****
All morning I thought about Stuart and what Cecil had said. Could he have been mistaken? The thought of someone coercing Stuart made me sick to my stomach, but it wasn't an unlikely scenario. He was trusting and vulnerable and didn't think of repercussions. It's just who he was, how he operated. But his parents kept close tabs on him.
At lunch I waited for him and when he didn't show up in the cafeteria, I went looking for him. I found him in a private room with Tony, his aide, but since he was immersed in his work, Tony didn't want me interrupting. Fair enough.
When the bell rang at three, instead of hightailing it out of the school right away and back home to the sofa, my place of afternoon activity these days, I decided to try and find Stuart. When I saw Tony, leaving the school, I waved him over to me.
"Where's Stuart?" I asked.
"I don't have him last period," he said. "But I think he said he's been doing track-and-field practice."
"Thanks," I said. Track and field? That didn't sound right. Cecil would have noticed if Stuart was showing up at the track. But I figured it wouldn't hurt to check.
The track was located in the back of the school, so I headed to the doors that led outside. Stepping out, I saw a familiar sight. Kids were everywhere, dressed in workout clothing, wearing cleats, running sprints, high jumping.
For a few seconds, I watched the sprinters as they lined up at the start, working on positioning in the blocks. I always used the blocks and crouched low, so I could get explosive power that way. I put my hand to my chest, where my new mechanism had been inserted under my skin. Yeah, it was there. And, no, I wasn't running the explosive events ever again.
I glanced around for Stuart but didn't see him. He would have been with the runners. I skirted around the outside of the track, head lowered, so no one would talk to me or call me over. I got closer to the frost fence that surrounded the school and the recycling bins.
I heard the car before I saw it. Then it came into view. A blue corvette with dual exhaust that sounded as if it belonged on the race track. I picked up my pace and started to jog.
Then I saw Stuart dart out from behind the bins and race to the car. The passenger door swung open and he hopped in. The car took off, squealing tires and leaving rubber marks on the road.
I started to chase it, trying to read the licence plate. BNM were the first three letters. I said them over and over in my head. And kept running. But the car was fast. This wasn't good. I needed the rest of the plate number. I kept running. 3005. I had it.
I stopped running but my heart ticked and ticked, going too fast.
Way too fast. I saw stars sparking in front of my face.
I gasped for breath. Dizzy. My legs felt wobbly. My heart felt as if it might explode. My head ached. I kept gasping. And gasping. I bent over at the waist. The stars kept circling in front of me.
Breathe. Breathe.
I had to slow down my breath. I had to. I touched my chesst over my heart. Felt its pounding. Dangerous. The doctor told me I could have died. I was lucky I didn't die. Didn't have brain damage.
I sat down on the ground and wrapped my arms around my knees and slowly rocked back and forth to calm my body down. As I did that, I recited the licence plate. BNM3005. BNM3005. Over and over.
I'm not sure how long I sat on the ground but finally my breath returned to normal. Slimy sweat dripped down the side of my face and coated my forehead. Not a good sweat. More like a toxic sweat. I also had a sick stomach. I squelched down barf and continued to sit.
And think.
Never mind me. I had to do something about Stuart.
I sucked in another breath of air, taking the oxygen deep inside me. Okay, so I wasn't as lightheaded anymore. I was going to be fine. I rubbed my sweaty hands on my jeans before I pulled my phone out of my pocket. I had to call someone. Who? His parents. They were the best bet.
When Stuart's mother answered I said, "Hi, this is Sam." And before she could even say hi back, I said, "I think Stuart's with someone he shouldn't be with." My words came out in a rush.
"What?" I could hear her confusion. "He's at track and field."
"No, he's not."
"Where is he?" Now I could hear fear in her voice.
"He got in a car with the licence plate BNM3005. Have Randy or your husband track it down and see who it belongs to but I'm pretty sure the guy is not who you want Stuart hanging around with."
"Oh, my goodness," she whispered. "And here's me thinking he was at track and field. What was I thinking?"
"Tony thought that too," I said. "Stuart's smart." I paused for a second then just blurted out, "I think I let him down."
"No, no." She sounded really distracted.
"I'd like to be there, at your house, when he comes home," I said. "I need to talk to him. Tell him I'm sorry."
"You have nothing to be sorry for. But I agree. That's a good idea for you to be here. I'll pick you up. It might really help."
I told her my location and then waited. It didn't take her long and I could tell by the strained look on her face that she was as worried as I was.
"Thank you so much for calling me," she said as I buckled up my seatbelt.
"Of course," I said. "A friend told me at school, so I tried to follow him. I couldn't chase the car down." I glanced out the window. I couldn't help my friend because I had a bad heart. What use was I?
She sighed and drove away from the curb. "He's been coming home every night around the time he would get home from track-and-field practice. I was allowing him to walk because I wanted to give him a sense of independence. He had such convincing stories about his practice. Declan even said he saw him going outside in his track gear." She gripped the steering wheel.
