Run

by David Skuy

  Binny began to pat Britney. “You know, Lionel, I think I have a win-win kinda idea. Do you have a part-time job, by any chance?”

  “Not really.”

  “If you have any extra time, like after your runs or after school, or any time really, maybe you could walk Britney for me and I’ll pay you for it. That way I get Gwen off my back, Britney gets some exercise, and you make some cash for the new phone I bet you want.”

  “I could walk her sometimes — maybe after my runs,” Lionel said. “I usually have a bit of time.”

  He obviously wasn’t going to. He felt bad about lying, but he needed to get away.

  “Awesome,” Binny exclaimed. He clapped his hands and then rubbed Britney on the back. “Hear that, girl? You’re gonna go for walks with your new friend, Lionel.” He looked over. “When do you think you can start?”

  “Tomorrow morning … um … after my run?”

  Binny held Britney’s snout in his hands and he leaned forward. “You’re going for a nice walk tomorrow. That sounds fun. Right?” Britney licked his nose. “I think that means yes,” Binny laughed.

  Lionel said goodbye and continued up the street to the corner store. Run tomorrow? Have a heart attack, more likely.

  He went to the corner store and peered into the freezer. He grabbed a carton of ice cream, paid, and left the store. He crossed the street and, head down, walked as fast as he could past the café.

  As he walked up the sidewalk to his building he heard shouting. A man with a black leather jacket and silver studs gestured to him with a beer bottle.

  “Hey, you need anything, bro?” the man said.

  His buddies laughed. They belonged to a group of guys that called themselves the “Hombres.” His mom was always freaking out about them. She called them a gang — maybe they were. Lionel was just as scared of them as she was, and figured them for dealers. They hung out most nights behind the building on the old basketball court. Cars and people came and went.

  Lionel made a beeline for the door. He knew better than to talk to them. Fortunately, the elevator came quickly. He walked into the apartment and pulled the ice cream from the bag. His mom’s shoulders drooped and her eyelids flickered.

  He looked at the label — peanut butter.

  “Lionel?”

  He stared at the carton. “It’s all they had. Sorry.”

  “Well, no matter,” she sighed. “Even peanut butter ice cream is better than no ice cream at all, right? Can you get me some? Thanks.” She leaned back and changed the channel.

  Lionel put four scoops in a bowl, put the container in the freezer, and gave his mom the bowl.

  “I’m full from dinner,” he said. “I … don’t think I’ll have any. I’m gonna lie down.”

  “Do you still feel bad, dear? I picked out a documentary for you,” she said.

  “I’m fine, Mom. Just tired. It was a wicked day at school.”

  “Are you sure you’re not sick? It’s only eight o’clock.”

  “I probably just need a good sleep. That’s all. Don’t worry.”

  “I have to work tomorrow, so don’t sleep the day away. I swear you’d sleep twenty-four hours straight if I let you.”

  That was true. He loved staying in bed on the weekends. The time passed faster.

  Lionel went to his room and closed the door. He looked down. He was standing on a pair of jeans. Towels and t-shirts were piled up in the middle of the floor. Clothes were tossed everywhere. His closet was so jammed it couldn’t close. He picked up the jeans and folded them. There was nowhere to put them. He dropped them to the floor and sat on his bed. He pulled a towel from under his bed and threw it on top of his jeans. He pulled another shirt and some socks out and tossed them on the towel.

  “Clothes hill,” he declared.

  He got down on his knees and dragged more clothes from under his bed, and then from around his room, and added them to the pile. Before long it was three feet tall.

  “Now what?” he asked.

  It was the most senseless thing he’d ever done — a pile of clothes and towels and sheets.

  Lionel began to fold. It took a while, but he finally finished. He went over to his dresser and opened the first drawer. It was packed with candy wrappers, string, a broken flashlight, some gum, and half a donut. It was disgusting. He went to the kitchen.

  “This documentary is interesting,” his mom said. “It’s about kid soldiers in Africa.”

  “I’ve seen it,” he said. He took a few garbage bags and started back to his room.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Nothing. Going to bed.”

