Midwestern Running.pdf

Midwestern Running

----

Arthur gets jostled by the other boys as they race to the drinking fountain. ItÔs a breezy afternoon in

May on their very last run of his junior year, and they are eager to get out and into the freedom of

summer. HeÔs not really paying attention to Coach du LacÐnoÐtoo wound up in the sunlight and the

somewhat coy glances Morgan keeps casting in his direction by the fountain. Her looks are less about

attraction and more about the promise of mischief later, a look that he has come to know and grow

fond of during their long prepubescent summer days. And the promise speaks of the brief and

unrelenting summer ahead, ArthurÔs last summer before graduation, and all the things that come with

it: the sweltering heat and the underage parties and college applications. And the running. Of course.

The menÔs team captain, Leon, graduates in a week and after he steps down, Arthur will become the

new team captain. Arthur has wanted from the very first day of freshmen year to become the senior

captain. He loves running, and his father loves running, and he needs running to get into college. So

Arthur knows that this summer his evenings will be filled with friends and house parties and his days

filled with hours put into his fatherÔs shop to help make the bills and save a little for college. The

mornings will be devoted to his running and all day, every hour, he will think about what he should

eat and how many hours he should sleep, and what it will be like to cross the finish line in October as

the state cross country champion.

ÑAll right, I expect you to continue running on your own this summer. That means you, freshmen.

You donÔt get a break,Ò du Lac says, tapping his clipboard. ÑHas every one signed up for the e-mail

list so you guys can organize group runs?Ò

ThereÔs a murmur of consent and various hands reaching for the sign-up sheet. A swarm of hugs and

high fives happen around Arthur, and he finds himself clapping hands with one of his best friends,

Zach, before being gathered up into a huddle around Leon to bid him farewell from high school,

cheering, ÑNUMBER ONE! NUMBER ONE! NUMBER ONE! NUMBER ONE!Ò over and over.

When the crowd breaks, the captain emerges to find Arthur. HeÔs as tall as Arthur but broader and

wraps his long hair back in a bandana that manages to be cool just on the left side of hippy. He wraps

his arm around ArthurÔs shoulder and hustles him close. ÑYouÔve got tough shoes to fill, punk. Do

you think you can handle it?Ò

Arthur laughs, and in this moment he feels hot and solid but also so light he could float to the tops of

the trees. ÑYouÔre just afraid IÔll outshine you, Leon,Ò he boasts, swaggering slightly under the

captainÔs arm.

Leon laughs, bats him on the head. ÑPendragon, you better learn the difference between fame and

infamy. YouÔre still just the prince until I walk across the stage for my diploma. Capiche?Ò

ÑYeah, yeah,Ò Arthur snorts. ÑCapiche.Ò

Behind them, Zach starts to yell, ÑCAPICHE YOU MOTHER FUCKERS. WEÔRE THE X-DOUBLE-C

MAFIAAAAA,Ò tearing off his shirt to wave above his head like in the rodeo. ÑMAFIA! MAFIA!

MAFIA!Ò He chants and lets loose the shirt into the air. The three of them watch it soar in slow motion,

like an elegant kite rippling in the air, the force of gravity bringing it down to land onÐ

ÑOh shit!Ò Zach yells, grabbing Arthur by the arm before sprinting. ÑRun! Run!Ò

Arthur stumbles, clutching to ZachÔs calf as they both come to a crash with Morgan hot on their heels.

ÑHow dare you throw your nasty-ass shirt on my head!Ò she screeches, whipping them both with it.

Arthur rolls onto his back and brings his arms protectively over his face. ÑI didnÔtÐdonÔt hit me! It

was Zach! ZachÔs shirt!Ò

His pleas only cause her to whip harder. ÑUgh! You juvenile jerk offs!Ò

And in the damp spring mud and the hot summer air, this is how ArthurÔs junior year comes to a

close: Zach laughing riotously beside him taunting the womenÔs fastest runner into a game of tag

across the parking lot.

----

But ArthurÔs almost-perfect summer has one foe. By the last day of school, students and teachers alike

have mentally checked out. They spend the period handing back left-over assignments and clearing

out lockers. A frustrated ArthurÐhalf-ready to dump all of his belongings in the trash for the sake of

not having to lug it homeÐgets stopped by Coach du Lac in the hall.

ÑPendragon, just the man I was looking for. Follow me please,Ò he says. Arthur dumps his pile of

accumulated papers back into his locker with relief and follows the man down the hall.

