In Her Eyes

by Wesley Banks

  Copyright

  This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  In Her Eyes

  Copyright © 2016 by Wesley Banks

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or otherwise, without written permission from the author.

  First Edition: March 2016

  ISBN 978-0-9861934-2-2 (e-book)

  ISBN 978-0-9861934-3-9 (paperback)

  Chasing Pace Publishing

  Begin Reading

  About the Author

  More Books by the Author

  Author’s Note

  In the coming pages I’m going to share with you a story about a runner named Benson Wilder.

  However, it is also not his story.

  With that in mind if you only remember one thing for the rest of this story, and even for the rest of your life. Remember this….

  That no person’s story is theirs alone. Because there is only one true feeling in this world. And that is the feeling we share with those we love.

  1

  Promise

  June 12, 2015

  The first time he saw her was on a day just like today.

  The sky was blue and cloudless, like the color of the ocean from a plane. Waves of bodies swept through the stadium. Some formed endless lines at the scattered concessions, while others made their way through the stands, bumping and nudging one another along. Loudspeakers broadcasted in intervals to the crowd, but laughter and noisy conversations, as well as irritated voices and protests, drowned out the robotic instructions as people pushed their way near the fence for a better view.

  All of them were waiting impatiently for the last event of the weekend. The men’s 5,000 meter.

  Ben tried to drown it all out with the slow and deliberate details of his pre-race warm-up. He stood up and unzipped his jacket, tossing it in his bag below the bench.

  A bead of sweat rolled slowly down his neck until it found the edge of his shirt. He pulled the breakaway pants from his hips and laid them atop the jacket. His mental block wavered and for a moment he could hear the crowd begin to chant. The blue and orange letters on several signs appeared as he looked up towards all the people. Then he closed his eyes and looked down at his shoes. He focused on the smallest detail his eye could resolve, counting the fiber of each individual stitching, and the sounds slowly disappeared again.

  He continued examining each lace like a surgeon checking sutures. He lifted his left leg and shook it out several times. Then his right. He bounced up and down twice. The shoes felt perfect.

  The infield grass flexed underneath his steps as he jogged toward the starting line where the other runners were stretching. He passed them and continued running until he was almost even with turn number four, and then he walked back. Twice more he completed the same routine, shaking out his arms and clinching his hands as he stopped near the starting boxes.

  He took several steps forward towards the chalk line etched into the track, knelt down and placed his hand against the clay red polyurethane. It breathed in and out the afternoon sun through its porous surface and refused to flex against the humidity. The track would be fast today.

  As he looked up towards the seats, the sound of the stadium returned. He saw a girl making her way up the stands with a slice of pizza and a coke. Her light blonde hair was short, and pulled back in a ponytail the same way Casey wore it. She swept several loose strands behind each ear, and several more fell loose against her neck. Ben couldn’t pull his eyes away until she found her seat next to two other girls and sat down. He looked back towards the track, and then once more in the girl’s direction, even though he knew it wasn’t her. The announcer was trying to draw attention to the triple jump on the south end of the field. But the crowd was waiting anxiously for something else. They inched in around the chest-high black chain link fence that surrounded the track.

  Directly across from Ben several security guards pushed a group of frat guys away from the barrier. Just a few feet away from them a young boy with red hair and a ruddy complexion dropped his cup, soda spilling all over the bottom of his legs and feet. His father jerked him away from the fence, the large plastic souvenir cup rolling quietly on the ground, alone.

  A heavy hand on his shoulder startled him, pulling him away from his thoughts. “How you feelin’, kid?”

  Coach Melvick stood just a few feet behind him. Their conversation from this morning still weighed heavily on Ben. He had run one way for as long as he could remember, and the morning of the most important race of his life, Coach Melvick had asked him to change everything. It wasn’t just the change that burdened him though. It was the impossibility of it all. “Ask me again with a thousand meters left.”

  Coach turned his head and stared off into the distance. Without looking at Ben, he asked, “You ever watch the Nature Channel?”

  The random question caught Ben off guard. “Umm, no, not really. Why?”

  “I love that damn channel. Chalked full of interesting stuff.” Coach paused again and his eyes seemed to wander towards the stands.

  “The other day I was watching this documentary on wolves. You probably wouldn’t think it, but they are absolutely fucking magnificent long distance runners.” He paused again. “You know how they figured that out?”

  Ben shook his head again not entirely sure what this had to do with anything.

  “They chased the damn thing with a snowmobile just to see how far it could go. Now, if I was that wolf, I would have turned around and chewed their sorry faces off. But this wolf must have been one cocky SOB, because he just kept running. Those idiots followed him for hours, until eventually they had to turn around. But that damn wolf just kept on running…”

  Coach looked down at Ben now. “You know how he did it?”

  Again Ben just shook his head.

  “He did it the same way you do anything in life, by putting one damn foot in front of the other.” Coach Melvick’s eyes burned into Ben and then without another word he walked towards the infield with the rest of his team.

