any interest in being around him more than I already have been
today. What makes him suddenly want to spend time together? Where was that
sentiment all the times I called?
“Sorry, Jackson, maybe next
time.”
Unease permeates his
expression, stabbing lines of worry through his forehead like he’s just had a
bad acupuncture session. I probably could have made more of an effort to sound
sincere.
“No worries.” He gives me a
weak smile, waiting just a moment before retreating down the hall.
I feel like hell, but before
I shower and give up on movement for the rest of the night, I need to go for a
run. It’s the one thing that has always kept me sane. It’s my safe place.
Digging through my bag until
I find my gym shorts, I change and patter down the stairs in my socks. I forgot
my running shoes back in L.A., so I pick out a pair of Jackson’s by the door.
These stink just like his sneakers I wore today, but they fit pretty well.
Just inside the garage,
Jackson and Jeff are crowded around the dirt bike. Jeff is pointing at a part
of the engine and saying something to Jackson, who’s bent over, hands on his
knees and holding a wrench. It’s all very blue-collar, and it takes all of my
restraint not to roll my eyes.
When I’m just a few feet
away, they both look up. Jackson zeroes in on my shoes. “Aren’t those mine?”
“No.” I give him a deadpan
look.
“Liar,” he says. “Just
because they fit doesn’t mean you can wear them.”
Jeff’s voice cuts me off
before I can react, a warning resonating in his words. “Boys…”
“But Dad,” Jackson whines,
“Ben always breaks shit.”
I raise an eyebrow. “I don’t
break stuff.”
Jeff sighs, playing referee.
“I think that’s a little unfair, considering how long it’s been since you’ve
seen each other.”
Jackson scowls at me but
doesn’t respond. With Jeff in the ring, I bite down on my ready remark of how
much I really care about his piece-of-shit shoes, instead opting for the
diplomatic. “I forgot my running shoes back home,” I explain. “I’ll be nice to
them.”
Jackson gives Jeff a long
look, then shoos me away with a wave of the wrench. “Just go run, klepto.”
“A path follows alongside
the road,” Jeff says. “So you don’t have to run on the gravel if you don’t
want.”
I nod and then I’m off. My
shoulders and back are sore, but my legs are eager for the challenge. Quickly
falling into my usual rhythm, I cross the road and find the path. Footfalls
beating out time like a clock, I let myself take a mental step back from
everything that has happened.
It all moved so quickly. It
was just a week ago that Mom sat me down to talk about the change in our summer
plans. It’s almost surreal, being here now. There are no skyscrapers or planes
overhead here, no pavement or fountains, and hardly any people. Instead I’m
surrounded by a sprawling tapestry of fields and the occasional wooded area,
the lines between them stitched by dirt roads and ditches.
A breeze picks up behind me,
propelling me forward. The air tastes sweet and fresh, lending an extra
lightness to my steps. Like premium high-octane gas, I imagine that the country
oxygen is richer, more prevalent.
Practically flying along the
road, I stretch my stamina like it wants to be pushed. Not repetitive,
agonizing labor, but the thrill of adrenaline-pumping athletics. I love being
on a team and I played football all through high school, but something about
running really helps me relax.
“Holy shit!” I shout as a
rabbit darts out in front of me, zigzagging away when it sees how close I am.
It disappears into the brush, but I stop anyway, leaning over to catch my
breath. I’m pretty sure my heart rate would have doubled just now if it weren’t
already near max.
I start back toward the
house, going more slowly now that I’m against the wind. The minutes slip away
into the sound of my feet striking the ground, until finally I turn back into
the
today. What makes him suddenly want to spend time together? Where was that
sentiment all the times I called?
“Sorry, Jackson, maybe next
time.”
Unease permeates his
expression, stabbing lines of worry through his forehead like he’s just had a
bad acupuncture session. I probably could have made more of an effort to sound
sincere.
“No worries.” He gives me a
weak smile, waiting just a moment before retreating down the hall.
I feel like hell, but before
I shower and give up on movement for the rest of the night, I need to go for a
run. It’s the one thing that has always kept me sane. It’s my safe place.
Digging through my bag until
I find my gym shorts, I change and patter down the stairs in my socks. I forgot
my running shoes back in L.A., so I pick out a pair of Jackson’s by the door.
These stink just like his sneakers I wore today, but they fit pretty well.
Just inside the garage,
Jackson and Jeff are crowded around the dirt bike. Jeff is pointing at a part
of the engine and saying something to Jackson, who’s bent over, hands on his
knees and holding a wrench. It’s all very blue-collar, and it takes all of my
restraint not to roll my eyes.
When I’m just a few feet
away, they both look up. Jackson zeroes in on my shoes. “Aren’t those mine?”
“No.” I give him a deadpan
look.
“Liar,” he says. “Just
because they fit doesn’t mean you can wear them.”
Jeff’s voice cuts me off
before I can react, a warning resonating in his words. “Boys…”
“But Dad,” Jackson whines,
“Ben always breaks shit.”
I raise an eyebrow. “I don’t
break stuff.”
Jeff sighs, playing referee.
“I think that’s a little unfair, considering how long it’s been since you’ve
seen each other.”
Jackson scowls at me but
doesn’t respond. With Jeff in the ring, I bite down on my ready remark of how
much I really care about his piece-of-shit shoes, instead opting for the
diplomatic. “I forgot my running shoes back home,” I explain. “I’ll be nice to
them.”
Jackson gives Jeff a long
look, then shoos me away with a wave of the wrench. “Just go run, klepto.”
“A path follows alongside
the road,” Jeff says. “So you don’t have to run on the gravel if you don’t
want.”
I nod and then I’m off. My
shoulders and back are sore, but my legs are eager for the challenge. Quickly
falling into my usual rhythm, I cross the road and find the path. Footfalls
beating out time like a clock, I let myself take a mental step back from
everything that has happened.
It all moved so quickly. It
was just a week ago that Mom sat me down to talk about the change in our summer
plans. It’s almost surreal, being here now. There are no skyscrapers or planes
overhead here, no pavement or fountains, and hardly any people. Instead I’m
surrounded by a sprawling tapestry of fields and the occasional wooded area,
the lines between them stitched by dirt roads and ditches.
A breeze picks up behind me,
propelling me forward. The air tastes sweet and fresh, lending an extra
lightness to my steps. Like premium high-octane gas, I imagine that the country
oxygen is richer, more prevalent.
Practically flying along the
road, I stretch my stamina like it wants to be pushed. Not repetitive,
agonizing labor, but the thrill of adrenaline-pumping athletics. I love being
on a team and I played football all through high school, but something about
running really helps me relax.
“Holy shit!” I shout as a
rabbit darts out in front of me, zigzagging away when it sees how close I am.
It disappears into the brush, but I stop anyway, leaning over to catch my
breath. I’m pretty sure my heart rate would have doubled just now if it weren’t
already near max.
I start back toward the
house, going more slowly now that I’m against the wind. The minutes slip away
into the sound of my feet striking the ground, until finally I turn back into
the
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