by Eric Walters
“I feel bad,” Doug said. “He needs to rest. But this whole run is about raising money and that’s what these things do.”
“There are a lot of people here,” I said.
“That’s a good thing. In the beginning of the run when Terry spoke there were times when there were only a few people, or a couple of dozen at the most.”
“There have to be a few hundred people here,” I said.
“There are over four hundred people here,” Doug said.
“How do you know that?”
“That’s how many there were when I stopped counting, and more people have come since then.”
I looked around at the folks who surrounded us. There were families—mothers and fathers and small children and grandchildren all standing together. There were couples holding hands, people by themselves, groups of teenagers. They ranged in age from toddlers to seniors. There were at least two people in wheelchairs and lots of canes. Some of them were dressed in overalls and boots and looked like they’d come straight from the fields. A couple of men were in suits and ties. Most people were just in jeans and skirts and shirts. People were talking and smiling and laughing. There was a feeling like they were all going to a picnic, or waiting to get into a movie or a county fair.
“Good evening!” boomed out a voice. I turned to look at the stage as the voice echoed off the wall of the grocery store and back across the parking lot. There was a man standing at the podium.
“It’s wonderful to see so many of my friends and neighbours here tonight,” the man continued. “We’re here to welcome a visitor to our town.”
“Yea Terry!” a voice yelled from the crowd, and the whole audience started to clap and yell and yelp.
The man clapped along and then held his hands up to silence the crowd. It took a few more seconds for calm to be restored.
“I know none of you came out here to hear me speak—”
“That’s for sure, Bob!” somebody called out, and a ripple of laughter rolled over the crowd.
“But since I’m your mayor I guess you’re going to have to put up with a few of my words,” he continued. “You all know the young man sitting here beside me.”
The crowd broke into cheers and applause again. Terry gave a little smile and looked down at his feet.
“You know he’s running across this country to raise money to find a cure for cancer. It’s a brave thing he’s doing. Something that makes me proud. I was born and raised in this town. There’s hardly a person here tonight I haven’t known all my life…just like there’s hardly a person here who doesn’t know me.”
His voice cracked over the last few words like he was nervous.
“Three years ago in March my wife passed away…my wife of thirty years. She died of cancer. She fought hard. She didn’t want to die, but in the end…” He reached a hand up to his face and brushed back tears that I couldn’t see but could hear in his voice.
“Terry is running for my wife. And Bill Stevens’s mother,” he said, gesturing to somebody in the audience. “And Kathy McCurdy’s grandfather,” he said, pointing toward a woman up on the stage sitting right beside Terry. “And I could go on and on like that. There’s nobody in this crowd, nobody in this town…heck, nobody in this country who hasn’t been touched by cancer…hasn’t lost somebody they loved.” He wiped away more tears.
“I ask you now to put your hands together to welcome Terr—”
His words were lost as a wall of applause washed up and over the stage, and every single person on the back of the truck leapt to his feet. The mayor offered Terry his hand, and as they started to shake he pulled him forward and wrapped his arms around him.
Terry came to the podium and, unbelievably, the cheering got louder. He smiled and then looked down at the podium, like he was embarrassed. Slowly the applause began to fade to silence.
“Hi, I’m Terry,” he began. “I hope you all can hear me. I’d like to start by telling you a little bit about me and why I’m running across Canada.
“I was eighteen and a first-year student in Kinesiology at Simon Fraser University in Vancouver, British Columbia. I played on the junior varsity basketball team. I had a pain develop on the right side of my knee for about a four- or five-month period. I didn’t really think about it. I just figured I’d hurt something playing basketball. But it got worse and worse. One morning I woke up and it hurt so bad I couldn’t even get up. I knew something was wrong, but I still thought I’d just done some damage, maybe ripped a cartilage or something.” He paused. “They did some tests, and that day they told me that I had a malignant tumour and I’d have to have my leg taken off. Five days later my leg was amputated.”
Terry paused again, and there was a complete hush over the audience. It felt like nobody even dared to breathe, like even the wind had stopped rustling in the trees.
“The night before the surgery my high school basketball coach, Terri Fleming, came to see me. He brought me an article about an amputee who ran in the New York Marathon. And I started to think, if he could do it, I could do it. I’ve always been competitive. I like challenges. I’m a dreamer. And that night I had a dream about running across Canada. That was when the Marathon of Hope really began.
“Right from the start it was a terrible shock, but I had encouragement and support from all kinds of people. So right from the beginning I took it as a challenge, and I thought about trying my best and showing everybody what could be done on one leg.
