Run

by David Skuy

  “Hurry up and into the shower,” Marcus said to him.

  “I didn’t play,” Lionel said.

  “Into that shower,” Marcus ordered.

  Lionel took off his shoes and socks, striking a disinterested air, all the while keeping a wary eye on the guys. He slipped his pants off and put a towel across his lap. Some of the kids were already getting dressed and the rest were waiting for an open shower. This was perfect. If he waited long enough, he might even be able to shower alone.

  A few minutes later, the showers had mostly cleared out. Lionel took off his shirt, his heart pounding furiously. Perfect time to make his move. Nick and Bryan were busy talking to Marcus about the stupid school basketball team. Knees weak and stomach lurching, he walked to the showers.

  Lionel reached under his towel and pulled his underwear off. Only two guys were inside. He pressed the button. The water hit him in the stomach and he had to twist the nozzle up. It actually felt good, but he wasn’t about to laze around no matter how good it felt. He stuck his head under the shower for a second and let the water run down his back. That was enough. He grabbed his towel and put his underwear on.

  The room was quiet when he sat back down, only five kids left. Nick and Bryan were gone, and better yet, so was Marcus. Lionel slipped his shirt on. It stuck to his back because he was still wet. He felt better with it on so no one could see his gross stomach. The wet made it tough to get his pants on, and he had to wiggle to slide them all the way up.

  Suddenly, a weird weak feeling spread throughout his body — a weakness so strong he couldn’t move. He had no energy — none — and his chest felt like it would cave in. He felt himself getting upset, like crying upset, out of the blue, out of nowhere. He tried his usual trick of emptying his mind, making the bad thoughts go away — making himself invisible. He’d done it a million times.

  All he had to do was go.

  But he couldn’t. He tried taking a few deep breaths.

  Then it happened. He’d blown his chance.

  “You gonna play next class?” a kid across the room said to him.

  The kid’s name was Ian. He wasn’t a big deal. Just a kid, but he was way higher on the pecking order, and Lionel could tell he was going to take advantage of this opportunity.

  “I felt sick today,” Lionel said. “I shouldn’t have come to school.”

  “You were sick last gym class, weren’t you?” Ian said.

  “I should go to a doctor,” Lionel said.

  “Yeah, like a shrink,” Ian said.

  They all laughed. Lionel joined in.

  “You’re probably right,” Lionel said.

  The tears were coming. You can’t disappear when you’re crying.

  “Play on my team next time,” Ian said. “We need a permanent sub. I wanna play the whole game.”

  Lionel chuckled. “I’ll try.”

  He got up and strolled to the bathroom by the showers. He had to get into a stall. One picture, one Facebook post, one Tweet, and his life was over.

  He closed the stall door and listened intently. He heard the shuffling of feet, and then the locker room door opened. They were leaving.

  Tears fell down Lionel’s cheeks, misery washing over him in waves.

  Friday, 3:37 p.m.

  Lionel ran from the school. His eyes were red. Anyone who saw him would know he’d been crying. He raced past a group of grade seven kids hanging by the gate. He kept his head down, eyes half open.

  He charged up the street. His blister hurt. He didn’t care.

  The bus slowed to a stop about twenty yards away. He wasn’t going to miss the bus today — no way. He was going home … now!

  “Stop, you freakin’ bus!” he yelled.

  The bus drove off. He raced after it in a rage so deep and strong that the top of his head felt hot; a rage so complete, his entire body buzzed, and his muscles twitched; a rage so powerful that he didn’t notice his blister, or his chest, or his knees. He slipped past a mother pushing a stroller. Two old men were hogging the sidewalk and he had to jump over a garbage bag to get by.

  “Hold on!” he yelled at the bus.

  Two women standing outside a variety store watched him in amazement. He didn’t care. His rage took away his caring. A car bore down on him and the driver leaned on the horn. Lionel dashed across the street. The bus pulled up to the stop. Lionel lunged for the doors.

  They opened.

  They actually opened.

  Lionel stared up.

