Portrait of a Girl Running

by J. B. Chicoine

  He fidgeted with the box. “Out to dinner, at Surf and Turf.”

  “Oooo … expensive.”

  “Yeah,” he said. “She’s worth it.”

  Leila sat up straight and breathed deep. Kyle continued to fumble with the box, his face flushed.

  Snapping it shut, he rose from the bed and turned his back on her. “Well, I promised I would pick her up at noon.”

  Leila stood. “I can let myself out. Are we still on for tomorrow morning?”

  “Yeah. Dress warm. It’s supposed to turn cold.”

  ~

  Kyle’s body ached with fatigue as he rolled out of bed. His head throbbed as if he had a hangover, but even if he wanted to cancel his run with Leila, it was too late. Besides, he had no way to contact her. Fortunately, when she showed up, she was in a quiet mood. As they started down the street, each exhalation clung to the frigid air.

  “Well? How did it go?” she finally said as they stepped through the fence.

  “It went fine,” he nodded, trying to spike his enthusiasm.

  “Fine? Is that all? Just fine?”

  “No, it was great—I mean, it was really great.” He could not bring himself to look at her.

  By any seventeen-year-old-guy standard, it had gone better than great. The sight of the necklace had brought Maryanne to tears. He had braved the words, “I love you,” even though afterward he wondered if he had said it more to convince himself.

  “Well? What did she think of the necklace?” Leila pressed.

  “She loved it.”

  “So, that’s it?”

  “Yeah,” he said, but that was by no means all of it. When he’d brought Maryanne home, she’d led him down to her parents’ boathouse on the canal the way she often had, but this time she had a lot more in mind.

  Leila nudged him. “Yeah, next thing you know, the two of you will be engaged and it will be happily-ever-after.”

  He tried to muster a chuckle but had trouble coming up with even a smile. The memory of how wrong it had all gone choked his humor, though the deficiency had nothing to do with Maryanne. It had everything to do with Leila, how he hadn’t been able to stop thinking of her all evening. How he had missed her during dinner, how he had imagined what the necklace would have looked like around Leila’s neck. He had pushed those thoughts out of mind—just too much time spent with Leila, lately. But the worst of it happened later, in the most intimate and intense moment—when images of Leila, not Maryanne, involuntarily flooded his mind. How could he betray Maryanne in his heart, the girl to whom he had just confessed his love?

  Self-loathing had gripped him with such ferocity that by the time he arrived home last night, he lost his entire dinner. Deprived of sleep, he had watched the sky lighten. He continued the process of convincing himself that he could disguise his guilt and hide from Maryanne, and especially Leila, what he had done and what he felt.

  He made himself look at Leila, hoping to pull it off. Suspicion darted from her eyes.

  “Oh my gosh …,” she said under her breath.

  He lowered his head. “What?”

  “You and Maryanne ….”

  He couldn’t deny what she had obviously deduced. He simply said, “Yeah, well, quit gawking. I’m not going to talk about it.”

  “Yeah, well, no one’s asking.”

  “Good. Let’s run.”

  That day, Kyle took the lead and Leila hung back as he ran hard, always just a pace ahead, never glancing back.

  The bleakness of November had set in.

  ~

  Leila sat in homeroom on Monday morning, hoping Kyle might have lightened up. When he entered, he didn’t look at her or nudge her or anything.

  “Hey, Kyle,” she said.

  He grunted, “Hi.”

  Leila slumped in her seat. It didn’t take too much imagination to figure that things had changed. Maryanne and Kyle had solidified their relationship, and her situation with her running partner and tutor had shifted. She couldn’t blame either Kyle or Maryanne, but Leila didn’t really understand why sex should throw things so out of kilter between her and Kyle. Sure, they’d had their flustered little moment in his room, but it was fleeting and meant nothing. Typical teenage hormones. Just the same, Kyle’s withdrawal cut into her heart.

