|
PART 60 Mr. Milroy was only too glad to travel down to the meet in a comfortable, air-conditioned car instead of a sweaty, crowded minibus. Dad wanted to know all about the sport of track & field, and he and the younger man talked on and on about it, about the different events, the scoring, the records, whatever. Dad was never much of a sports fan, but this was of course different, this was something his own son was part of. Dad didn’t have a runner’s sense of what all the numbers meant—he knew that Tom’s best time in the 2-mile (really the slightly shortened 3200 meters—the difference in runners’ times was about 3 seconds) was 10:11, but he didn’t have a sense of just how incredibly good that was for a 13-year-old, how tough it really was to average 76.5 seconds per lap for that distance. Mr. Milroy also talked about some of the other guys on the team and the competition. Was yet another fun conversation for Dad, just something friendly, no protocol or agenda or mind-messing with people. Mom, on the other hand, was bored as hell. She had less than no interest in pace, splits, relay stick-passing technique, the new javelins vs. the old ones, or much else. Stupid, boring men. All she wanted to do was see Tom. The rest didn’t matter. They arrived at the university track & field facility, and it was quite a sight. Championship high-school meets in track & field and cross-country are always a blaze of color, a whirl of activity. In cross-country, held in the fall, it’s like a river of humanity flowing by in all sorts of colored uniforms, hundreds of sweaty, intense teenagers racing by against the backdrop of sharp fall light and brilliant foliage. In track & field, it’s more like a three-ring circus, with different events going on all over the grounds, lots of people relaxing and waiting for their turns while some people are competing with all they’ve got. As this meet was the Noga Championships, it also included girls’ teams. Most schools set up huge plastic tarps for shade, where they all hung out much of the day, eating, joking, and listening to tunes. St. Brendan’s, with only boys, had a somewhat smaller tarp, decorated with a yellow and green school banner. The first event, girls’ 2-mile, would start at 9:00 and the final 4 x 4 relays wouldn’t be done until after 5:00 PM. Mr. Milroy led the Kleins up to the highest part of the bleachers where they could get the best angle to see everything. Now Mom was no longer bored, and was going crazy, where’s Tom, where’s Tom, yeah I know that’s our tent, but where’s Tom? It didn’t take long. As the girls were in the first straightaway, their precious kid, their only son trotted along the grassy area outside the other side of the track. Mom changed into a giggling hyper teenage girl herself, there he is, that’s him, there he is!! Yeah, there he was all right. Same kid, same kid. Up in the highest row of the bleachers, they couldn’t really see him in great detail, couldn’t see whether he was taller or changed at all, but that was him. Both parents waited impatiently for the girls’ race to finish. Dad thought the girls ran too slow, thought this was getting ridiculous. Mr. Milroy said that with all due respect, he’d love to see Mr. Klein run the race as slowly as these girls. I dunno, Dad replied, maybe my wife can. Get down there, Maria, let’s see you. Lots of laughter, and both parents were all excited waiting for the main event. There would be 23 men in Tom’s race (two qualifiers didn’t show up), but when they finally got the boys’ race organized and put the runners in their starting positions (they had to use two alleys for the start because there were so many competitors), it seemed like even more. Mom and Dad noticed that Tom was of course the smallest kid in it, and wow, most of those other guys seemed to have scratchy little beards or at least some beginnings of face fuzz. The runners crouched, the gun sounded, and the race was on. Mom and Dad yelled and yelled, but of course no one could hear them down on the track. Mr. Milroy took out his pad to write down the boy’s splits. Despite the day being a blazing hot scorcher, the pace of the runners was fast and wild. When everyone was sorted out on the first backstretch, Tom was dead last. Buck-naked dead last, and by a good 5 meters. Dad looked nervously at Mr. Milroy. Did Tom really belong in this race with these older kids? Was this fair? The assistant coach sensed the man’s worry, and said “Tom knows his pace, knows his race. He won’t stay where he is. You’ll see, you’ll see. We’re looking for him to go out in 75. You’ll see.” Damn, these guys are fast, Tom thought. I know I’m on pace, I’m OK, but will they really come back to me? This is Noga, not just a dual meet with posers and clowns. Tom heard people screaming the split times of the first runners. 67, 68, shit! But come on, peace, Coach told you to forget them, just look for that 75, smooth now. Relax your arms, come on. Bring these guys back to you, you know the routine now, get that thing!! About halfway through the second lap, Tom caught up to his first opponent, and bit by bit, one or two at a time, he began weaving his way through the field, 22nd place, 20th, 17th. Hurts, it hurts, I’m thirsty, but last race, last race, nothing left after this one, hunt down these fuckers, hunt ‘em, maybe 5:00 flat for my mile split, keep it rolling, do you want it? Where does the power come from, it comes from within!! Let’s have it, give me more, please God, more! Mom was shrieking like a sophomore girl. AAAAHHHHH, LOOK MARTY! HE PASSED ANOTHER KID!! Yeah, I think I noticed, dear, you don’t have to shout in my ear. Dad was yelling too, but also bothering other people in the stands, making sure everyone who was interested (and lots of others who weren’t) knew exactly who that little kid in the green shorts and yellow shirt was. He’s MY son, and he’s the only 8th grader in this race, and…Fortunately the other parents and fans were too polite to tell him to shut the hell up. Half a lap to