Runner's High

As long as I can remember Mom and I were close. Maybe that's why it didn't surprise me too much when she asked me to run a marathon with her.

            She and Dad divorced the fall after I left for college at the University of Wisconsin. I was the youngest of four boys, and the last one to leave home. Mom told me later that the marriage had been over for years and that she and Dad had decided to wait until I was moved out until they set the wheels in motion to finalize things. None of my brothers nor I had a clue that anything was wrong, apparently for years. It's a guy thing, I guess.

            Dad worked the Ford Motor assembly line in St. Paul until it shut down. Then he moved on to Northern Aluminum in northeast Minneapolis. He didn't like the change one bit, saying that making soda pop cans was a far cry from making transmissions for F-150 pickup trucks. Most everyone could see his point.

            He was a hunting, fishing, hard drinking, macho kind of guy. I was more of a reader and math. He gave up on trying to interest me in killing things when I was around eight years old saying, "Go play with you dolls, Shirley, I'll take your brothers hunting instead."

            I was shy by nature and slightly withdrawn, but I didn't mind his sarcasm one bit. Especially since by then Mom had taken me under her wing. She worked part time as an administrative assistant for a large reality company. But she always made time for us kids, saying that her children were her first priority. A fun outing for us was to go to the park, play on the swings and read. She taught me how to identify birds and how to count to a thousand in prime number by the time I was eight. (By the way, there are sixty-nine of them up to 1,009.) I couldn't have asked for a better mom.

            When the divorce was complete, they sold the big, four bedroom house in Bloomington my brothers and I had grown up in and split the money. Thus began my mom's transformation from quiet and dutiful housewife to a person who embraced life to the fullest.

            First off, she moved twenty miles west of Minnesota to the small town of Long Lake. She purchased a townhome on western shore with a view of not only the lake, but of the forested hills surrounding it. She told me at the time, "You know, Jack, I never did like living in the suburbs."She was a small town girl herself, having grown up on a farm outside of Breckenridge in the northwestern part of the state.

            A year after she moved to Long Lake, she retired from the realty business. When I questioned her about it, she said, "You know, I've worked in the housing market my whole life. It's time for a change."

            "I thought you liked your job."

            She smiled and patted me on the shoulder and said, "Jack, it was just a job. Something I did to bring in money to help with the bills. It was nothing more than that."

            She got a job working part time the local bakery.

            "The people there are wonderful," she often told me, "Plus, it smells fantastic."

            The place was called Lakeside Sweets and she was right. It did have a wonderful aroma. I went there whenever I could.

            She dated some, saw old friends a lot, made new friends, volunteered at the library and historical society and joined two book clubs. She even started jogging. Her life became enriched beyond her wildest imagination.

            "Jack, let me tell you, I'm having a blast," she told me more than once, "I've never been happier."

            Which was true. I could tell. Her skin developed a golden glow. She cut her hair short and wore simple jewelry made by a local craftswoman. I was very happy for her.

            After she moved, I went out to visit her as often as I could, more frequently after I returned to Minneapolis from college. I liked it in Long Lake. The quiet pace of life suited me. On one of those visits I heard of a job opening at an accounting firm in town. I applied and was hired. I had majored in accounting at Madison so working for the Jasperson's, a father/son insurance company, was a good fit.

            I found a nice, one bedroom apartment a few blocks from the lake. (Well, being a small town, pretty much everything was a few blocks from the lake.) I bought a fat tire bicycle and started riding on the biking trails in the area. I bought bird and wildflower and tree identification books. I even started dating a woman named Meg, a clerk at the hardware store in town. I got a tabby cat from the Humane Society and named her Sunshine.

            Life was good for both Mom and me. We met every Sunday at the local cafe to chat and get caught up on what was going on in each of our lives. It was at our weekly get together that she dropped a bombshell. By then, she'd been living in Long Lake for ten years and I'd been out there for nearly five. We were sitting outside, overlooking the lake. It was a pleasant spring morning, with robins birds singing and the air filled with the scent of lilacs just starting to bloom. In that moment, life was perfect. Then it changed in an instant.

            I had just finished telling her that Meg and I had gone for a nice walk on the Lucy Line Trail the day before. "We're getting along great, Mom. We're thinking of getting an apartment together."

            She smiled and said, slightly distracted, "That's nice, dear. You sound happy."