  She didn’t leave with the rest of the class at homeroom dismissal; she couldn’t stand the idea of Kyle ignoring her at their locker. And she didn’t even want to think about seeing Maryanne, though she was curious if her rival would look any different, now that they had done it.

  Mr. Myles laid down his Rolling Stone, and folded his arms as he leaned back in his chair. “So what’s up?”

  “Nothing. I just don’t feel like getting up.”

  Pulling the glasses from his nose, he squinted but said nothing.

  “What?” she said, not masking her irritation.

  “You tell me.”

  She rolled her eyes. She hated that he made her talk. “It’s just stupid teenage stuff—nothing of concern to you.”

  He stared a moment longer. “Interesting that Mr. Schultz seems to be in the same funk.”

  “He and I are fine. I’m fine.”

  “Well, just don’t let it affect your grade now that it’s finally coming up.”

  Chapter 17

  On the Wednesday before Thanksgiving, a bitter wind picked up. Ian flipped the collar of his peacoat against a gust, and shoved his hands in his pockets. As he walked to his car in the parking lot, he squinted at the gray-bellied clouds above him. In the distance, Leila headed his way in a swirl of leaves and sand, her cheeks ruddy. She pulled her stocking cap over her ears and slung her pack over her shoulder as if it contained a cement block. A fine drizzle sprinkled his windshield as she approached and then paused in front of his car.

  “Why didn’t you drive today?” He shook his head. “Don’t you ever listen to the weather forecast?”

  Her gloved hand wiped her nose. “Apparently not this morning.”

  “They say it’s supposed to be like this all weekend.”

  She shrugged. “It’s all the same to me.”

  “You have plans for Thanksgiving?”

  “Yes, I’m fixing dinner for Artie.”

  “Good.”

  “What about you? Do you have plans?”

  “No, actually, I don’t.” Every holiday celebration Ian had attended since leaving home had been as a sorority party date or as an escort to some gathering where he rarely knew the host. But at least he’d had plans. This year would be different. He had no plans and no woman.

  Leila cocked her brow. “Miss Weiss won’t be fixing you a bird?”

  “More like flipping me a bird,” he smirked.

  “Oh, I thought the two of you were—”

  “Well, we’re not.”

  She offered a brief smile. “I’m glad.”

  He returned her smile. “You know you shouldn’t be running in this kind of weather. It’s not good for your lungs.”

  “I’ve always run in this kind of weather.”

  “Well, I wish you wouldn’t.” He wished he could offer her a ride. Before he dismissed the irrational idea, she spoke up.

  “Then perhaps you’d like to give me a ride home.”

  Emotion overrode logic. “Yeah, I would. Get in.”

  He scanned the lot for observers as she obeyed.

  With the start of his engine, Clapton’s singing blared from the speakers. He turned the volume way down and shifted into reverse as Leila fidgeted with her backpack and pulled off her stocking cap. As her hair came down, he had a hard time focusing on the road.

  Impressions of Leila in his studio flashed from memory, but not just the photo shoot—everything that accompanied it. The confidences they had shared. The novel emotion she evoked. The way his wandering thoughts always drifted back to her, quashing impulses to call and simply talk to someone he connected with, to someone who made him feel like talking, someone who didn’t judge. He spent idle time imagining
conversations and then spent as much time reminding himself that she was ten years his junior—a student. The injustice of it! And why on earth was he driving her home right now?

  Without prompting, he headed north. As he drove without a word, the song “Layla” began playing. He let it run for a few seconds and then hit the eject button. He let out a sigh.

  She looked at him. “Why are you driving me home, Ian?”

  He pondered the question again. Yes, why? In fact, he knew why. Ian had experienced the upheaval of a date marked by death, and Leila was coming upon an anniversary.

  Something in the change of the season, the smell of the atmosphere, even the subtle shifts in light from day to day, could conjure emotions and distort time, bringing on a flood of memories. Sometimes, he felt as though he were right in the midst of all the turmoil of his father’s death. He hated to think of Leila going through all that—going through it alone. Yes, that’s why he had offered to drive her home. Support. Empathy. Camaraderie.

