A Time to Run

by Lorna Schultz Nicholson

  ****

  On Thursday morning, my mother asked me so many questions at breakfast and I just wanted her to stop talking. She'd made me an egg because she said I needed protein. Then she made me a smoothie which had little pieces of green in it. I didn't drink it. I wanted toast, like I always had, with peanut butter.

  "Do you have your new sneakers in your backpack?" she asked. "And your shorts and t-shirt?"

  "I dunno."

  "Can I check your backpack? I washed your t-shirt last night and told you to put it in your bag."

  I kept taking bites of my toast and eating my egg. Everyone was acting weird around me because I was running today. I didn't care if she checked my backpack.

  "Have at it," I said.

  "Does that mean yes?"

  "Holy shit, Mom. Why are you asking so many questions?"

  She pointed her finger at me. "Language."

  I bowed my head and continued eating.

  When she came back to the kitchen, she had my backpack in her hand and the case for the video game that Donny had given me.

  She frowned at me. "Where did this come from?"

  "I dunno."

  Just then Declan walked into the kitchen, his hair sticking up all over the place and wearing only his pajama bottoms.

  My mom opened the box and there was nothing inside. "Where's the game?" she asked.

  "I broke it," said Declan.

  My mother turned back to me. "Who gave you this video game? Where did you get it?" She didn't talk loud or yell, so she wasn't mad.

  "I dunno," I said.

  "You do so," said Declan. "That stupid Donny guy did. He's in jail now, y'know."

  "What?" Jail? Donny was in jail?

  "He's in jail. Got caught and put in handcuffs."

  "When did he go to jail?" I hadn't seen him in a long time. Since Christmas maybe. No, not that long. Since he'd given me the video game.

  My mother sat down across from me. "It was on the news last night," she said. "Donatello Dunn was arrested for selling drugs."

  "It was a huge drug bust," said Declan. "You're lucky you weren't with him. Or else you would have been thrown in a jail cell too. They showed it on television. Everyone in his house had to come out with a cop and they were in handcuffs. The cops surrounded his house and they had their guns drawn. Just like in a TV show."

  "Declan, I think that's enough," said my mom. "We can talk about this later."

  "Handcuffs?" My brain was spinning. "Guns? At his house?" Declan got out his Special K cereal and my mom poured him the rest of the smoothie she'd tried to pawn off on me.

  "Stuart," said my mom as she handed Declan his smoothie. "That game he gave you is not a game you want to play."

  I refused to look at her. Everyone was bugging me today. Asking so many questions about everything. And telling me all kinds of things that I didn't like.

  I got up. "Stop talking to me!"

  My mother sighed. "Okay. Sorry I brought this up. We'll talk later." She got up from the table. "On another note, good for you for putting your shoes and your shorts and t-shirt in your bag last night."

  "I'm going to watch you today," said Declan, slurping his cereal. He always ate cereal for breakfast and he always made noises.

  "So are lots of people," I said.

  Not Donny though.

  Not today because he was in jail.

  ****

  The track-and-field meet didn't start until after announcements and the national anthem, "O Canada." Today, some kids sang on the microphone and they tried to make it like a hip-hop song but they weren't that good. Not as good as the rap music Donny played in his car.

  When the anthem was finally over, Sam came and got me, and we walked to the changeroom so I could put on my shorts and t-shirt and shoes. My new shoes.

  "Remember, you're starting with a gun," he said. "It's just like the word GO, only it's a gun shot. And don't go before it goes off, okay? That's a rule."

  I shrugged. Donny had guns. I'd seen them and held them. The cops had guns too.

  "Let's go outside and get you warmed up. You have heats in the morning and finals in the afternoon."

  "Okay," I said.

  "How are you feeling?" He put his arm around me.

  I shrugged again. "Good."

  "It's okay to be nervous. I'm always nervous before I play basketball— well, when I used to play basketball. So if your stomach is a little upset or you're feeling kind of jittery, that's okay. Just use all of that energy to run as fast as you can. In a straight line. Okay?"

  "Except in the 200 and 400. In those races I go around corners."

  "Right," he said, smiling at me.

  I followed Sam outside and I couldn't believe how many people were at the track-and-field meet. There were even little stands selling water and other drinks. Kids were everywhere. Some events were already running, like high jump and shot put. I wasn't doing any of those events.

  I saw a lot of parents and I looked for mine. Where were they? I looked and looked, but I couldn't see them. I had to squint to look for them because it was so sunny outside. I was glad I had a t-shirt under my jacket in case I got too hot.

  "Here come your parents," said Sam.

  "Where?" I said.

  He pointed and I saw them and waved. They were all here. Randy was dressed in a suit, but he had his jacket slung over his shoulder. Mary waddled like she had something shoved up her butt. Owen was beside her, holding onto her arm. My mom and dad were both walking together, and my dad had his suit on too. When they saw me they waved and came over. Everyone was there but Declan, but he was probably still in the school. Lucky Declan got to graduate at the end of the year and not go to school anymore.