            I smiled back at her, "I am Mom, moving out here has been the best thing that ever happened to me."

            "Me, too. I've got a lot to be thankful for."

            "So do I."

            She was silent then, sipping her chamomile. I was quiet with her, both of us enjoying a companionable few moments looking out over the lake. Then she cleared her throat, and told me all in a rush, "Jack I've got something to tell you. I've been diagnosed with a brain tumor. It's benign right now, so I don't want you to worry. The doctors are monitoring it."

            Well, shit. The bottom dropped out of my stomach. I felt like the world had just stopped spinning. This couldn't be happening. Not to Mom. God damn it. My take away of that day was this: Life just wasn't fair. Both for her and for me.

            We talked most of the rest of the day. The upshot was that though she was getting progressively weaker, she still could work in the bakery if she paced herself. It was then that she dropped another bombshell. "Jack, I have a favor to ask."

            I took her hand,"Anything, Mom."

            "You know I've been running for the last couple of years. I was planning on running the Twin City Marathon this October. I want you to run it with me. Will you do that for me? Please?"

            Exercising has never been an interest of mine. Sure I rode my bicycle, but that was for fun. Training for a marathon? Impossible. Especially with only four months to the race. But it was my mom. I didn't have to think twice, "Of course, I'll do it," I told her, "Wouldn't miss it for the world." I began training the next day.

            Probably at that time I still hadn't comprehended the severity of Mom's condition. I was probably in a degree of shock and denial. I'm sure I thought that since the tumor was benign she'd eventually recover. Well, I was wrong.

            Her condition got worse, her health went downhill fast and by the time of the marathon, Mom had passed away. I never got to run it with her.

            The one of the last things she told me was this, "No matter what life brings, Jack, you can rise up to the challenge and face it. Give it your best shot. Even if you fail, at least you know you tried. Never, ever run from anything."

            I hugged her tight. There was nothing to say.

            I didn't run the marathon the year of Mom's death. I just couldn't. But the next year I did. I ran it just like Mom had asked me to. And, I have to be truthful here, the way I was able to do it was that I pretended that she was with me, running by my side. Sorry if that sounds weird, but that's the way it goes. Meg was my cheering section. I finished in five and a half hours, way back in the pack. By that time, I knew that even pretending Mom was with me wasn't going to help me finish any easier. It was a physically brutal race. The hardest thing I'd ever done in my life.

            Toward the end of the end, I was laboring badly. I wasn't sure I was going to make it to the finish line. I stopped and started walking. I was getting dizzy and thinking about quitting. I was less than three miles from the finish. It came back to me then what Mom had said, about how she'd wanted to run the race herself, before she died. I knew, then, what I needed to do. I gritted my teeth and made my feet start moving, step by arduous step.  Soon I was jogging again, back in the race. I was feeling good that I hadn't given up.

            Less than a mile from the finish line I was so focused on getting to the end, I almost didn't hear a familiar voice on the sideline, cheering, "Come on, Jack, you can do it. I know you can."

            I looked to the side, to the sea of spectators lining the course. Who was that? It didn't sound like Meg. Besides she was going to meet me at the finish. I looked some more, and then I saw her. It was Mom. She was cheering a waving and laughing. I couldn't believe how good it was to see her. I waved back and looked toward the finish line, now less than a half mile away. I knew I could make. I had Mom there to cheer me on. I ran faster, exhilarated.

            And I made it, too. Yes, sore and in pain, but I made it. And you know what? It's been months after the race and I still go out running. I like being on the trails around our little town, but I have to say, I have an ulterior motive. Just like at the end of the marathon, when I saw Mom in the crowd, maybe, just maybe when I'm out running, I might see her again. Wouldn't that be great? I think so. And even though I haven't spotted her yet I'm going to keep at it. She's got to be out there, right? And if she is, I'll find her. Stranger things have happened, haven't they?

           

Brotherly Love

We were walking home at sunset from the neighborhood rink, skates swings from the blades of our hockey sticks. Little Eddie was eight years old, younger than me by three years and smaller by a head and a half. He was revved up after the game since it was the first time he'd gotten to play with 'The Big Kids,' as he called us, so he was excited and talking a mile a minute while I ignored him, thinking about Christmas coming up in two days and wondering if our parents would call.