  “I’m concerned. I know you’re coming up on the one-year anniversary ….” He stared ahead. “I just remember that for me, a year after my dad died, it was a lot harder than I expected. And I didn’t have the long months of buildup that you had. I know you must be going through some really difficult stuff right now and—”

  “I appreciate what you’re saying, Ian. I do. But that’s a bottle I really can’t afford to uncork at the moment.”

  “I just want you to know that it does get easier.”

  “And that if I ever want to talk about it, you’ll be there for me?”

  “Leila,” he said, his guard slipping. “I wish I could be there whenever you need someone, but—”

  “I know. But you can’t. I get it.”

  Perhaps he was the one who needed the support and camaraderie more than her. He shifted to a neutral subject. “How are things going with Mr. Myles?”

  “Nothing’s changed—except he made Kyle tutor me.” She pointed ahead. “Two lefts and a right.”

  “So you’re doing better in math?”

  “Couldn’t do much worse.”

  “And running together—how’s that going?”

  “Okay I guess … a little weird lately.”

  “How so?”

  “Ever since Kyle and Maryanne—well—things have just gotten weird, that’s all. It’s not a big deal. Take this left.”

  He glanced at her. “It kind of sounds like a big deal.”

  She shrugged apathetically. “At least we’re still running, right?”

  “Sure.” He turned down her street. “The two of you seem well paired.”

  “Yeah …well paired….” She pointed at her house. “This is it.”

  Pulling up in front, he shifted into neutral and pulled the emergency brake. They both looked straight ahead. He sighed and glanced at her. Time for her to climb out.

  Leila did not move. After a moment, she said, “Do you want to come up and see my watercolors—and we could talk?”

  His brow arched, now sensing her desire to open up, that indeed she did want to—need to—talk. For a brief moment, he considered her offer, but all the possible repercussions charged in on him. He no longer trusted himself, neither his judgment nor his restraint.

  He shook his head. “I don’t think that would be a good idea, Leila.”

  “Why not? I went to your place.”

  He exhaled. Offering her a ride had exposed his weakness. Just the same, sitting near her compensated for his feelings of guilt. He wanted nothing more than to be with her, alone in her apartment. He stared ahead, gripping his steering wheel, trying to get his yearning under control. “Going up to your apartment is not going to make things any easier.”

  “I don’t care,” she blurted.

  He closed his eyes and mustered just enough moral strength to utter, “Well I have to.”

  “Is that why you listen to this—?” She shoved the cassette back in and “Layla” continued playing. “Because it makes it easier for you?”

  He jabbed at the player, ejecting the tape, and tossed it onto the dashboard. His err in judgment punched him in the gut. He exhaled. “Leila, I’m so sorry … this was a bad idea….”

  “I guess so.” She flung open the car door, pulled herself out, ran to her staircase, and disappeared.

  ~

  Leila hadn’t intentionally arrived early for school on Monday morning, but having slept away most of the holiday weekend, she woke sooner than usual. Preparing a dinner and playing with Artie and the boys had provided some diversion, but she had felt like the odd one out. Leila would never admit to anyone that she looked forward to seeing Mr. Myles, but the notion of being in his company—with someone who had demonstrated a genuine, unselfish interest in her—stirred something like hope as she headed down the sparsely populated hallway.

  She opened his door slowly and waited until his attention settled on her. She needed him to invite her in.

  “Miss Sanders. You’re particularly early this morning.”

  She nodded.

  “Do you intend to simply darken my doorway, or grace me with your company?”

  “I don’t want to impose. I know you like your private time.”

  “You are no imposition. Sit.”

  Leila slipped into her chair.

  Myles pushed back in his usual repose. “And how was your holiday weekend?”

  “How do you think?”

  “From the looks of you, I’d say it was about as wretched as mine.”

  “I doubt it.”