In addition to coaching cross country, du Lac teaches senior English and a course on The American

Short Story. In an otherwise dying department, his classes thrive with fawning girls. It must be the

hair, Arthur thinks as he inspects the artfully swept back style. Morgan and her friends Ashley and

Leah can sometimes be overheard admiring du Lac when he leads speedwork, moaning over his legs

and his butt when he runs. Personally, Arthur doesnÔt see it, sparing one rapid glance at du Lac before

staring at his shoes. Definitely not.

du Lac leads them down the stairs and into the main offices. Arthur has only ever stepped in here to

use the PA for cross country announcements, and frowns when he gets lead towards the guidance

counselor.

ÑUm, Coach? Am I in trouble?Ò

ÑOh, not you, Pendragon,Ò du Lac responds, opening the door and ushering him inside.

Ms. Smith greets them when they enter, sitting in a straight-backed but padded chair designed to

make the students feel welcomed and reassured. She wears black, thick-rimmed glasses with tiny

studs in the side and more casual clothes, her curly hair pulled back into a loose ponytail. For the most

part, Arthur likes her if only because he has only ever interacted with her once or twice, and the team

takes a general interest in her because of her relationship with Coach du Lac.

Arthur sits himself in the only other chair in the room next to her and shifts hesitantly. du Lac checks

his watch twice, and Ms. Smith frowns.

ÑWell, the other student is running a little late,Ò she says in mild irritation, Ñbut I think we can get

started without him.Ò She folds her hands in her lap and smiles in ArthurÔs direction. ItÔs not a

friendly smile, Arthur decides, but maybe more a grimace. ÑAre you aware of a Merlin Emrys?Ò

ÑUh, yes,Ò he responds. ÑI know of him.Ò

ÑWell, Mr. du Lac and I were discussing that maybe you could help him this summer. HeÔs behind in

his classes and we think itÔd be beneficial to him if he had help.Ò

Arthur blanches. Merlin Emrys? The kid who failed phys ed and cuts chemistry twice a week?

ArthurÔs heard rumors of him but has never actually interacted with him. All he knows is Merlin

Emrys is the hick stoner who lives in a hut in the woods, wearing ratty flannel and obscure, uncool

band t-shirtsÐalso that he drools during class and leaves it for Arthur to find on his desk whenever

they switch classrooms.

ÑOh I donÔt know,Ò he protests. ÑIÔm going to be really busy this summer working in my dadÔs shop,

soÈÒ

ÑMr. du Lac tells me youÔre hoping to get a running scholarship to cover your tuition costs after

graduation.Ò

ÑYes?Ò

ÑWell, I think this would be a good opportunity for you to build up your rsum for when you start

applying next year,Ò Ms. Smith says.

ÑUm, wellÐÒ

ÑEveryone knows youÔre talented Arthur,Ò she interrupts, Ñbut when a team has to choose between

you and some other runner of equal ability, theyÔre going to look at what else you have to offer to the

team and to the school. du Lac says youÔll be the menÔs captain in the fall, and I think this experience

will help you prepare.Ò

ÑSheÔs right,Ò du Lac interjects. ÑThis could be really good experience for you and will definitely

influence your personal recommendations.Ò

ÑIÔm sorry,Ò Arthur says, Ñbut I donÔt see how tutoring some wannabe drop-out will help my running,

Coach. I get average grades at best anyway.Ò

ÑOh no,Ò du Lac says. ÑYou wonÔt be tutoring him. YouÔll be helping him prep for the fall cross

country season.Ò

Something in ArthurÔs stomach spasms as if a hand has wrenched a fist around his gut. ÑWhat?Ò he

croaks.

Ms. Smith pats him on the shoulder. ÑMerlinÔs teachers have struggled to find ways of motivating him.

We think putting him in a team environment might help.Ò

ÑYou mean forcing him.Ò

du Lac shifts a little uncomfortably, as if he isnÔt completely onboard with this plan. After all, it is his

team in question. ÑWeÔll see how it goes this summer. I wouldnÔt ask anyone else to do this, Arthur.

YouÔre really passionate about your running.Ò

And thatÔs what seals ArthurÔs fate. He is passionate about his running, and if du Lac forces this

Emrys kid onto anyone else, Arthur wouldnÔt trust him to not screw up the team. After all, Arthur

placed third last year in the state championships and has spent his whole life under his fatherÔs

direction running in junior regional competitions. ÑDoes he know about this yet?Ò

The two teachers glance at each other before Ms. Smith half-smiles half-grimaces again. ÑWeÔre

working on it,Ò she says.

----

du Lac calls him the first week of summer to inform him that Merlin can meet him anytime next week.