            The temperature was near zero and we were getting cold, so I did something I never should have done. I had us take a short cut across the big pond that formed one edge of the boundary to the trailer park where our grandparent's double wide was parked. The ice had recently formed, but I figured it'd save us ten minutes, so why not take a chance, being as cold as we were.

             Cold but thirsty. We were eating handfuls of snow as we shuffled along, and I was watching a dozen or so crows flocking to roost in dead tree on the shoreline a hundred yards away, when suddenly the ice made a sickening sound and started to crack. I immediately thought of Eddie. If we broke through he'd be toast. He wasn't the strongest swimmer in the world.

            I put my hand out, "Stop." I commanded, and for once my brother obeyed me. I was about to say, "Don't move," when suddenly the ice gave way and we plunged into the frigid water, sticks and skates flying. Eddie held onto me while I grabbed for the edge, but the ice kept breaking away until I lost my hold and slipped off, pulled under by the combined weight of our waterlogged clothes. We sank down, down, Little Eddie clinging to me in terror, bubbles streaming from his mouth. I thought for sure we were done for when miraculously my feet hit the mucky bottom.

            The water was so muddy all I could see was opaque light from the hole above, but I figured we had a chance. I held Little Eddie tight, squatted down and then extended my legs fast like two pistons, shooting us upward. We broke through the surface, coughing and gasping. I tried to tread water, but my boots were so heavy I soon became exhausted. Worse, I started to lose my grip on Little Eddie, so I tightened my hold on him and slung my other arm over the edge of the hole, but the ice broke and we started to sink again. Panicking, I kicked my legs as hard as I could to stay afloat, breaking through more ice before I finally found some solid enough to support us. I hung on for dear life completely spent with no idea what to do next.

            It was then I heard Little Eddie whimpering. He had turned his cold, wet face into my neck for warmth or comfort or both. He was even more terrified than I was. His raw fear jump started my will to save him. With a sudden surge of energy I didn't know I had, I kicked and pushed and shoved with all my remaining strength until I was able to lever my nearly frozen brother up out of the water and clear of the hole. He lay panting and coughing while I hung onto the edge, fighting a losing battle with the unrelenting cold.

            Slowly, Little Eddie began to revive until he was able to roll over and look at me, ice crystals forming on his wet clothes. "Rick, are you all right?"

            "I'm freezing to death," I told him, my teeth chattering. "You need to get help."

            "Won't we get into trouble?"

            These days, when we talk about that night, my brother's statement always makes us laugh. Back then, though, our situation was too dire to be even remotely funny. I swore, "God damn it, Eddie, run and get help. Now. Fast."

            He scrambled to his feet, and even though his clothes were beginning to freeze solid like icy boards, he ran like I'd never seen him run before.

            I'll never forget waiting for him. Night had fallen completely and the temperature had become dangerously cold. My body had lost all feeling. My waterlogged boots and clothes threatened to drag me back under water at any moment. I passed into and out of consciousness as hypothermia took over. I wondered if I'd ever see my little brother again. With our parents both in prison for years to come, he was the closest family I had. Grandpa and Grandma did their best, but it wasn't the same without Mom and Dad. Little Eddie...Well, he was my brother. We were family. We needed each other.

            I finally passed out for good. I was slowly freezing to death when I thought I heard a voice. Was it my imagination? Probably. Then, I heard it again. What was going on? I forced my frozen eyelids open and saw Little Eddie. He'd returned with a neighbor who had called the police. But my little brother hadn't waited safely off to the side like a prudent person would have done. Courageously, he had edged back onto the ice and laid himself out prone, extending his hand to me, "Here, Rick. Grab on." Through the fog of my near unconsciousness, I followed his instruction. I reached for my brother and felt him grasp my hand." I've got you," he said. "Hold on." And I did.

            Behind him the neighbor was yelling at him to get away from the hole, but my brother ignored him. I couldn't move or respond, but it didn't matter. Little Eddie held my hand, whispered words of encouragement and stayed with me until help arrived. That's what counted. Me and him, brothers to the end, safe and together. It was the best Christmas present I ever received.

           

Home Is Where The Heart Is - Part I

"Mommy, I want that one and that one and that one," Little Lisa said, pointing one after another to a succession of Barbie's lined up among what seemed like hundreds of other dolls on display in the toy section of Target.