  "How are you feeling?" my mom asked me.

  "Why does everyone keep asking me that?" This was so confusing.

  I wasn't sick.

  She smiled at me and pushed hair out of my eyes.

  "I'm going to warm him up," said Sam to my family. He glanced at his watch. "He runs in his first heat in twenty minutes."

  "We'll be at the finish line," said my dad. He gave me a thumbs-up and I gave him one back.

  Sam and I walked away from my family and headed to an area that he said was quiet.

  He made me stretch and do that mountain-climber exercise and high knees. Then I got to swing my leg back and forth and then the other leg, and I had to do that a couple of times. The stretches we did were stretches that Declan liked to do too.

  Then he looked at his watch and said, "We'd better head over to the track."

  We walked over to a great big, huge board that had all the lanes. Sam pointed to the board and there was my name. I was in lane six.

  My stomach heaved up and down like it was doing cartwheels, one after the other. And I needed water; my throat was so dry. Was this what being nervous was all about? Sam had talked about being nervous. I also had the jitters. My body felt like it was vibrating.

  Lane six. I was in lane six. I knew lane six.

  "That's your lucky lane," said Sam.

  I nodded.

  "I can't go over there with you, Little Man. But you know what to do."

  "Start running when the gun goes off and run in a straight line to the finish," I said.

  He patted my back. "You got it!"

  Mr. Rossi used a megaphone and called out, "Junior 100 metre boys. First heat. Line up at the start."

  "That's you," said Sam. He patted my back and walked over toward where my family was.

  I went over to lane six. I was okay with the boys beside me. Neither of them were mean to me. I put one foot against the back block and one foot on the front. I was supposed to take off low and just fly out of the blocks like a fast car.

  Thinking of a fast car made me think of Donny. He was in jail. That's what Declan said. But I wasn't in jail. Declan said I would be if I hung out with him. Declan said I was going to jail.

  "Runners, on your marks," yelled Mr. Rossi in the megaphone.

&
nbsp; I wondered if Donny had killed someone with his gun. I saw his guns. I touched his guns.

  "Set!" I heard Mr. Rossi and I knew the gun shot was coming next.

  The gun shot was coming! My entire body pulsed, like a beat in a rap song.

  Boom. Boom. What if it was Donny's gun! I had seen his gun.

  I had to run! Now!

  I bolted out of the blocks.

  Suddenly there were two shots. Two shots. Why two?

  I heard someone calling my name, telling me to stop running.

  And that I had to go back. I turned and looked back at the starting line.

  Everyone was lining up again. Okay. I would too.

  I walked back. I didn't see Donny anywhere. I wasn't shaking as much.

  "That's a false start for lane six." Mr. Rossi looked right at me.

  "Line up again," said the guy in the lane beside me. Then he looked at me and whispered, "Go when the gun goes, okay? You go early again and you'll be disqualified. They're giving you a second chance."

  Disqualified? I didn't know what that meant. But I got low again.

  And I crouched. And I waited.

  I heard Mr. Rossi call out, "Runners. On your marks."

  I was in position. What did disqualified mean again? I shook my head.

  "Set!" Mr. Rossi yelled.

  I looked over, saw him lift his hand in the air, and he was holding the gun in his hand.

  I had held Donny's gun in my hand.

  What if they found my fingerprints?

  I had to go. I had to GO.

  The gun shot was coming.

  I took off.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN SAM

  "Was that him again?" Randy asked after the gun went off again for the second time to tell the runners there had been a second false start.

  Stuart's family had wanted to stand beside me while Stuart ran. We were all at the finish line, as was the Best Buddies group with all their homemade signs. With a huge grin on her face, Gloria was waving hers in the air like it was a flag on a windy day. Willa had made one on black construction paper with white chalk, and looked like maybe there was a skull on it? Yeah, that was Willa, all right.

  I looked at Randy and the rest of Stuart's family and held up my hands. "Stay here. I'll go down," I said.

  His mother put her hand on her chest. "Oh, I hope it wasn't him."

  "You sure you don't want us there?" His dad had this really loud, low voice. It was one thing to look like a linebacker, but he had the voice to go with his muscles. When I first met him, I was intimidated big time.

  I didn't know how to respond to him. This was my fault. Mr. Rossi told me to tell him about the false start, but I didn't do a very good job of it.

  "Mr. Williams," I said. "I'm okay to do this."

  He gestured briefly with his head toward the start line. "Go."

  I hustled down, knowing that, yes, it was Stuart who had false-started twice. Crap. Crap. Crap. I hadn't told him about false starts all because he'd been in a bad mood and I was afraid of getting in his head.

  When I got to the start line, Stuart was already arguing with Mr. Rossi, telling him he wanted to run.

  "It's not fair," he said.

  I tried to get a hold of his elbow and remove him, but he jerked his arm away. "I can do this," he said, his voice shaking. "I can."