  He didn’t know what he was doing. He dumped the junk in the first drawer into a garbage bag. Then it was on to the second drawer — full of clothes he hadn’t worn since he was in primary school. He spotted a small baseball cap. He slipped it on his head and kept sorting. He put the old clothes into the bag. The third drawer had clothes he still wore, and some toys and cards and folders and old school projects. He got rid of everything but the clothes. He then folded them and added them to the others, organizing by type.

  Once he’d finished with the dresser he kept folding, refolding, and piling. He organized and re-organized his room, working at a feverish pace, without thinking, rushing from corner to closet to under his bed, frenzied, even desperate — boxes, clothes, hangers, bits of food, and broken toys all got put in their place. He had to get three more garbage bags to handle all the junk.

  His mom had gone to bed long ago, but he didn’t stop. He got a broom, a mop and pail, and some cleanser, and dusted and scrubbed the floors, and the walls, and the inside of the closet, even under his bed.

  He looked at his desk clock: one thirty. He was drained. His eyes were stinging. He was covered in sweat.

  And his room was spotless.

  On the desk he’d kept one box — his baseball and hockey cards, which he figured would be worth something one day, and his dad’s baseball.

  He took the garbage bags to the hallway and threw them down the chute. The crashing sound was oddly satisfying. He went back to his bedroom and sat on his bed. He took off the little hat. Stupid that he kept it. It was his baseball cap from the last year he’d played, before his dad took off. It had a P on the front — for Penguins. Before the games, their coach would tell them to waddle onto the field. His dad said that was stupid, so Lionel didn’t do it. The other kids and their parents thought it was hilarious.

  His legs shook slightly and his knees hurt, but his chest didn’t ache, and his stomach and head felt good.

  He didn’t know why — he just felt better.

  Saturday: 9:30 a.m.

  The light changed. He groaned and began to jog across the street, struggling for breath, each step torture. The bandage on his blister was useless, and his heel hurt too. This run had become an obsession for him last night after he’d finished cleaning. He lay awake in bed for a long time, thinking about it, and going over potential routes.

  The reality of running was a lot different, however.

  Marathon Boy? More like Joke Boy.

  The Market was up ahead. He had to look like a runner for at least a block. He straightened up and threw his shoulders back. All he needed to do was keep up a nice, even pace. He pushed the pain aside and continued to the café.

  No Binny.

  He looked through the window. Georgina was behind the counter, serving a customer. Lionel jogged on the spot. Should he wait?

  His blister started to hurt. He was sweating like a pig at eight in the morning to show off to a guy he barely knew. This was lame, even for him — the old Lionel, the Do-Nothing Lionel, the only Lionel there was. A bitter taste rose up from his throat and settled in his mouth.

  “You’re up early,” Binny said, stepping out of the café. “Done your run already?” He stuck a long pole into the
corner of the awning. He began spinning the pole, and the awning extended slowly out over the sidewalk. “Looks like you worked up a pretty good sweat. How far did you go?” He spun the pole energetically.

  Binny’s question startled him. “Not too far,” he managed, almost laughing out loud. “I hurt my foot. I didn’t bandage my blister very well and the bandage fell off and … Dumb of me.”

  The door opened and Gwen stuck her head out. “Where’d you put the Ethiopian coffee? Georgina says the container under the counter is still empty and I didn’t see one in storage.”

  “Come say hi to Lionel,” Binny said. He’d leaned the pole against the wall.

  Gwen’s braided hair was tied up with a bright yellow scarf. Kiana wore her hair like that sometimes. “Are you here to take Britney for her walk? At least someone isn’t lazy.”

  Binny laughed good-naturedly. “Our man has been hurt. Wounded hoof. You wanna put it off today?”

  “I’m okay,” Lionel said quickly. “It’s fine if I don’t run.”

  The least he could do was walk the dog.

  “What happened?” Gwen said.

  Lionel pivoted his foot to show her.

  Gwen let out a gasp and put a hand to her mouth. “My goodness. It’s bleeding. That’s terrible. Did you do that this morning?”