  * * *

  Coach Melvick sat down on a wooden bench painted with the green and yellow colors of the Oregon Ducks. He pulled out a half-smoked cigar and held it between his lips while he struck a match across the glass powder surface until the phosphorus and air created a small flame. He spun the cigar around in the modest orange light and then tossed the expired match onto the ground next to him. He smiled as he took the cigar out of his mouth for a second, examining the tip he had just primed.

  Then his smile faded as he thought about the wolf, the hopeless expression on the animals face when he realized he could never outrun the guys on the snowmobile. After about four hours, the wolf had collapsed. That amazing animal ran his heart out, literally.

  * * *

  The starting judge walked from runner to runner. When he reached Ben he said the same thing he said to the other twenty-three guys. “Five minutes ‘till start.”

  “Ladies and Gentlemen,” the loud speakers boomed. “The last event of the 2015 NCAA Division 1 Outdoor Track & Field Championships will begin in five minutes. Please take your seats.”

  As the roaring cheer erupted behind Ben, two young brunette trainers walked by. The water bottles on their hips swishing alongside a blue fanny pack that hung around their khaki shorts. They both had their hair pulled up in ponytails. The girl on the left was wearing one of those bracelets made from old parachute cord. Both smiled as they walked up to him. “Good luck today, Ben.”

  He smiled back as the one on the left adjusted her ponytail, arching her back as she pushed the hair band
tighter against her head. Her bracelet flashed in the sun revealing a metal clasp holding two ends of the cord together. On the clasp were several letters he couldn’t make out.

  Her name was Jane or Jeanne, or something with a J. “You need anything?”

  It was the same damn question she always asked. He wanted to lean forward and spell it out for her. No. I. Don’t. Need. Anything. From. You. Instead he smiled, and politely declined.

  Several runners walked into his line of sight, as the girls walked back towards the other end of the field. They began to casually stretch, rolling their wrists and ankles to shake away the nerves more than to loosen their muscles and joints. And then Kevin Robinson walked by.

  “Looking a little pale today, Benny boy.”

  Kevin Robinson was the number one ranked 5000-meter runner in NCAA Division 1. The only runner ranked above Ben. He was your prototypical college asshole. Blond hair, blue eyes, tanned like a surfer instead of a runner, rich parents, and a full ride to USC. It didn’t hurt that he also held the fastest 5000-meter time this year.

  This should have been the second time they raced in the same heat, except that Kevin had been pulled from a meet earlier in the year due to disciplinary reasons. Something about him having skipped a week of practice for a trip with the girls’ soccer team. There were always rumors like that about him floating around.

  They had never technically met, but ranking one and two with only a few points separating them, both knew of each other even though they attended schools across the country. Ben tried to look right through Kevin as he walked up to the starting boxes. But Coach’s words from this morning made it tough.

  Kevin stopped in lane five, two lanes from Ben. “You sure you’re feeling up to this today? I hear the heat can really get to the elderly.” Most of the other runners were focused, still stretching, or loosening up. But several smirked at Kevin’s joke.

  Kevin was a twenty-two-year-old senior, while Ben was a twenty-four year-old freshman. It wasn’t the first time he had heard a joke about his age.

  Ben looked over at Kevin, staring straight into his eyes until the screams and shouts of several girls from along the fence stole his attention.

  “Ben! Ben!” the girls shouted.

  He looked over to see several girls holding a glitter laden poster that read: “Ben, Ben, Ben! Win, Win, Win!” It was some of the girls from Alpha Omega Pi, or AOGuy as they were referred to on campus. Not in any way because of their looks, they were gorgeous, but they just also happened to dominate intramural sports.

  Kevin shook his head sarcastically as the starting judge approached and all twenty-four runners took their position.

  “Don’t worry,” Kevin said. “It will all be over soon. For you and your fan club,” he said laughing.

  Those last words didn’t register with Ben because he was still thinking about Kevin’s previous remark. Not that it bothered him. Just that he began to think about the past few months all over again.

  “Runners, on your mark.”

  Ben didn’t move, as the others crouched slightly and shifted their weight onto their front foot.

  “Runners, get set.” He was still lost in thought as the others tightened, bringing their arms up like a boxer into ready position.

  The gun fired, and his body instinctively went into motion, but all he could think about was the two girls he loved more than anything. And the one promise he had to keep, if he didn’t die first.

  2

  A Girl Named Casey

  3 months earlier

  March 31, 2015

  Ben dropped his backpack by his desk, walked over to his twin bed and fell face first onto the dark navy sheets.

  Differential equations, strength of materials, and dynamics back-to-back-to-back every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday morning. The joys of being a mechanical engineering major. Having been a mechanic straight out of high school for about five years, the concepts were easy to grasp. But the sheer number of equations alone literally hurt his brain.

  He lay there for a few more minutes and then decided he didn’t want to waste the rest of his Friday.