Arthur shrugs into the phone and decides they might as well start on a Monday. He sits with his

phone, peering out the window at the sunshine and sighs, reminding himself it will only cost him an

hour each day.

ÑIs there anything you want him to bring?Ò du Lac asks.

ÑI dunno. Shoes. And no flannel. Tell him to meet me at my house at seven.Ò He picks at the dirt on

the bottom of his shoes.

ÑHe tells me he canÔt meet before 11. ItÔs the only time he can get a ride into town.Ò

ÑI prefer to run earlier in the morning.Ò

ÑThereÔs a reason Leon keeps calling you Prince Arthur, isnÔt there?Ò du Lac says. ÑIÔm not here to

hold your hand through this whole process. YouÔre helping him out so you need to communicate with

him. HereÔs his number so you can work something out yourself.Ò He adds a little wryly, ÑEnjoy your

summer, Pendragon.Ò

Out of pettiness, Arthur refuses to call Merlin. ÑLet him have his way,Ò he snipes at his reflection in

the mirror that afternoon. He regrets it when three days later he ends up sitting at his stoop at 11,

irritated that his schedule has been interrupted. Down the street, he sees the grill of a car and almost

hopes itÔs the stupid loser. After all, Óthe sooner you do start, the sooner itÔs done,Ô his father says

when ordering Arthur to do his chores.

Instead, itÔs GaiusÔs familiar Buick puttering down the road coming into work. ArthurÔs father, Uther,

runs a privately owned mechanic garage attached to their house called Camelot Repairs. Arthur

despairs over the name. There is nothing stately about monkey suits and grease, especially not in a

town like Tadita with only 5,000 people.

ItÔs not that Arthur hates the shop exactly. The jokes about his name get old, but his dad puts in an

honest dayÔs work, and everyone in the town comes to him whenever they have a problem. Even

Arthur has gotten pretty good at doing the simple tasks like oil changes and tire rotations so he can

help out and make some pocket cash. ThereÔs pride in this little business Uther built from the ground

upÐArthur wonÔt deny thatÐbut in the larger world it doesnÔt mean much, and Arthur looks eagerly

ahead to college.

Arthur argues out loud that leaving means getting out of Tadita, a small unknown cow-town at the

edge of the state, even if heÔs unsure about what to study in college. When people ask after his plans,

he presses his lips into a thin line and says, ÑI donÔt know yet. I do admire my fatherÔs

entrepreneurship. Maybe IÔll go into business studies like the old man.Ò UtherÔs friends chortle and

pat him on the back; his teachers encourage him for having strong goals. Gaius, the elderly but sharp-

minded man who does UtherÔs office work, raises an eyebrow, and his lips curve into the shadow of a

smirk. Arthur stops parroting his rehearsed answers around him.

He tries not to talk about it with his father. Sometimes Arthur thinks Uther isnÔt really a man anymore.

Instead he is a walking husk of regret: regret over ArthurÔs mother, regret over not being a more

available parent, for not knowing how to cook properly or do laundry without losing the socks. They

never talk about these things ever. Instead Uther stalks the house silently, a lion in a cage, and even if

Arthur thinks heÔs wrong, Uther is always, always right.

They discuss it once in the kitchen while Arthur hovers over the stove. Uther sits at the

peninsula with a ledger and his old, brittle carbon copy, a pen in one hand and a tumbler of whiskey

to his left. ÑDo you know what you plan on studying after you graduate high school?Ò

Arthur stirs the pot once and then twice, testing the noodles. ÑI havenÔt decided yet.Ò

ÑYou must have some sort of an idea.Ò

ÑLots of people go in undecided, Dad.Ò

Uther sips at his drink, watching the liquid slosh against the sides as he stirs it slowly for a long

moment. ÑI didnÔt know either. Now look at where I am.Ò

Around other people Arthur says he wants to leave TaditaÐitÔs too small for a big man like him. To

himself he knows he wants to leave his father.

From inside the garage, Arthur can hear UtherÔs low tones as he prices a repair for a customer.

Though he canÔt see the man, he can imagine the way he stands with his feet at shoulderÔs width apart,

arms crossed over his chest or maybe holding a catalog for the customer to look at. Arthur tries to

imagine himself twenty years from now in the same position. Then he draws his knees to his chest and

watches the approaching car crawl down the street.

When Gaius pulls up the driveway, Arthur is surprised to see he has a passenger, an unruly haired

teenager sitting in the front seat. ÑGood morning, Arthur,Ò Gaius says, exiting the car. ÑIÔm sure you

know my nephew, Merlin.Ò

Arthur gapes a little and canÔt help but exclaim, ÑMerlin is your nephew?Ò

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