Dontreal was the conference champion last year. Michael was the runner-up behind him. They always finished either first or second. In the mile run Dontreal was faster than Michael. After the awards ceremony they planned to visit Gussies Cookout to celebrate. It was a tradition. First place would drive ahead and second place would follow from behind. Today was different.
It occurred at the intersection. A student, drunk, smashed his parent's truck against Dontreal’s SUV. The teenager flew out the truck and collided against the road. Dead on impact. Dontreal’s SUV overturned and everything below his knees was caught between steel and road. An hour passed until the firemen and rescue technicians could extricate him from the wreckage.
He would not die. He was only sleeping. A day passed. He awoke on a hospital bed. First, he attempted to move his legs. Air in place of his legs. He lunged his back forward to look at his legs. They were gone. He screamed. The surgeons had to amputate them. Only their stubbles remained. Michael, sitting on a chair beside the bed, shared his tears.
Michael quit running. He was always by Dontreal’s side. Michael would pickup Dontreal from his place and drive him to school. He would carry Dontreal’s backpack on his shoulders. It was a heavy pack. Dontreal told him he did not need to carry it so much. Michael insisted it was not burdensome. Their senior year passed through countless steps and wheeled rotations.
Then Dontreal asked Michael if they could visit the track field. Michael thought he never wanted to see it again. Without inquiring, Michael drove them to it. At the field he pulled the wheelchair from the trunk. He lifted Dontreal from the passenger’s side seat, and laid him in the wheelchair, and pushed him to the field. The first visit was rough. Then it all softened out.
They would visit the field every Sunday. Many hours passed as they stared at the field. When an athlete ran on the track, they would observe the runner until their practice had ended. They remained until the sun set and would leave before darkness surrounded them.
It was during this visit that they watched a runner lapping the field with prodigious dexterity.
That runner has a gift, Dontreal said, he sure can keep a solid pace.
He has not slowed once, Don.
Can tell from his speed, Dontreal said, his form and how he completes the turns so well.
And see his posture, Don? Michael said, clean-cut and all professional.
A straight pace toward victory, Dontreal said.
All from the strides in the footsteps, Michael said.
He should finish at the line and complete a mile. No. He passed it and has not stopped.
Then he might be attempting a two miler, Michael said.
His pace has not wavered yet, Dontreal said, think he’ll keep it all the way?
What if this run has no intent to set a personal record, Don? Could be a serious practice.
Then greatness revolves around us today.
Then his real time should be monstrous, Michael said.
You know what, Michael?
What?
Thinking you might be right about it. Got the same feeling as you.
Then it should be a serious practice, Michael said, an endurance test.
Appears what the run has shifted into, Dontreal said.
You know, Michael said, running on the track was too much for me.
The countryside was your domain, Dontreal said, your two-mile time was impressive.
You know, Michael said, you made the track more than a simple set of revolutions.
It was simple to me. The terrain was never different. Once I had my pace, I was good.
It was consistent. A never-ending set of revolutions, Michael said.
We still traded first and second a few times on it a decent amount, Dontreal said.
You were better than good, Don, you were great.
I was great, Michael. You were great too. You were a great runner.
And I was not good enough. If only I was as fast as you were.
Lay off it man, Dontreal said with a stern voice, looking at the stubbles.
Michael took a deep breath and said: I want to hear the truth. I just want to hear it from you, Don.
I wish I was not so fast.
That the truth?
Dontreal nodded. They stopped talking and watched as the runner made another turn on the curved section of the track. Michael, from where he stood, stared at the high-rises surrounding the stadium. It was a grand field. From what Dontreal said, it was an enclosure where champions earned their greatest wins. It was a place of rebirth and resolution.
A stadium, built in the middle of the city, where he would have watched Dontreal run the mile in the state meet after qualifying from winning the conference championship. It was here he would have watched Dontreal secure an admirable finish. All these dreams could have occurred sometime ago. It was all he could think about now.
The backpack’s harnesses attacked his shoulder blades. Relieving this pressure was not of necessity. It was an obligation to support this weight. From where he stood he saw them brandishing a fresh pair of running shoes. Running, side by side, until reaching the finish line. Dontreal would fall to second place while he would overtake him and finish in first.