“I was lucky. I got cancer, but I survived. Today I feel privileged to even be alive. But as I think back to those first few months, how scared I was, not knowing whether I would live or die, I remember promising myself that should I live I would rise up to meet this new challenge face to face and prove myself worthy of life, something that people take for granted. Lots of other people who went through this with me weren’t as fortunate. They died. And I remember those people. I remember their faces and the pain they went through. I couldn’t just walk away and forget. I was determined to take myself to the limit. So after a year and a half of treatment and rehabilitation I decided to do something about that dream.
“I ran over three thousand miles in training. Then I knew it was time. And now I need your help,” Terry continued. “If everybody could give just a dollar or two we can fight it…fight it together…try to defeat cancer. Somewhere the hurting must stop.”
I felt a charge of electricity shoot right up my spine. I’d heard him say some of this same speech before, but it was like I was hearing each part for the first time. I couldn’t believe the power of his words.
“I don’t like to talk about it much, but sometimes I run in a lot of pain and I get tired…but I don’t feel any pain when I get support like this. Thank you for taking the time to listen to me.”
Everybody on the stage jumped to their feet, and the audience exploded—including both me and Doug. People clapped and screamed and cheered and hollered and whistled. There was a surge of people toward the truck and Terry. Doug took me by the arm and led me to the back, away from the crowd.
“That was amazing,” I said.
“I’ve heard him speak a hundred times and it still gets to me,” Doug said.
“I wish my father had been here,” I said. “I have to tell him as soon as we get back.”
“That could be a while,” Doug said.
“Somebody else is going to make a speech?” I asked.
“I hope not. But it’ll take a while anyway. People will want to shake Terry’s hand, or tell him a story or ask him questions.”
“And what do we do?”
“I don’t know about you but I’m heading back to the van. If I’m lucky I can catch a few minutes of sleep. Four-thirty comes pretty early in the morning.”
16
I circled around the side of the motel. Our room was in the back. My father always liked his room away from tr
affic because he said the noise kept him awake. I dug into my pocket to find the key and—my father’s rental car was parked in front of the room! He was back from wherever he’d been. I doubled my pace. I wanted to tell him all about what had happened tonight…the rally, the reaction of the people, the amount of money raised. They hadn’t finished counting it all, but Doug figured there was about twelve thousand dollars!
I pushed in through the door. “Hello!” I yelled out.
He held up a hand to silence me—he was talking on the phone.
“Okay, sure, that sounds good,” he said. “So I’ll see you the day after tomorrow.” He hung up the phone.
“Who was that?” I asked.
“My editor.”
“He’s coming out here?”
“No, we’re going back to Toronto.”
I guess I should have been glad to be going home, but I wasn’t. “When do we leave?”
“We fly out of Moncton tomorrow evening, so we can even sleep in.”
“What if I want to get up early and run with Terry?” I asked. “That is, if he wants me to run with him. Or I could just ride in the van. Could you come and get me? He’s running toward Moncton anyway.”
“I could do that…if you’re sure that’s what you want.”
“I do, if it’s okay with Terry.”
“I thought you’d be more happy to be going home.”
“I am…I guess,” I said. I should have been happy. Instead I felt disappointed.
“I figured that being out here in the middle of nowhere wouldn’t really be that exciting for you.”
“Parts were exciting. You should have been there tonight. You should have heard Terry speak.”
“Did he do well?”
“He did great! And there were hundreds and hundreds of people. I could tell you all about it and you could write a story and—”
“I really can’t write about something I didn’t witness. Besides, I’ve already written my story.”
“You have?”
“Finished it about thirty minutes ago. It’ll be in tomorrow’s paper…and after that comes out maybe it’s best that we aren’t around any more.”
“What do you mean?” I asked, although I had a terrible feeling I already knew.
“Terry may not like what I wrote. Copy’s right there,” he said, motioning to the desk. “Read it if you want.”
I rushed over and grabbed the sheets of paper. I scanned down the page. It wasn’t about the run, it was about Terry and Doug fighting, how Terry ordered Doug around and how there were days when the two of them hardly spoke to each other.
“You can’t write this!” I snapped.
“Already did.”
“But it shouldn’t be in the papers. You shouldn’t file this story.”
“Too late. I phoned it in just before you got here.”
“But you told me you’d let me read all the stories,” I said.
“You weren’t around. It’s already been sent in.”
“Then you have to phone them back and tell them not to run it!” I demanded.
He looked at his watch. “Even if I wanted to, it’s probably too late. The presses start rolling right about now.”
“So stop them!”
“If I did, there’d be a big gap in the paper. I don’t have time to write another story, even if I did have an idea.”
“You could write about the speech Terry gave tonight and how much money they raised—it’s twelve thousand dollars, maybe even more, and—”
“I told you, I wasn’t there so I can’t write about it. Besides, I’ve found a different perspective.”
“It may be different but it’s wrong!”
“But it’s not wrong,” he said. “I’ve checked out my facts and everything I wrote is true.”
“Whether it’s true or not doesn’t change the fact that it’s wrong. You just shouldn’t be writing about it.”