  Ben sat up on the edge of his bed and ran his fingers over his eyes. He put his palm under his chin and twisted his neck left, and then right, making several cracking sounds.

  Parker was lying on his stomach sound asleep on the bed across the room. His left arm was hanging over the side, and the sheets looked like someone had tried to tie them in a giant knot.

  Parker and Ben were suite mates at the Springs Complex. It was essentially a studio apartment, except no kitchen, and they shared a bathroom. They each had their own bed, desk, chair, and what the university expects people to believe is a closet.

  Ben’s side of the room was mostly empty except for a black and white poster of Steve Prefontaine with words in thick white letters written on it: “Most people run a race to see who is the fastest. I run a race to see who has the most guts.”

  Parker’s wall was different, covered in posters of half-naked girls, and a cork board pinned full of drunken moments.

  After walking on to the team, Ben was offered a full scholarship to keep running at the University of Florida. A lot of the athletes dormed here because they were on scholarship. They weren’t the best dorms on campus, but they weren’t the worst either.

  Ben thought back to the light blue house on Citrus Drive, right next to Forest High School. The mailbox outside that looked like a bird house, and the handprints made in wet concrete when they fixed a block on the sidewalk. It had become so lonely and quiet. He looked around the dorm room again. These dorms, they were his new home.

  Ben pulled the blinds open and the late morning sun washed over the room with a phalanx of yellow rays.

  Parker made a noise that sounded more like a cat dying than a person waking up.

  “Rise and shine, sunshine,” Ben said.

  Parker made another indistinguishable sound.

  “I’m going to go for a short run and stop by Broward Dining for some lunch. You want to go?”

  Parker finally responded with actual words. “No, man, I’m good.”

  “All right, I should be back in a few hours.”

  * * *

  A myriad of numbers and equations were still floating around Ben’s mind, but the sun felt good against his skin as he ran.

  He jogged for about an hour. At first away from campus down Museum Road, and then back toward campus up Hull and Mowry. He took a left on Gale Lemerand, passing the empty parking lot normally filled with giant RVs during football season, and then a right back on Museum Road in front of the Physics Lawn that was mostly empty.

  He jogged up the slight incline in front of the campus theater, which he couldn’t recall the name of, and ended up in front of the Reitz Union.

  A small group of students that he didn’t recognize said, “Hey,” as he passed, and a guy from another group shouted, “Good luck against Missouri,” which made absolutely zero sense because the meet this weekend was in Texas and Missouri wasn’t even one of the schools invited.

  Ben just raised his hand in acknowledgment and mouthed the words, “Thanks, man,” as he passed.

  He’d been receiving a lot of attention ever since he broke the school record during the first meet of the season, and then the conference record during the Texas Relays last weekend.

  It wasn’t going over well with some of the guys on the team who thought he was showboating, but he didn’t really care.

  Ben looked over to his right as he passed McCarty Hall and then felt a strange metallic crunch under his foot. He stopped running and looked down at the sidewalk, several beads of sweat running across his face. He bent over and picked up a pair of keys and a light gray UF ID card that belonged to “Casey Taylor…”

  “Thank you,” he heard before he could finish reading the name on the card.

  He looked up to see a girl drawing in a couple of sharp, labored breaths. She had light blonde hair just long enough for a ponytail, sev
eral strands falling away on each side of her face. Her left hand was resting on her hip as her right hung loose at her side. She was wearing gray cotton shorts that were slightly curled at the ends, like they had been cut from a pair of sweatpants. Her top was a light purple color and clung tightly to a bright pink sports bra despite the outline of a heart rate monitor beneath.

  “I think those are mine,” she said, pointing to the keys that Ben was still holding.

  His eyes followed the soft tan that stretched over her body.

  Ben brushed the card against his shorts, wiping it clean, and handed both the card and keys to her. “Sorry, I kind of stepped on them.”

  She tucked the key fob below the elastic waistband of her shorts and held onto the card. “Thanks again,” she said, motioning a slight wave goodbye.

  “You don’t like to listen to music when you run?” Ben blurted out.

  She squinted her eyes. “What?”

  “Music,” Ben said again. “I just noticed you’re not listening to any.”

  “Oh, umm, no, I just kind of prefer to get lost in my thoughts.”

  “Me too,” he said. “It just helps…” He paused looking for the right word.

  “Quiet things down a bit,” she finished.

  Ben smiled. “Exactly.” He stepped forward and held out his hand. “I’m Ben.” Before she could respond, a girl on rollerblades came whirling into him, arms flailing.

  Casey stepped back as Ben caught her.

  “Oh my gosh. I’m so sorry,” the girl said. She tried to right her balance, but as she moved backwards she almost fell again.

  Ben grabbed her arms, steadying her. “You okay?”

  The girl looked up and smiled at him. “Yeah. I think.”

  Ben moved away and towards Casey, still standing there watching everything unfold. “Okay, well…”

  “Hey, aren’t you Benson Wilder?” the girl said. She waved over another girl also on roller blades.