  “I did it a few days ago, running for a bus. It’s not too bad.”

  “You went for a run with a blister like that? You’re certainly a tough young man, but not too smart. Runners have to take care of their feet.” She took a closer look. “Are those your regular joggers?” she asked abruptly.

  He nodded.

  “I’ll tell you what,” she said. “I’m a runner too, like my daughter; I can’t let you run in those. What do you think, Binny?”

  “Absolutely not.”

  Gwen opened the door. “Hey, Kia, come here.”

  Lionel tried to keep calm.

  Kiana wore black yoga pants and a yellow track top with the zipper undone.

  “Come with us to Rajeev’s. Lionel needs a pair of proper jogging shoes,” Gwen said.

  “You’re jogging with Britney?” Kiana said.

  “I … I’m not … We’re walking, maybe,” Lionel stammered.

  “Look at those ridiculous shoes he’s running in,” Gwen said. “We can’t have that. He has the absolute worst blister.”

  Kiana furrowed her brow. “You run in those? No wonder you got a blister.”

  “I was stupid — ran for a bus.”

  Gwen took Lionel by the arm. “Order the Ethiopian beans already,” she said to Binny, and she led Lionel up the street.

  “Never a moment’s peace,” Binny sighed.

  “You’d have a moment’s peace if you worked harder,” she snapped. She pulled on Lionel’s arm again. “This way. We need to talk to my friend Rajeev.”

  They headed towards Big Ray’s. He wondered where they were going. He’d never heard of Rajeev.

  “Kia tells me you’re in her math and English class,” Gwen said.

  He felt himself blush.

  “Have you read your story out?” she pressed.

  His chest got tight.

  “Kiana’s story was great,” he said to avoid the question. “Best in the class.”

  “Hardly,” Kiana said.

  “We should cross the street,” Gwen said.

  She was taking him to Adler Shoes. Who was Rajeev?

  “You’re certainly a quiet one,” Gwen said, smiling at him. “Wouldn’t last too long in our family. We never shut up.”

  She was kinda pretty when she laughed. Not as pretty as Kiana, but he could tell where Kiana got her looks, especially her hair and her smile, and her beautiful teeth and skin.

  He wished he could laugh like that — just laugh whenever he wanted. Kiana was always laughing.

  They walked into the store.

  “Rajeev, how are we this grand morning?” Gwen said in a loud voice.

  A man behind the cash register turned around. “I am very well, thanks. How are my two beautiful ladies?”

  “Always such a gentleman,” Gwen said.

  He came out from behind the counter and kissed her on both cheeks, and then Kiana. He was short, a little stocky, with a pot belly, and he had thick, black hair that swooped to the side. His eyebrows were bushy, almost too big for his face. A young boy came out from the back, very skinny, with black hair and a narrow face, and he wore a dark hoodie and bright white basketball shoes.

  “This is Lionel,” Gwen said. “He needs some joggers, good ones. I’m buying, so go easy on the price. Lionel’s gonna walk Britney for us. We met him when he was running — runs past us in the mornings.”

  “You must run before I open because I haven’t seen you jogging before,” Rajeev said. “What size are you?”

  “I’m … a … um … not totally sure — a ten?”

  Rajeev chuckled. “I’m guessing you’re an eleven-and-a-half or a twelve,” he said. “Big feet. You’ll be tall someday.” He pointed to a bench. “Deepak, can you get me the measure?”

  Lionel sat. Gwen took a magazine from a stand and began reading. Deepak gave Rajeev the measure.

  “How is the track team shaping up?” Deepak said.

  “I think maybe we’re going to suck,” Kiana said.

  “I was speaking about the girls’ fifteen hundred,” Deepak said.

  Kiana elbowed Deepak in the ribs. “Weakest part of the team.”

  Deepak elbowed her back. “Why doesn’t the girl who runs the fifteen hundred train harder? Is she lazy?”

  “She’s addicted to chocolate. It’s a sad story,” Kiana said.

  Deepak spoke to Kiana like she was just another kid. Lionel could barely keep from stuttering when she was around.