“I’m a reporter. It’s like I told you, I have an obligation to write the truth.”
“Even if it hurts people?”
“I’m not trying to hurt people. I’m just writing a story.” He paused. “Besides, you know I’m not making this up. You’ve spent a lot of time with them, you know that they fight.”
I didn’t say anything.
“Are you afraid they’ll blame you for giving me the story?” he asked.
I kept my mouth clamped tightly shut, biting down on the inside of my mouth to stop myself from crying.
“I can’t be the only one who’s noticed,” my father said. “The other reporters are bound to pick up on it sooner or later. I’m just the first out of the box with the story. If it hadn’t been me it would have been somebody else.”
“You should let it be somebody else! Just phone them up and kill the story!”
“I can’t do that,” he said. “It would mean missing a deadline, and I’ve never missed a deadline in my entire—”
I turned around, ran across the room, threw open the door and ran out.
“Winston!” my father called after me.
I ran along the back of the motel and disappeared around the corner. I kept running until I reached the edge of the woods and slipped into the trees. I didn’t know if he was coming after me or not, but he wasn’t going to find me. Not tonight. I didn’t know where I was going, but I knew where I wouldn’t be—in that room with him.
* * *
—
I PULLED ANOTHER QUARTER out of my pocket. Maybe this would have to be my last game. I only had twelve dollars in my pocket and I’d need most of that to eat. Especially since I’d decided I wasn’t going back to the motel. There was no telling how long it would take to get to Toronto. I figured I’d just stick out my thumb and hitchhike back home. That could take a long time. Maybe days and days. It wasn’t going to be as nice or fast or easy as taking a plane back with my father, but I didn’t think I could stand to be around him right now, even for just the few hours I’d have to sit beside him in the plane.
How stupid could I be—asking him to kill that story. He didn’t care about Terry. Why should he care about Terry when he didn’t even care about me or my mother? Being a reporter, filing his stories was all that mattered to him…never missing his precious deadline. Sure, Dad, make sure you keep your commitment to the paper even if you don’t keep your commitment to the people around you, the people you’re supposed to take care of.
I went to put the quarter into the video game.
“So that’s what a Frogger game looks like,” said a familiar voice from over my shoulder.
I turned around and was shocked to see Terry standing right behind me. I practically jumped to the side. His hair was mussed up and he had his hands jammed into the pockets of one of his old warm-up jackets.
“What are you doing here?” I stammered.
“A better question is what are you doing here?”
I didn’t know what to say. What did he know? “I’m just playing video games,” I said, forcing out the words. Maybe he didn’t even know that I’d taken off.
“I figured that part. I meant what are you doing here at eleven-thirty at night? Shouldn’t you be sleeping?” Terry asked. He looked tired, and he shifted over so he could lean against the game.
“Me? What about you?” I asked. I always found it was better to answer a question with another question if you didn’t want to answer the first question to begin with. “You really should be asleep.”
“I was asleep. Sleeping soundly.” He paused. “At least I was until your father came pounding on my door.”
“He shouldn’t have done that,” I muttered. Had my father lost his mind, waking this guy up in the middle of the night?
Terry shrugged. “What choice did he have? He was pretty worried. Still is pretty worried, I imagine.”
&n
bsp; “There’s nothing to worry about.”
“That’s what I told him, but you know how parents are. My parents still worry about me even though I’m not a kid any more.”
“I’m not a kid either,” I snarled.
“I never said you were. I tried to tell your father that too, but he had this strange idea that you were running away.”
I felt a sudden rush of embarrassment. Just how much had my father told him, and how dare he tell people about what I’d done? My embarrassment was replaced by anger. Anger at my father…and anger at Terry. What was he doing here anyway, sticking his nose in where it didn’t belong?
“I told him you probably just needed some time to cool off. I told him that I’m the same way when I get mad, and that you’d be back as soon as you were ready.”
“If you think that, then why are you here?” I asked.
“Maybe I just wanted to play some Frogger. Somebody told me it was a really, really cool game.”
“Yeah, right,” I scoffed. But when I looked up I could see the hint of a smile on his face.
“Or maybe I came because I thought you might need a ride back to the motel. Doug is just outside in the van. We can drive you.”
“If I want to get back I can just walk. I have two good legs, you know!”
I saw him flinch—I’d got to him…but I didn’t feel good…I felt bad. That was such a stupid, hurtful thing to say.
“I guess I deserved that,” Terry said. “I really came because I was worried. Worried that you were going to do the wrong thing.”
“And just what do you think is the wrong thing?” I asked.
“Running.”
I laughed. “And this coming from the guy running across Canada.”
“There’s a big difference. I’m not running away from anything.” He paused. “Are you planning on running away?”
I didn’t answer right away. “What will you do if I say yes?” I asked.