  “You comin’ or what?” the driver said, eyes squinting into narrow slits.

  Lionel gulped, struggling to breathe, and stepped up. The doors slid shut, almost clipping his backpack. The bus merged slowly into traffic.

  Lionel dug his pass out.

  “I think I know you by now,” the driver chuckled. “You’ve been taking my bus since I got transferred to this route two weeks ago.”

  “Sorry,” he said, still gasping for breath.

  The driver looked over at Lionel. “What are you sorry about?”

  “Oh, um … nothing.”

  “Then why’d you say sorry?”

  The driver’s teeth were small and even. Made him look a little like Binny’s dog, Britney.

  The driver let out a harsh, staccato laugh. “I’m only messin’ with ya, bro” he said. “Good to hear a polite kid once in a while. In this job it’s rare, trust me.”

  Lionel bowed his head and smiled, grateful he didn’t have to answer.

  “You go to Winfields, yeah?” the driver said.

  Lionel nodded.

  “What grade?”

  “I’m in eight — grade eight.”

  “Like it?”

  Lionel shrugged.

  The driver chuckled, “I didn’t much go for school, not my thing. Couldn’t wait to get out. Didn’t learn much in school, neither, except hanging with my bros and getting into trouble.” He chuckled again. “I figure you’re like me, yeah?”

  “I guess.”

  “You’ll get through it. We all do.” He lowered his voice. “Then you find a job and sit back and enjoy life. That’s why I like driving. No problems, other than idiot drivers — and my boss is impossible. Some of my buds get all wound up about him. I say, who cares? Let him be a jerk. He ain’t getting under my skin. Besides, he ain’t such a bad dude, just got promoted and the power changed him. He used to drive. I figure deep down he’s still one of us.”

  The bus changed lanes and pulled up to the next stop. The driver screwed his eyes up again. “You need to move back from the doors to let the passengers in.”

  Lionel flushed. “Sorry.”

  “Heh …heh … heh,” he chuckled. “You’re always sorry ’bout somethin’, yeah?”

  Lionel shuffled to the rear doors. First time he talks to a driver and he gets dissed. He’s probably the jerk, not his boss. He took his backpack off. His shirt was wet. The bus started off, and he leaned against a pole and stared out the window. He’d made it, though. He’d actually run all the way from school — and to the second bus stop — without stopping. For a second he almost burst out laughing; he even had to turn away and look out the window so people wouldn’t see the stupid grin on his face.

  He’d made it.

  And he didn’t have to be sorry about that.

  Friday: 6:45 p.m.

  Lionel crunched the paper bag with his hand and tossed it on the floor.

  “Is that for me to pick up?” his mom said. “I bring burgers for a treat and you make a mess? I don’t think so.”

  Lionel took some fries.

  “Um … Did you lose your hearing? I don’t appreciate the disrespect. Don’t throw your stuff on the floor.” She began to cycle through the channels.

  His stomach felt gross — hard and bloated. It had begun when he got home. For the first time in hi
s life he didn’t feel like gaming. He’d been so stoked about Brent not being here. It was Friday night and he could stay up as late as he wanted. Instead, he was wasting time watching his mom’s stupid shows. Eating only made it worse — way worse.

  “Lionel!”

  He snatched the bag from the floor and slammed it on the table.

  “And an apology, please,” she said.

  He wasn’t going to say sorry. No chance. Sorry for what? The burger in his mouth tasted like chalk. He opened the bag and spit his burger into it.

  “Thanks for that, too. I really needed to hear that sound. It’s been a brutal couple of days, with Brent being such a jerk. And I have to work Saturday now, covering for Marcia who is going to the casino with Rory.”

  Lionel dug his fingernails into his hands. A spasm flitted across his stomach and up into his chest, like a flash of pain.

  He tossed his burger into the bag.

  “If you hate your job so much, why don’t you get another one?” he said.