go, he’s in 8th place!! Looks like he’s lifting up his knees, going into a finishing sprint! What the hell, there’s a kid passing him, no!! Leave him alone! Pick on someone your own size, you jerk! The runners drove for the finish, and it was over. “10:06.4, folks!! Wow. What do you think of that boy?” asked Mr. Milroy. The two parents looked at each other and kissed. “I think there’s someone we need to go see now,” answered Dad. “You know the Grateful Dead song ‘what a long strange trip it’s been’? Thanks for everything, Kevin, and I think we’re gonna head down.” Tom lay on his belly in a shady spot next to the St. Brendan’s tent, arms stretched out to his sides, an empty water bottle in his hand. He had taken off his spikes and socks, and was letting the cooler grass caress his feet. Just like after that first tri-meet, his eyes were closed but he could feel blades of grass tickling his nostrils. Oh man, OK, OK. 9th place. Guess I left it all out there, just like Father Ray said. 9th, hmmmm, same place as Founders’ Day. What goes around comes around? I can breathe, I can breathe, I just can’t move. Oh, I’m hurting, but it was worth it. 9th place. The boy could hear various voices and other sounds, but couldn’t really tell what each one was. Mom and Dad were all silly. Despite the sizzling heat, they’d brought light jackets and they used these to cover their faces as they crept and snuck down the bleacher stairs and around the outside of the track to the Brendy’s tarp area. They didn’t need the stupid disguises, of course, as Tom’s face was buried in the ground, and he wasn’t going to see a thing. Finally they were just a couple feet away from their boy, their slightly taller boy, looking at his back, his butt, his calves. Dad smiled at his wife. It was time. “Hey, lady, what do you think of that little St. Brendan’s kid in the 2-mile?” “I think he ran pretty tough!! Que chico tan rudo! Que pena que ya no puede levantarse!” Those sounds, though, those voices, sure got the kid’s attention. WHAT? Wake up, what? No, it isn’t them, what??? He opened his eyes, then his mouth, then jumped up, then “AAAHHHHHH!!!!!!!” It got pretty serious. Three-way jumping and crying and hugging and kissing, and then repeating the process again and again. And once more after that. It took awhile, but soon enough there were real words, real sentences. “Where did you come from, you’re here! Are you staying? How long are you going to be around? Are you with the abues?” “Tom,” Dad said, “we have a lot of things to tell you, a lot of things. Let’s take a ride in the car, and bit by bit, we’ll catch up, son. We have all the time in the world now.” “Yeah, oh cool, but can I first see Teddy Bear in the shot put? This morning it’s the semifinals, and can we at least stay to see if he gets into the finals later? He wants to qualify for States.” The boy took his parents’ hands and led them toward the throwing area away from the track. Mom was about to say let’s get out of here, it’s hot, we have so much to do, but Dad looked at her and communicated with no words. Come on, darling, this is Tom’s day. “Mom and Dad, this is our captain, Ted Beringer. But we call him Teddy Bear!” Dad stared at the giant beast as they shook hands. “Uhhhh, so you’re….Teddy Bear? Are you sure you don’t mean Grizzly Bear?” Tom giggled, as that was exactly what he’d thought months ago when he’d first seen the guy. “Ah, not the first time I’ve heard that, sir! They call me what they call me! You know, Mr. Klein, you have quite a son there. What he’s accomplished this year, it’s been amazing. Kid, I’m sorry I couldn’t watch your 2-mile, I still have three more throws here in the semis.” “Thanks, big man, and OK, you go over and get ready,” said Dad, and thought he’d add a dumb joke. “You know, Tom really wants to see you do something special today, wants you to qualify for States. Otherwise, he says he might have to hurt you.” “Yeah, well, sir, that fear keeps me motivated in training every day! Well, nice to have met you both. Tom, thanks for giving us a great season. I won’t see much of you anymore until I come back to visit next year, but Tom,” the huge young man’s voice softened a bit, “never forget you’re a Cougar.” While the shot put competition continued, the family sat on the grass and Tom talked. Talked without shutting up. Yeah, that hadn’t changed. Didn’t the kid ever need to stop and breathe? Guess not. His parents didn’t listen to his words after the first minute, just the sounds, as they smiled and stared deep into his face. Same kid, but a real little teenager now, maybe 5 foot 3? Whatever. Tom finally quieted down when it was Teddy Bear’s turn to throw, and the captain cranked out a big one, 52’8”, good enough for 4th place and a sure berth in the finals. His animal scream when he threw was funny as hell. Dad and Tom both had fun imitating it. The time had come, and Tom agreed that they could leave now. They piled into the car, which Tom had never seen before. He stretched out horizontally in the back seat. “Where are we going? Back to school first?” “You’ll see, kid, you’ll see.” Mom and Dad actually had a blindfold ready to put over their son’s eyes on the trip so the surprise would be complete, so he wouldn’t be able to tell that they were making a major detour. But it wouldn’t be necessary. By the time they’d travelled five miles, the gentle shaking of the car, combined with the effort of a Noga 2-mile in 93-degree heat, had put the boy fast, fast asleep. His uniform sweatshirt was under his head, and he was long gone. About a half-hour later, Dad changed the subject of the conversation with his wife. “Mi guapa, I know we have the air-conditioning on, but I think we better open the windows a bit, too. Someone in this car is giving off serious young adolescent armpit stink! Apesta como burro!” “Yeah, let’s open them up, just for a minute. But that smell, hey old man, today that stink is sweeter than any duty-free perfume, sweeter than any summertime flower in this world.” |