  Mr. Rossi glanced at me and gave me the I'm so sorry headshake and the what can I do? shrug. Yes, competition was competition and there were rules. I got that. I did. In this situation we had no choice but to accept his disqualification.

  What was I thinking? It had been my idea to have Stuart play in the big leagues, unlike Best Buddies where he got to cheat at dodgeball and do whatever he wanted. Half the time I let him cheat, just for fun. And now I'd neglected to tell him a crucial piece of information. I'd set him up for failure.

  "Come on, Stuart," I said in as calm a voice as I could, "let's just walk away." All I could think was walk, walk walk, don't run. Please don't run.

  Stuart turned to look at me and that's when I saw the tears, sliding down the side of his face. My heart felt like it had snapped in two. Seriously. I ached inside. Almost worse than when I physically had heart failure. I'd never seen Stuart cry before, even when kids were mean to him, or when he was in trouble, or when he tripped and fell in the hall from running too fast.

  "I want to race," he whimpered.

  "You will," I said. "Just not in this race."

  "I'm good," he said, looking up at me. The pain in his eyes was real. "I'm fast," he said. "I can do this." His fists were clenched, and I knew they were not clenched because he was going to lose it and take off. They were actually clenched in frustration, and this was how any athlete would feel at being disqualified. Frustrated. Disappointed. And, as a first-time runner, confused.

  I remembered the first time I fouled out in basketball, before the half was even up. I had to sit and watch the entire game from the bench. I had clenched my fists the entire time.

  "I know you're fast," I said to him. "But you were disqualified, Little Man." I looked him right in the eyes. "But you've still got two races left." I held up two fingers. "Two. You are not disqualified from either the 200 or 400 metre races. So, let's walk it out. Forget about that race and move on to your next race."

  "But why can't I run now?" He tilted his head and looked at the track and the other seven runners lining up again, getting ready to go. "I want to run in lane six. No one is running in lane six now. It's my lane."

  "You can run later," I said. I put my hand on the middle of his back and tried to guide him away from the start line. "Just not in this race, okay? Let's talk as we walk."

  A few steps later, I put my arm around his shoulder. At least his body didn't feel tensed, like he was going to make a mad dash back toward the start line and get into lane six. In fact, he felt the opposite: limp, like his muscles were mushy.

  "You're not the only one to be disqualified in the history of the 100-metre dash," I said, hoping to lighten the situation. "It happens all the time. I bet Andre De Grasse has done it before. They sometimes do it in huge races, like in the World Championships."

  He stared at me.

  "I bet if we google it we will find out he did. Maybe we should think of something to keep you in the blocks and keep you still until the gun goes off."

  He shrugged.

  What could I do to help him? Something simple. Something he could remember. Nothing complicated.

  I thought and thought as we walked away. In the distance, I heard Mr. Rossi shoot off the gun to restart the race, and I grabbed hold of Stuart's arm.

  He shook me off. "Don't," he said. "I know it's not time to run."

  I was almost taken aback by his understanding. Maybe I should try to get to the bottom of what had made him false start. "What made you go before the gun went off?" I asked.

  "I dunno."

  Maybe not. "Well, whatever it was, let's think about something else."

  "Okay," he said.

  "Why don't you just stare forward until you hear it. Wait for it instead of trying to go exactly when it's shot." I said to him. "That's simple. We'll practise. And a false start is when you go before the gun goes off and you can't do that."

  "I know that now," he said.

  At this point, I just wanted him to race and feel the accomplishment of finishing. He was fast, so there was the chance that even if he was behind by a little off the start, he could catch up and place, maybe get on to the final. But did that matter? Being in the race and finishing was what was important now. I needed to change my focus.

  He nodded.

  "Let's go somewhere and practise," I said.

  As we continued walking, I saw his parents coming toward us, and I waved. "There are your parents," I said.

  "They might be mad at me."

  "Not a chance," I said. "Look they're smiling." And they were. When they were close, Stuart said, "I can't run. I went before the gun. Two times."

  "That'
s okay," said his mother. She slung her arm around him. "Lots of people get disqualified when they first start running."

  "Even Olympians get disqualified, Stu," boomed his father's voice.

  Stuart tilted his head and looked at his father. "Did Donny get shot by the police?"

  His father blinked. So did I. Where had that come from? I mean, what did Dunn have to do with any of this? Stuart's thought processes always surprised me. I'd assumed that he'd been disqualified because of nerves. But maybe there was something about the gun and Donny that made him jumpy. Stuart sure could be complicated.

  His mother gently lifted his chin with her finger. "No," she said. "He didn't shoot anyone and no one shot him. He sold drugs. And don't you be thinking of him now, you hear? You just concentrate on running."

  "I checked the schedule and you still have some more races coming up," said his dad.

  "And we've got a strategy we are going to practise," I said.

  His mother patted his shoulder, followed by his father. "We'll leave you then and go find the others." His mother glanced at me. "Stuart," she said. "Dad wants to talk to you for a second."