  His mom grimaced, mouth open slightly. “You’re a kid. You have no idea what it’s like out there. Jobs like mine don’t grow on trees. I’d never get the same money somewhere else, not after eight years, and I get benefits and three weeks’ vacation. It’s … like … impossible for me to leave.”

  “But all you do …” He couldn’t say it. She’d flip out.

  His mom turned the volume down. “All I do is what, Lionel?” she said, glaring at him.

  His dinner sat in his stomach like a bowling ball.

  “All you do is complain and … maybe I don’t feel good all the time … and it’s hard to listen to you complain every second of the day.”

  “Excuse me? I complain every second?” She seemed staggered.

  “Every other second, then — and you do. It’s non-stop. And my chest’s been hurting for a week, more like two or three, and … You didn’t ask me once how I was feeling. You’re a broken record: ‘I hate Marcia’; ‘I hate work’; ‘I hate Sheila’; ‘I hate Brent’; ‘I hate my life.’” He took a breath. “Well, I hate my life too, only I don’t complain about it all the time.”

  “Lionel, honey. I didn’t know you weren’t feeling well.”

  “Now you do.”

  She closed her eyes briefly and came over to him. She began to stroke the back of his neck. “Poor Li-Li. You have to tell me when you’re not feeling well, so I can take care of you.”

  He shrugged her hand off his neck and moved away. “I’m not a little boy. How about we stick with ‘Lionel.’”

  She pouted. “Not fair. I miss my little boy. When did you turn into a teenager overnight?” She reached out and he pulled away again. “I guess that’s normal. You aren’t a little boy, I get it,” she said. “And maybe you’re right … about me complaining. I think I just need a change in my life, that’s all; but I don’t know what to do. Maybe I’m bummed out about Brent.”

  “Why do you care about him? He sat around and stuffed his face and yelled at you all the time. He called us Do-Nothings.”

  She got quiet. “I guess I get … lonely sometimes, and end up making bad decisions, like thinking Brent and me had something together. I pretended Brent was someone he wasn’t. All the signs were there. I just ignored them. I know I have to work on my confidence … Anyway, don’t listen to Brent — as if we do nothing.”

  Lionel folded his arms. “What do we do?”

  His question hung in the air.

  “We … This is dumb. Lots of things. Don’t be silly.” She reached over and squeezed his shoulder. “We need to cheer up, you and me. I’m sorry for moping around. You’re right about Brent, too. Don’t know what I was thinking. He wasn’t good for me — or you. He’s forgotten. Over. Bye-bye.” She paused. “Let’s celebrate. Do you wanna go to the corner store for ice cream? You pick the flavour.”

  “I’m not that hungry.”

  She laughed. “Since when do you eat ice cream because you’re hungry? The walk will do you good. We can watch a movie, whatever you want. It’s Lionel night. I don’t want my baby feeling sad. Grab some cash from my purse.”

  Lionel stared at the empty cups and the containers. His mom sat back in her chair and reached for the converter. “Go for it,” she said. “Anything but that awful peanut butter stuff you bought last time. That was gross.” Movie listings popped up on the television. “Do you want action, comedy, or a documentary? I know you love documentaries.”

  Lionel walked to the door.

  “You choose,” he said quietly. He slipped on his shoes, took a ten-dollar bill from her purse, and left, trudging to the elevator, barely picking up his feet, so his heels skidded on the carpet. The thrill of catching the bus was officially gone. He had no idea why. He pushed the button and the doors slid open.

  “Please hold the elevator.”

  Donna toddled towards him carrying a large plastic shopping bag. Lionel stood in between the doors to keep them from closing. Donna stepped in. She wiped her brow and sighed.

  “When did I become so slow?” She gave him a smile. “Where are you off to, Lionel?”

  “Going to get some ice cream.”

  “That’s nice — a little treat. Well, you deserve it. You’re always going to and from school — and running about with friends, I bet. Can’t touch the stuff myself, not any longer. My doctor told me I’m pre-diabetic. Can you believe I lost twenty pounds in twelve months? It’s true,” she beamed. “I go to the gym every day for my water aerobics, and then take a long walk, and I’ve cut out all the junk.” She shook her bag. “Decided to do some recycling. I know I’m being silly. It’s only Friday and the truck doesn’t come again until Thursday. I don’t have much, but it makes me feel better. I hate to forget.”