  “What? You think you’re the only one who hates the holiday season?”

  “No. But you’re the perpetual Grinch. Why would the holidays be different from any other time of year for you?”

  He stared at her for a second, studying her. “They just are.”

  It took a moment to muster courage enough to ask, “Why?”

  It took just as long for him to respond, “Divorce.”

  Although aware that she had likely overstepped her boundary, she had to ask, “Yours? Or your parents?”

  “Both.”

  “Divorce was kind of unusual back then, wasn’t it?”

  “Indeed.”

  She gathered from the finality of his tone that whatever led to his parents’ divorce must have been grave. She wouldn’t press him on that. She had another interest. “Do you have any children?”

  His gaze dropped and slowly came back to her. “I used to.”

  The pain that exuded from his eyes shot ice down her spine. She dared not ask any more about that, but his eyes never left hers, as if he was allowing some other question.

  “So, what do you do on Christmas?” she asked.

  “I go to the movies.”

  “That’s what my dad and I used to do.” Then, because, she desperately longed for a commiserator, she added, “That’s when my father died, you know—on Christmas.”

  His eyes now beamed with the same emotion—a sort of torment—she had seen in her apartment. “No. I didn’t know that.”

  Another student entered the room, ending their exchange. If Mr. Myles had meant to reach out to her, to offer consolation, he succeeded where Ian had not. Although, having even remotely common ground with Mr. Myles was not what she had initially hoped for, she at least found some comfort in his willingness to share his time. She missed talking with grown men—a different breed than Artie or Kyle or even Ian.

  When Kyle arrived, he dropped to his seat, frowning.

  “I guess I don’t need to ask how your weekend went,” she said.

  He shook his head and rolled his eyes.

  When homeroom ended, Leila remained in her seat. She never questioned whether Myles would allow it. He again turned his attention to her with his earlier tenderness.

  “Do me a favor, Leila.” That was the first time he called her Leila, in class.

  “What’s that?”

  “Resist the temptation to isolate yourself.”

  His words carried the i
mport of a man with too many regrets. Taking it as that, she acknowledged his counsel with a nod.

  ~

  The first of December arrived and Leila longed for things to return to the way they were a month ago. With each passing day, Kyle had become increasingly distant. She missed how he couldn’t wait to demonstrate his progress on the harmonica, the way he would nudge her for no reason, but especially his mischievous grin. She even missed the way he challenged her to a race every time they ran. It had been weeks since they did anything more than just run. No drills or exercises. No small talk. During their recent sessions, Leila tended to lag behind, however, this morning a mood struck her. As soon as they began running, she picked up her pace. Running abreast of him for a minute, she then advanced, glancing at him as she passed.

  “Wanna race?” she baited with a grin.

  He glared at her.

  “Come on,” she said while jogging backwards. “You know you want to.”

  He exhaled with a scowl.

  “I can whup you so bad, and you know it.”

  He squinted. “Oh, you think so?”

  “Why don’t you find out? You know you want to.”

  A slow smile came over his face as she wiggled her fingers, taunting him.

  He didn’t say a word, he simply enlivened his stride. When he caught up beside her, they set off. Running neck and neck for about 100 meters, they both pushed hard, yet she pushed harder and pulled ahead just a bit but not for long.

  Weeks of conditioning paid off for Kyle as he gained on her, keeping pace and even outrunning her after several meters. With a little more exertion, she reclaimed her lead and accelerated, pushing beyond him. Now she gave it her final kick. As her heart pounded and her body exceeded her wind capacity, she took a three-meter advantage. Her clothes billowed and her bun unraveled under her body’s percussion. As her hair came down, she no longer heard him behind her. She glanced back. Kyle had completely spent himself and had slowed. The race ended.

  As he continued making his way toward her, he retrieved the fallen pick and smiled openly. Leila waited, arching her back and walking circles.

  When they met, they panted without a word, trying to catch their breath. A strong breeze wrapped strands of hair around Leila’s head as they faced each other.