We drove on in silence until she turned into their driveway. She flicked the remote to open the garage door and as she drove into her spot, her phone pinged. She shoved the car in park and grabbed the phone as she cut the engine. I sat quietly while she read her text.
"Oh, dear. You were right about that fellow he's with." She closed her eyes for a second before turning to me. "To use your words, this guy is bad news. I just feel sick about this. Why didn't I follow up with the track-and-field coach? I always do."
Sweat slid down my forehead. What if Stuart was in trouble?
"I should have checked up on this track and field deal," she said again, almost as if she was talking to herself. "He's different than Declan. A little more trusting with people. Well, actually, a lot more trusting. Always has been. Declan was clingier and much more cautious. I just wanted to let Stuart do something on his own." She turned to me. "Thank you again. This licence plate number is so important. It gives us something. Thankfully, my husband is a lawyer and knows a few police officers." She put her purse under her arm. "I guess we should go in the house and wait."
I nodded, not sure what to say. I got out of the car and followed her into their house.
And wait we did. Her pacing, and talking on her phone. Me, sitting quietly at the kitchen table, drinking a glass of cold water. At 4:25, she glanced at the kitchen clock. "He should be home any minute now."
"Yeah," I said. "Track usually ends between 4 and 4:15."
"It would take him ten minutes to walk home. I should have picked him up instead of letting him walk home. But what am I saying? He wouldn't have been—."
We both jumped when we heard the back door open.
"Go," I said.
She took off like she was a runner coming out of the blocks, disappearing around the corner and into the mudroom. I heard her say Stuart's name, and I heard him talking to her. The sound of his voice made me exhale, like seriously unload a heap of stale air.
When he walked in the kitchen and saw me, he just stared at me. "What are you doing here?"
His mother made him sit down and then it was time for the "talk." I just listened to her telling him how dangerous it was to take rides from people he didn't know. Watching his face, I saw exactly how vulnerable he wa
s, to use his mother's word. He hadn't gone in the car to be bad; he'd just wanted a friend.
I'd bailed on him. A little voice in my head said, "Well, you ate lunch with him." But why did I eat lunch with him? To save myself from having to socialize with my basketball friends. Some friend I was.
After Stuart's mother had talked on the phone to his family about what had happened, she gave me a lift home. In the car, Stuart was happy that we were going to the Best Buddies event. It was as if he'd already forgotten how much trouble he could have been in.
But I didn't forget. I needed to make this up to him.
****
Saturday morning, my alarm went off and I got right out of bed. After a quick shower I headed downstairs to the kitchen and slurped down a bowl of cereal. For the first time since my heart had stopped, I felt okay. Today, Netflix would have to wait.
When my mother came in the kitchen, dressed in her Saturday morning robe, I was downing the remains of a glass of orange juice while standing in front of the sink.
"You like eggs?" she asked.
"Nah. I had cereal, thanks."
"Take snack."
"I'm good."
My phone pinged and I picked it up off the counter, reading the text from Stuart on his mother's phone, telling me they were out front.
"Stuart's mom is here. I'm off."
My mother took two steps toward me and pinched my cheek. "You a good boy. Have fun."
"Um, I'm not seven and going to a birthday party, but thanks."
I headed outside with a little spring in my stride. Stuart waved from the front seat and I waved back before I got in the car.
As soon as I got in, Stuart turned around. "This is going to be awesome," he said, like he was seven.
Stuart was funny that way. He could get excited about running in a gym or get excited about driving fast in a drug dealer's car without knowing the difference between the two events.
"You bet," I said. "I'm jacked to see you run."
We arrived at the soccer dome where the event was being held. They had decided to do it inside, just in case it rained or was cold. Spring had just sprung so the air could be winter or spring. Snow wasn't unusual at this time of year, but neither was a hot sunny day.
Upon entering, I went to the registration desk. Today's event was for Best Buddies clubs at different schools from all over the city and surrounding areas, so it wasn't just our Best Buddies group. Stuart and I signed in and were given t-shirts. He grinned like he'd been given a bike at Christmas.
"Wow! We get t-shirts! I'm putting it on right now." In front of everyone he whipped off his old t-shirt, exposing his skinny torso, and put on his new one. No shame there.
"It's so cool," he said, once he had it on.
I laughed. "It suits you." Suddenly, it hit me. I hadn't laughed, not really, in a long time.
I saw a group from our program and we headed over to them. Erika was dressed in shorts and her new t-shirt and what looked like new sneakers. As soon as she saw us she pointed to her feet.
"Look," she said. "New shoes."
Willa and Gloria were also there. Gloria's shoes were sort of cheap looking and worn, but she stuck out her feet, one after the other, like she was doing a dance.
"Mine are pink!" Gloria squealed.
Willa, put one of her feet in the middle too and said, "Mine are black high-tops!"
The group seemed excited to be at the event, but more excited about their t-shirts. Well, except Harrison, who wasn't going to wear his because he didn't wear new t-shirts that hadn't been washed and didn't have the tags removed.