  “Do you need me to help?” Lionel said. The bag looked heavy.

  “That’s sweet, but I can manage.”

  “Are you sure? It’s no big deal.”

  The door opened.

  “To be honest, I think I’m doing this just to get out of my apartment. I don’t know too many people in this city, and my son lives far away. I get lonely. Have a good evening, Lionel, and enjoy the ice cream for me.”

  “Goodnight, Donna.”

  It hadn’t occurred to him that she was lonely. Donna was always happy. You never really know someone, not really, not even yourself. Like what’s up with talking to that bus driver, or to Binny and Gwen, or right now offering to help with the recycling?

  Or what about the crying after gym? If that happened again he’d get so pummeled it wouldn’t be funny — Stephane times ten.

  It was like he’d become two people: there was the old Lionel who knew how to keep out of people’s way, who could be invisible when he needed to, who didn’t have problems with people because people didn’t have problems with him; and then there was this other guy who cried and ran and talked to everyone who’d listen.

  And the weirdest part of it?

  He wasn’t sure who he liked better.

  Friday: 7:12 p.m.

  He was so busy thinking about the two Lionels that he didn’t see Binny and Britney until it was too late to cross the street.

  Binny waved. Lionel had to wave back.

  “Marathon Boy is on the move. You ever stay put in one spot?”

  Lionel grinned awkwardly.

  “Out for your run?” Binny said.

  He shook his head. “I usually run in the mornings.”

  “I’m opening the café tomorrow morning, me and Brit; don’t forget to come by and say hi,” Binny said. “I’ll juice you up. Gotta keep hydrated when you run, right?”

  “I guess so. But you don’t have to … I bring a water bottle.”

  No harm in pretending.

  Binny laughed. “Business ain’t that bad that I can’t spare some juice for a friend. Besides, you’re gonna be in the Olympic
s one day and I’ll be able to say I helped with your training.”

  “I think Britney will make the Olympics before me,” Lionel said.

  Binny let out a roar. “I’d pay to see Britney in rhythmic gymnastics — or the balance beam.”

  “She might be more of a shot putter,” Lionel said.

  “Ain’t that the truth,” Binny said. He gave Britney a head rub. Britney responded with a high-pitched whine and lay her snout between her paws.

  The door opened.

  Lionel’s heart nearly pounded out of his chest.

  “Lionel? What are you …? Do you live around here?” Kiana asked.

  “I figured you knew each other,” Binny said. “Lionel’s a runner too. He runs in the mornings.”

  Lionel immediately stared at the ground. This was bad, a disaster. She’d tell Nick.

  “I didn’t know you ran,” Kiana said. “You should come out for the track team. We need guys.”

  He knew she was just joking around. “Maybe,” he laughed.

  “Are you going to take Britney for a walk?” Binny said to Kiana.

  “I can’t. I’m meeting Rashmi,” Kiana said.

  Gwen came out. “It’s after seven, Kia. Not too late, please.”

  “Mom, it’s Friday night. I have all day tomorrow for homework,” Kiana said.

  Lionel needed to leave — fast.

  “Who’s going to take Britney for a walk?” Gwen said. She gave Binny a hard look.

  He groaned. “Don’t make me walk. I’m so good at sitting.”

  “I should get going,” Lionel said.

  “Me too,” Kiana said.

  “Home by ten,” Gwen said.

  “Mom, c’mon. Eleven thirty,” Kiana said.

  “Binny?” Gwen said.

  “Oh, let her go. Life is short,” Binny said.

  “You’re the best,” Kiana giggled. She kissed her dad’s cheek. “Bye Mom. Bye Lionel.”

  Binny let out a booming laugh, and Kiana set off down the street.

  “Take care, Lionel,” Gwen said, and she went inside.