The Slummer by Geoffrey Simpson

Author:Geoffrey Simpson
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction Sports
Publisher: BarkingBoxer Press
Published: 2021-02-15T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Sixteen

Ben felt as if he were the first fish who had evolved to walk on land. It was already late October, and Lake Erie had become increasingly frigid.

His foot hadn’t ached for some time now, and Ben had finally been given the green light by Coach Sands to go for his first jog.

“Jog. Do you understand the premise?” Coach asked. He looked as enthusiastic as Ben for this symbolic milestone.

“Coach, I hear you speaking, but I am a runner and do not understand what you are saying. What is this word, jog?” Ben said, looking up into the crisp blue sky. He laughed from deep within. As he looked back at his loyal coach, he got the evil eye. “Okay, okay, I got it. Jog.”

They were at one of the last remaining cinder tracks in Cleveland. Smokestacks from a shut-down steel plant loomed overhead, casting an ominous long, dark shadow across the second turn. The grassy infield was overgrown and filled with broken bottles and plastic bags, and Ben had even seen a used diaper along the backstretch. The inner two lanes, although unmarked, remained relatively clear of weeds despite the decades-long abandonment.

“One mile, Ben. Okay . . . and slow.”

Ben offered a grin, testing his face’s elasticity. However embroiled in his enthusiasm, something else was lurking. An unidentified fear itching at his psyche. Just because Coach thought his body was ready for a return to the track didn’t mean that his body was in agreement. Ben’s opinion seemingly didn’t matter in this equation.

What he did know was that if he rounded the second lap and his foot started to hurt again, especially after he gave up his job for this, it would all be over. He would decide to run into the lake, perpendicular to the shore, until he escaped into Canada or, more likely than not, sank to the darkest and coldest depths reserved for long-lost shipwrecks and the fabled serpent of Lake Erie, South Bay Bessie herself. He would become her chum.

He scuffed his feet on the track, kicking up a small cloud of dust. Memories flooded in of his racing days. His own speed generating eddies in his wake. Jogging was foreign to him. It had been nearly three months of water work, and it all culminated in this singular moment.

He inhaled deeply and leaned forward into a perpetual motion that carried him down the track, his once-fractured foot beneath him. “It will grow back stronger than before,” Coach had once said.

There was nothing more satisfying than running again. The one thing that he loved so very dearly had been snatched away from him without warning or consent. It was held captive for months, then finally released, allowing him to taste it once more. Anything more than a single lick was strictly forbidden. Not even enough to draw a sweat, but it would have to satisfy his craving, his addiction.

“Slow down,” Coach yelled across the track.

Ben couldn’t believe how good his legs felt. The rotation was goofy, perhaps rubbery, but he felt strong.

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