Left Drowning

I am going to ask—no, insist— that James come to my graduation.

Chris can go fuck himself.

Naturally, it’s at this moment that Chris’s truck turns the corner and pulls alongside me. I glance to my left as Estelle waves from the passenger seat. I avoid looking at Chris. I don’t realize that Sabin and Eric are riding in the bed of the truck, sitting on milk crates, until Sabin yells to me. Chris drives ahead so that I am ru

Sabin sticks out his tongue at me and grins. I stick out my tongue back, but I am not in a smiling mood. I wait for Chris to step on the gas and put distance between us, but Sabin slaps the side of the truck. “Slow down, Chris! We got ourselves a live one!” He lifts his guitar and rests it on his knee while he strums and looks at me.

I give him the nastiest look possible. My music is not up loud enough to block out his booming voice, and I promise myself that from now on I will crank the shit out of my playlists.

Eric is yelling at me, but his voice doesn’t have nearly the obnoxious power Sabin’s does. I remove my earphones. “What are you guys doing? I’m kind of busy.”

“I know.” Eric leans in and says something to Sabe and then he holds up his arm and points to his watch.

“What?” I really wish they’d get the fuck out of here.

Sabin keeps strumming his guitar. “Eric tells me that you’re training for a half marathon.”

“No, I am not.” Eric is going to be in deep shit. Yes, he has brought up the idea of a 10K, but that’s only a little over six miles. I ca

“I told them that you could run a half marathon at a standard marathon-qualifying time!” Eric shouts. His unreasonable exuberance grates on me. “One hour and twenty-seven minutes.”

Sabin leans off the side of the truck bed and calls out to Chris. “Stay with her, Chris. We’re going to clock her mileage.”

“Go to hell!” Not only can I not run a half marathon, but I am obviously not ever going to run a full marathon. I can’t stop myself from glancing at Chris in the driver-side mirror. We make eye contact for a fraction of a second, and even that is more than I can take. I put my earphones back in and jack up the volume. I refuse to have a yelling conversation with these lunatics, and I’m not in the mood to run behind the truck. And what are they all doing out so early in the morning together anyway? Damn bad luck for me that they happened to find me.

Unless Eric organized this. Damn him.

I keep my head down and do what I can to ignore them until they go away. What I’m not prepared for is that Eric seems to know my route, so just before I make a turn, I see him yell up to Chris, directing him where to go. Although I hate deviating from my routine, when we hit the end of the road that leads to the lake, I go right instead of left. Chris has already gone left, so I’m free.

Until I hear his truck peel back a few yards before he bangs out a U-turn.

“Fucking asshole,” I mutter. I keep my eyes on the road and just run, not even flinching when his truck pulls in front of me again. Sabin and Eric are cheering and clapping, and I can’t help but crack a smile. They are ridiculous. I give in and accept that they are here for the duration of my run. At least I don’t have Chris in that truck bed facing me, too. Presumably his eyes are on the road. Eventually I circle back and pick up my favorite route.

Goddamn if Chris doesn’t keep the truck fifteen feet in front of me at all times, even waving the occasional car to go by us. I feel incredibly stupid, but I maintain my normal pace. Twenty minutes later, out of the corner of my eye, I catch Zach waving wildly to signal me. I look up and see him shaking his head. He cups his hands and yells at me.

A

”You’re too slow,” he calls out. “You’re way, way too slow.”

“Too slow for what?”

“If you’re going to run this half marathon, you better hurry up.”

“I told you I’m slow! Stop saying the word marathon! Go away.”

Back to the music. But my fucking phone is dead. I can’t believe this. This has never happened. I have never run without music, and I can’t. Without the sound and the mood … Music blocks out everything: ankle pain, shaky legs, the cold, and most importantly, it prevents my mind from taking over. I start to walk. Within seconds Sabin is banging on the truck again, and Chris screeches to a halt.

“What are you doing?” Sabin looks unreasonably upset.

I catch my breath and hold up my phone. “Dead.”

He holds his hands out at his sides. “So what? Just run, baby!”

I can hear Chris all too well when he leans out the window. He looks right at me. “She can’t run without music.”

I hate that he knows me this well. I fucking hate it. And I fucking hate how much it hurts to look at him.

And then there is music blaring from his truck. I’m going to murder him. I walk faster and reach the back of the truck. “Can you please go home now, all of you, and leave me the fuck alone?” My voice is cracking, and my throat is tight.

Estelle rolls down her window, too, and seats herself on the door frame, her feet in the car and her upper body hanging out the side, to watch me. “Come on, Blythe. Run.” The truck moves ahead again.

“Blythe, run, damn it,” Sabin insists. “Please. You can do this. It’s only … What? How many miles left, Chris?”

Chris holds out three fingers and then two. Three point two miles. He’s been clocking me.

I start ru

Eric hollers to be heard over the music. “You’re ru

I’m pretty sure that I can go the distance, but I don’t think I can make the time. I’m a slower ru

Sabin and Eric shut up and let me run. Chris holds out his hand and flashes me two fingers as I run through the playlist that first kept me from walking. Last September feels like eons ago. I nod back and immediately hate myself for acknowledging him, for responding to the natural way in which we communicate.

“Faster, B. You have to run faster!” Sabin calls out.

My legs are burning. I’m not made to sprint like this, and it hurts.

“Look at me,” he says.

So I do. He spends so much time goofing around that moments when Sabin is real totally get me. I push a little more, and Sabin starts strumming his guitar along with the music. We must look like fools, but now I’m curious to see if I can make this time.

“Attagirl!” Eric claps.

Sabin is playing along to a song that I always run hard to. It’s one of those songs that would make me cry if I had any extra breath left to give. Even with the music loud, I can hear Sabin singing to me, so I focus on the back of the truck and push myself.

The music changes again. It’s this song by The Lumineers that I love—that Chris knows I love—and I can see him tapping his hand along with the music.