  “Would you be so kind as to remove your shoes?” Rajeev asked Lionel.

  He’d been so busy listening to their conversation he’d forgotten why he was there. Lionel took them off.

  Rajeev’s eyes grew wide. “Your foot is bleeding! Dear me. May I take a look?” He pulled the sock off and let out a whistle.

  Lionel was mortified. His toenails were long and gross. Kiana would be disgusted.

  “That’s a nasty blister, my friend,” Rajeev said. “You cannot possibly run in this condition. We must tend to your injury first.”

  “I’m okay …”

  “Deepak, can you get the first aid kit, please,” Rajeev said.

  Deepak brought him a white box. Rajeev took out some bandages, a needle, a bottle, tape, and scissors.

  “I’m going to have to pop your blister to get the fluid out,” Rajeev said.

  “Gross,” Kiana said.

  “Awesome,” Deepak said. “Make it explode.”

  “Deepak, please,” Rajeev admonished. “It won’t hurt at all.” He lit a match and put the end of the needle in the flame. “Hold still for a moment.”

  He stuck the needle in. It didn’t hurt.

  “Oh, gross. It’s spraying,” Kiana squealed.

  “Yum, blister juice,” Deepak laughed.

  Lionel wanted to crawl into a hole and die. It was gross. He was gross.

  “This might sting a bit,” Rajeev said. He dabbed the blister with antiseptic.

  It did hurt, but Lionel didn’t dare show it, not in front of Kiana.

  “He’s a road warrior,” Deepak said. “Totally eating the pain.”

  Rajeev put a bandage on and taped it up.

  “I declare the operation a success,” Rajeev said.

  Deepak and Kiana clapped.

  “Now for the shoes,” he continued. “Please put your foot in the measure, so I can …” He whistled again. “Exactly what I thought. Eleven-and-a-half. Hmm. Let me ask you, Lionel. Have you a color preference?”

  Lionel d
idn’t want to be rude. “It doesn’t matter. Up to you.”

  “Because I have a shoe left in your size. It’s somewhat unique, perhaps even peculiar, but it’s a fantastic shoe, the best. Unfortunately, my customers did not warm up to the color. It is, what they say, fashion forward. The shoe salesman gave me a deal — and I suspect he did it because of the color. In any event, I bought them and have had no luck selling them. But if you’re not too fussy — and it sounds like you’re a serious runner — they might be just the thing for you, just the thing.” He gave Lionel’s knee a slap and stood up. “Give me a moment and I will get them for you.” He disappeared into the back room

  “How’s it going, Lionel?” Gwen said, lowering her magazine.

  “Good. He’s bringing some shoes for me.”

  “What color are we talking about?” Kiana asked Deepak.

  Deepak flicked his eyebrows. “Wait for it.”

  Lionel didn’t like the sound of that. He pressed his hands together and stuffed them between his knees, rocking slightly back and forth. He was feeling bad about lying. This whole thing was wrong.

  “You don’t have to buy me the shoes,” Lionel said to Gwen. “I don’t mind walking Britney. I like dogs. My shoes are fine. The blister is because I ran for a bus and … I did a lousy job on my bandage.”

  Gwen’s eyes shone. “I want to buy them,” she said, putting the magazine down. “Rajeev comes to the café about five times a day and talks our ears off; this is payback. And you can’t run in those. Feet are your wheels. I know.”

  “Mom got a track scholarship at university,” Kiana said. “She ran the one hundred and ten hurdles. Almost made the Olympic team, too.”

  “What happened … with the track?” Deepak said. “I didn’t know you almost made the Olympics.”

  Gwen smiled shyly. “Got invited to the national trials one year — then life got in the way. I married, had a baby,” she nodded at Kiana, “and, well, I had to stop training. Anyway, Kiana seems to have inherited the running gene from me, although she’s more into long distance. Last year she made it to the city finals. Came second.” She looked at Lionel. “You two should train together. It’s hard to motivate yourself when you run alone. I try to get out with her, but it’s hard to find the time.”