all of God. The scent of jasmine and roses filled the breeze, and he breathed it in deeply and purposefully. Micah ran harder as if pursuing some incomprehensible and eternal majesty.
Suddenly he was tripping, tasting the pemmican and mushrooms once again. The lavender sun reflected from his bronzed skin as he jogged beside the mercury sea. Golden butterflies drifted in the mellow wind, and fireflies blinked in-and-out of existence with the notes of the Shadow Choir, which drifted from some unseen temple. Cory and Tandy ran next to him; their yellowish flickers joined his in an eternal union then flamed toward the storming sun.
Willow Wood Road: Lavender and Sage Page 19