The organizers called us all to the area where there was Astroturf and nets set up. They'd split the soccer pitches and made them into two, and it looked as if they were going to split the groups, but Buddies stayed with Buddies.
Once Stuart and I found out that we were on pitch four, I said, "I'll watch from the side, okay?" I was pretty nervous about running again, especially after chasing that car the other day. I didn't tell a soul about it either. Mention of that would have put my mother in heart failure, and one in a family is enough.
"Okay," said Stuart. He took off and ran to the middle of the field. Although he was the only one out there without a Buddy, he ran around like a mad man, beating everyone to the soccer ball. And I mean everyone. His skills with kicking could have used some practice (well, a lot of practice) but, man, could he run.
As I watched, I noticed another boy who also had speed like Stuart. Every time Stuart went after the ball, the kid chased him hard. Stuart always got there first but the kid wasn't far behind.
I also noticed a girl on the field. She wasn't hard to notice because she was keeping everything organized, talking with this low gravelly voice, laughing like it came from the bottom of her stomach. She looked athletic, wearing her ball cap backwards, her long dark hair tucked behind her ears. Nothing went by her. She called out to the boys to pass the ball after they had chased it down. She joked and patted their backs and high-fived them if they did something even remotely good.
When the whistle blew for everyone to take a break, the girl went over to Stuart and the other fast kid and gave them both fist pumps. Then I saw Stuart point to me. They started to walk over.
I could tell she was Asian, but I couldn't pinpoint her nationality. Could be Korean or Thai or Vietnamese? Sweat ran down her face and glistened on her black hair. She wore plain black, knee-length satin basketball shorts and her event t-shirt. Now I was glad I'd gone to the can and put mine on too.
As she approached me, she pointed her thumb in Stuart's direction.
"So, your guy is fast," she said in her raspy voice.
"Sure is," I said. "Great job, Stuart."
"I was fast," he said. "Bethany helped me." Stuart grinned at Bethany.
"He beat me every time," said the other boy. "And I'm in the Special Olympics."
The girl smiled at the boy, and I think he might have had FASD as well, but sometimes it's hard to tell. Some kids, like Stuart's brother Declan, sort of look like they might because some of them have a thin upper lip, but Stuart didn't have any of those physical characteristics.
"Dillon," she said to him, "you were great out there." She gave him a playful wink. "Good for you to have some competition."
"Both of you guys ripped it up," I said. I held up my hand and Stuart and Dillon high-fived it. Sweat trickled down Stuart's face.
"We should get some drinks and snacks," said this Bethany girl. All four of us walked over to the table that had been set up with juice boxes and trays of fruit and granola bars. As the boys were picking up their drinks and pawing through the granola bars, I said to Bethany, "Thanks for helping Stuart."
"Hey, no problem. He really is a fast runner. I bet he could run track and field at school. He listened well."
"Sometimes he does," I said, playfully nudging Stuart. "You have your moments, right, Little Man?"
She laughed. "Sometimes I don't listen either, Stuart.
" "Yeah, me too," I said.
Stuart and Dillon wandered over to Justin and Madeline, who were standing at the other end of the table. When they was out of earshot, Bethany said, "Honestly, you should look into the track club at your school for him. Dillon tried to go out for it at our school, but the coach didn't get him. He was kind of a hard nut. Made me so mad. Doesn't matter though because he's committed to Special Olympics and it's all his parents could handle anyway. Dillon does really well there. Last year, he won the 100 at the World Games."
"Wow," I said. "That's cool. I don't know much about the Special Olympics."
"Check it out online. It's pretty sweet."
"I will," I said. And I would. As soon as I got home.
I glanced at Bethany as she continued to talk. "They get Canadian track suits," she said, "and are treated like the real athletes that they are." She picked up a juice box and stuck the straw in.
"Who do they take for Special Olympics?" I didn't pick up a box because I hadn
't run like the others.
She took a sip first before she said, "Oh, there are tons of kids. Anyone born with Down syndrome, Williams syndrome, fetal alcohol, cognitive issues from birth or even some sort of traumatic brain injury.
"You know a lot."
She grinned at me, and these really cute dimples stared me in the face. And her eyes. They were like lights almost. Bright and…honest. If that makes sense. When I realized I was staring, scorching heat hit my face.
"I'm one of the coaches," she said. "Well, as assistant as you can get." She smiled again. "You should come out one night. They do all kinds of sports."
Suddenly, it hit me that this was the first person I'd talked to that didn't know what had happened to me. I'd sheltered myself from people without really realizing I'd been doing it. Or did she know? I'd been plastered all over the newspapers and social media, and even television. Maybe she knew.
And just like that my mouth dried up. Answer her. One way or the other. I lowered my head, because I needed courage, and because I knew my face was red.
Say something.
"Um, sorry I didn't help out there." Not quite the comment I wanted to come out of my mouth, but at least I spoke.
"No problem," she said. "Stuart told me you had a heart problem."
"He did?" I immediately lifted my head and looked at her.
A Time to Run Page 9