            God, thought Megan, Little Lisa's mom, I really should have thought this through a little better.

            She'd come in with her daughter to warm up, not buy anything. But here it was nearly Christmas and the store was packed with shoppers, all vying for the latest and greatest gifts for Johnny and Susie, and the most perfect present in the world for whomever and it was becoming overwhelming. Man... All she'd wanted to do was to kill a little time and shake off some of that bone-chilling Minnesota cold, but her little girl had pleaded and pleaded to look at toys and, against her better judgment, Megan had given in thinking that maybe just a little peak wouldn't hurt. Yeah, right, she was now thinking, watching Little Lisa gently caress one plastic package after another. Chalk that up to one more major league bad decision. They say you live and learn, she thought, and if that's the case, I should be a genius.

            Megan took off her glasses and rubbed her tired eyes. Then she put them back on, knelt down and turned her daughter to face her. "No, honey," she said softly but firmly, and could actually hear the strain of trying to sound patient in her voice, "Not right now, Ok?" Little Lisa gazed at her mom with big almond colored eyes, silently pleading, but too well behaved to complain out loud. Megan felt a tug in her heart and forced herself to push past her exhaustion, wishing things didn't have to be the way they were. Then she had a thought, "Maybe you'll get one for Christmas," she said and forced a tired smile for her daughter who immediately responded by clapping her hands and jumping up and down, causing a few shoppers to glance in their direction and frown. "If you're good that is," she added, trying to appear cheerful and positive, but it was hard. She didn't believe in filling her child's head with any of that crap about Santa Claus and elves and red-nosed reindeer that flew around the world delivering presents, and all those other fantasies most people fed their children at this time of year. What good could it possibly do? Life was hard enough as it was, so why make it worse by encouraging her daughter with false hope? But, in the same breath, it was difficult for her, as a mother, to be cold hearted and not feel for her little five year old. After all, Little Lisa was all she had and it wasn't her fault they lived in an old car and money was tight.

            "We'll talk more about it when we get home."

            That stopped her little girl right there. All around them holiday shoppers were rushing past, most with kids yelling and pointing and pleading, some even on the verge of tears. Parents, their tolerance meter red-lining, were doing their best not to lose control and freak out right there in aisle seventeen, the one packed with stacks of Star Wars Lego's, Doc McStuffins characters, Peanuts figures, Barbie dolls and every other kind of kids toy and game you could possibly imagine for the under ten crowd. Megan loosened her scarf and unbuttoned her worn wool coat. For the first time in what seemed like days she was hot. She was getting dizzy, too, probably from lack of food. But she wasn't in bad enough shape not to have heard her little girl say with her eyes wide open, "Home, Mommy. Really? We're going to go home?"

            Megan cursed herself for her slip up. Damn. This wasn't the time nor the place to shatter her daughter's world. It was the Christmas season, for god's sake. "No, not tonight, Sweetheart, but maybe someday." she said, giving the little girl a hug. But no, they weren't going home. That was a given. They had no home to go to.

            Like water rolling off her back, Little Lisa shrugged her tiny shoulders, said, "Ok," and turned back to the massive display of toys, lost in her fantasy world of Barbie's and Kens.

            Happy to have dodged that bullet, Megan stood up, keeping a watchful eye on her daughter. Little Lisa was transfixed by the lure and enticement of the never ending rows of Barbie's dressed this way and that: getting ready to ride a motorcycle or a skateboard, or go to a prom, or go shopping, or simply to hang out dressed to the nine's just to have a luncheon with other Barbie's that looked exactly the same. She couldn't believe that her daughter loved those stupid dolls. Especially that Barbie Rainbow Mermaid, which was just what it's name implied - a long haired, blond (of course) Barbie with a mermaid tail, and a body of colorful bright rainbow hues of pink, lavender, yellow, orange and red. It even had glitter on it. How her daughter could be attracted to something like that Megan had no clue. Little Lisa was olive skinned with dark, almost black, straight hair that Megan cut in a modified page-boy, just to make it easier to clean and care for.

            In fact, everything Megan did was centered around making life as easy for them as possible. Living in a car wasn't the most desirable of living conditions, that was for sure, but it was all they had, so they had to make the best of things. The thirty one year old Ford Hatchback had been their home since June; ever since she had left that idiot, violent boyfriend of the last ten months for her own safety as well as that of her daughter. Best move she'd ever made.