Just how the world revolves, but you already know that, don’t you? Dontreal said.
You could have lied about it, Michael said, and I would have believed you.
Heard what I said earlier? Dontreal said and looked into his face.
What?
Just how the world revolves.
If only—
If only what?
You know.
Michael.
What?
We’ve talked about it too much. Let it be, Michael.
I have been trying Don, I really have been trying…
The weight of the backpack pushed Michael further into the ground.
Michael.
If only he could have dug deeper into his inner strength.
Michael!
What?
His pace increased, Dontreal said.
Michael’s fixations returned to the field.
Should be going for the final push now, he said.
Thinking it might be a two miler, Dontreal said.
Think you might be right about it.
Look at his form as he sprints. It’s superb. And the run has ended. What a rush.
What do you think his time was, Don?
The run was beneath the ten-minute mark.
It would not be a shock if he earned a place in states, Michael said.
I think so, too.
They watched the runner stretch himself out, collect his things and walk off the field and disappear into the distance. Only they remained. Michael started to wheel Dontreal toward the car. As they neared the car Dontreal asked Michael to stop and turn around.
Dontreal eyed the start-line and pointing at it, told Michael to bring them to it. He explained to Michael that he wanted him to push them from the start-line to the finish-line. Never to stop moving and to keep pushing on and to dedicate all his energies to the run. Michael looked at the track field. The weighty backpack dug into his shoulders but he refused to take it off.
His fingers tightened around the handles while Dontreal grappled the frames of the wheels. Without speaking another word, they rushed ahead and neared the curve. His energy was phenomenal as they made their way around it. Their focus was extraordinary. Michael’s dashing feet made the wheels turn with great ferocity.
How’s it looking, Don? You’re doing well. We’re doing just fine. Keep it close to the edge. That’s how to keep ahead of the pack, Michael said. We’re ahead right now, Dontreal said. Hold on, Don, hold on. Michael rushed out the turn and applied more pressure into his legs. That’s right. Let ‘em have it, Dontreal said while kicking the stubbles up and down. Sweat poured across his forehead while he attempted to control his breathing. We got this run, Mikey. As they advanced, Michael kept the wheels close to the edge of the track’s borders. He could feel a pain stabbing into his legs and he ignored it and looked ahead. As the chair made it to the next curve Dontreal yelled out to him: Mikey. Don? Let me go on the next straight away. What? You heard what I said. Let me go. Alright. Give me a nice boost out this curve. You got it, champ. As they made their way into the turn Michael freed the backpack from his shoulders. All the weight, so burdensome, cascaded onto the rubber with a thud. He was himself again.
Michael’s fingers loosened their grip and he watched Dontreal rush ahead.
I’m doing it, Mikey!
Michael smiled even as he recaptured a lost breath.
I’m doing it, Mikey!
Michael caught his breath and chased after him.
I’m doing it, Mikey!
That’s why you remain the best.
I’m doing it, Mikey!
Through rhythmic motions Dontreal’s arms grasped the chair’s rims and with each pull the chair’s momentum increased as he neared closer toward the finish line. Meters away from another victory. He was almost there when his arms tired and wanted him to stop. He would not cease and would push past this plateau and never concede to himself.
When the body refuses to proceed, a runner must keep their focus secured. He would not concede to failure. He would claim this victory. For he was not used to losses and he would pass the line. From this determination he was closer than he was seconds ago. He was better than the best and he was a great athlete facing himself.
The greatest surpassed themselves first and they considered the competition second. Michael understood this fact too and he knew Dontreal knew it better than him. It was why Dontreal was ahead of him and why Dontreal would remain ahead of him, forever. A smile spread across Michael’s face while he tried to close the meters between them.
The wheels creaked while Dontreal pulled himself forward a final time until the wheels bolted past the finish line. As the wheels decelerated and reached to a halt, he let out a deep breath and watched Michael cross the line next behind him. Michael’s run slowed into a walk and when he reached him, he said it was a great finish.
They looked at the backpack not far from where they stood. Michael made sure to reclaim the bag as they exited the field, and let the pack hang behind the chair. His shoulders felt lighter. In the car they agreed to go to Gussie’s Cookout. As they left the field, victorious, the car’s fluorescent beams cut past the darkness.