            She was briefly congratulating herself on taking that drastic, but oh so necessary action, when she had an idea."Little Lisa, come with me," Megan said with a burst of energy and enthusiasm, gently tugging her daughter away from the display.

            "No, Momma," Little Lisa's quiet pleading (rare for her) caused some of the other mothers to look quickly at the two of them and then, just as quickly, look away.

            Megan saw it. Maybe one or two were possibly sympathetic, but most, she could tell, were happy to see the two of them leave. Megan got it. She knew what they looked like and she hated the term, but there it was: street people. Bums. Homeless. Whatever. Maybe they all applied, but that didn't mean Megan had to accept it. She was trying her best. She really was.

             She had a job, for one thing, working at MacDonald's on Lake Street in the Uptown area of Minneapolis. And she had a place to sleep at night, even if it was in their old car parked in a big box store parking lot out in Minnetonka. There were gas station restrooms all over the Minneapolis metro area that she used to sponge the two of them off, brush their teeth and wash their hair. When all else failed, there was always one of the shelters in downtown Minneapolis where she could spend the night and get a meal. It wasn't the best world, but they were out of the horror of Darren's escalating drug use, temper tantrums and physical assaults and that was the main thing. They might be poor, but they were safe. At least for today. Tonight she worked. Tomorrow would take care of itself.

            Her heart warmed and suddenly went out to her little girl. "Come on, kiddo," she said gently, kneeling down and giving her a hug. Then she stood to leave, but before they did she had one thing left to do. She quickly looked both ways. All the other shoppers had turned away trying to ignore them, probably in embarrassment for them, and for a brief moment no one was watching. With practiced stealth she picked one of the Barbie Mermaids and stuck it in her oversized shoulder bag. It took a second at most. Little Lisa didn't even catch it - Megan was that good and that fast. Done and done, she smiled to herself. My little girl deserves something special.

            "Let's go look at Christmas lights," she said cheerfully and took her daughter by the hand as they made their way into one of the extra wide aisles which was even more packed and crowded than the toy aisle. Megan congratulated herself at the idea she'd had, "Come along now, Sweetie, we've got some decorating to do."

               "For our new home, Mommy?" Little Lisa asked, Barbie's now forgotten, clapping her hands and actually skipping as she walked next to her mother.

            Megan ignored the question, but could no longer contain her smile, "It's a surprise, Honey," she said, affectionately, bending to hug her daughter with one arm as they walked, "You'll see."

            "Oh, goodie, goodie," Little Lisa giggled, and she took hold of her mother's hand tightly, barely able to contain her excitement.

            Off they went then, winding their way through the ever growing crush of the crowds of holiday shoppers and eventually all the way to the other side of the store - the side where it seemed like every possible Christmas decoration in the world was on display, ready to adorn festive homes with the joy of the holidays and the spirit of the season. For those who could afford it, at least.

Southwest Desert Heat Wave

I saw on the news that it was one hundred and eighteen degrees out where my brother lived. I called him up to see how he was doing.

             "Well, it's definitely hot," he said," and chuckled, I'm sure imagining my horror. He knew I wasn't a fan of hot weather, even less so when it was ultra-hot like he was experiencing. He paused for a moment and then piled it on, "Yeah, the cactus are wilting, my pool's like a hot tub and you can fry an egg on the sidewalk. It sizzles."

            Brutal. I wondered if he was joking, but, honestly, I couldn't tell. "Sounds like hell to me," I tell him.

            "I'm only partially kidding. It's not so bad. It's a dry heat," he said, and laughed again. "I go for my run at five in the morning when it's only ninety degrees or so." I could see him grinning on the phone. Sweating and grinning. He loved it out there in the desert heat.

            Later, after I hung up, I stepped outside into the cool shade of the woods of my northern Minnesota home. This time of year our biggest concern is getting eaten alive by insects. However, wasn't the buzzing of bugs I heard just then, but the sizzling of that egg on that scorching desert sidewalk outside my brother's house, frying in my ears. The sound didn't leave until long after the stars had come out, blanketing the sky, and a fresh breeze had blown in off the lake, cooling my skin, driving the memory of that desert heat far, far away, back to where it belonged.