The Pavement Speaks

          Walter could barely see his brother Stephen’s sweat-soaked backside as he ran hard through the trees, feet pounding the pavement. They weren’t supposed to run long distances this hard, but Stephen wasn’t using any of Coach Burns’s techniques. Not that Walter was using them either. He’d only been running ten minutes, and his knees creaked, his ribcage ached, his heart banged. It was painful when normally running was his safe space where the sky was endless, and the trees waved, and the air was quiet, so quiet that he could hear the pavement speak.

          All he could hear now was his body aching, but he wasn’t going to listen. If he did, he’d lose. He couldn’t lose. Not this time. Not after Stephen had stared him in the eye and said, ‘You’re a weak runner,’ right in front of his girlfriend, Olivia.

          He loved that Olivia always came over for breakfast after her morning workouts, wearing a sports bra and tiny jogging shorts still soaked in sweat. But that morning, Stephen had acted like she had dressed just for him. He had stared at her breasts and commented on her abs, and Walter had felt the need to hand her a jersey. Olivia had joked, ‘Boyfriend shirts in summer?’ Walter had turned on the AC and pleaded with his eyes till she put on the shirt.

          He had wanted to go running with Olivia, but Olivia had chosen breakfast with Stephen. So he had to listen to Stephen make comments like ‘that one fifty’s doing wonders,’ until he couldn’t stomach another bite of wheat toast and eggs. He didn’t expect her to say anything. Olivia was way too sweet, just like his mom. That’s what he had liked about her until that morning when he had suddenly wished Olivia would call Stephen a pervert. He had gotten so tired of listening to Stephen make comments about her body while she just shrugged, that he was thankful when Stephen started droning on and on about pre-med at NYU. Olivia had found that so interesting, which wasn’t even like her. She thought college was for the boring types that liked expensive gym memberships. Not for crossfitters like her with gyms in their garages. People like her headed straight to work, unwilling to take on any kind of debt. But that morning, Olivia wanted to know ‘How hard is it to ride the subways?’ ‘Is Brooklyn really expensive?’ ‘Are people really nice at NYU?’ ‘Did you pass all your exams?’

          ‘I got in early admissions,’ Walter had announced, even though Olivia had been the first person he told about NYU. She had squeezed his hand and kept on talking to Stephen about the subways. She had wanted to know how to get from Brooklyn to her dream restaurant in NoHo, where she’d work as a line cook once they moved. He hated that she had shared their plans with Stephen. Stephen had smirked, his eyes saying, ‘I give you guys a month.’ 

          When Stephen started feeling Olivia’s thigh muscles, Walter had jumped out of his seat, desperate to run to his safe space, and he had been determined to take Olivia with him. ‘Let’s go for a run.’

          ‘I’m not done yet,’ Olivia had replied. She hadn’t touched her fork the entire time Stephen flirted with her, which meant she was never finishing her breakfast. ‘Come on, you never run with me.’ He hadn’t meant to sound so needy. But he needed her like he needed to feel the wind, the concrete, his heart. His need had coated him like sweat and had gotten all over Olivia till she had sighed, annoyed. 

          ‘Alright,’ She had said. 

          ‘If you don’t want to run with him, don’t,’ Stephen had said. ‘He’s a weak runner anyway, especially in the mornings.’ 

          ‘You sound stupid,’ he had replied. 

          ‘I always beat you in the mornings. . . and the evenings. I guess I always beat you.’ 

          ‘Yeah right,’ Walter had said, pulling at Olivia’s arm. ‘Let’s go.’

          ‘Leave her alone,’ Stephen had said louder. ‘She doesn’t want to weak run with you.’

          ‘Says the frat boy with the beer gut.’ 

          Stephen had pushed him. ‘I’d beat you right now.’

          He had never beat Stephen in a race. Stephen was built for long distance running. He was shorter, with longer legs and thinner calves. While Walter was taller with a higher center of gravity. Biology was on Stephen’s side, but if Catholic school taught him anything, it was that biology could burn in hell. He was going to win today. No matter what.

          Stephen had pushed him past Olivia and down the front steps. As soon as his feet had hit the ground, Stephen shot past him, and it had no longer felt like a race. It felt like survival.

          His feet pounded the ground. The sound exploded in his ears. He pushed towards Stephen till he was so close he could smell his disgusting stench, bacon grease and buttery eggs.

          He hated that Stephen always beat him at running. He hated the fact that now that Stephen had headed off to NYU, their team was only averaging 19:01 for the 5K instead of 16:50 per runner. Coach Burns hated it too. Coach Burns would talk about Stephen as if he had died instead of graduated. As if Stephen had left behind a legacy that Walter would never be able to uphold. He always wanted to tell Coach Burns that he never should have started running long distance. He was built for jumping. He could clear hurdles with ease, but he had listened to his dad instead of his mom. His mom had told him to follow his heart, and at that time, his heart had been yelling, ‘Be like Stephen. Stephen makes Dad proud.’ So as soon as he turned twelve, he followed his dad and brother to the Track and Field Academy. He ignored everything inside of him and started training long distance.

          He felt that mistake every time he had to look Coach Burns in the eyes after his team averaged a 19:01 instead of a 16:50. 

          Well, he wished Coach Burns could see him closing in on Stephen. He wished all of Pittsford-Scandon High School could see him about to take the lead. He wished Olivia was there standing on the side waving pom poms in the air, shouting out, ‘You’re a winner,Walter!’

          Stephen cranked his head left, curling his lip upward.

          This was his moment. They turned a corner, and he leapt shoulder to shoulder with Stephen as Olivia’s house came into view. Her garage door was up. He knew Olivia wasn’t even there. They had abandoned her in the kitchen, but he didn’t care. He imagined her waiting in front of the house, shouting, ‘I love you, Walter. You can do it.’ He tasted her kiss, imagined her spit filled with electrolytes and salt, and then elbowed Stephen in the ribs.

          Stephen grabbed his shirt and pulled him into a headlock, getting sweat in his right eye.

          He bit Stephen, trying to get free.

          Stephen’s foot tripped him, and he fell to the concrete. His elbows burned as his skin scraped the cement. A car beeped as it slowly rolled by.

          “Take your fight onto the sidewalk, please,” a woman yelled as he and Stephen rolled and rolled onto the grass.

          Walter kicked Stephen, digging his fingers into the dirt and pulling himself up on Olivia’s lawn. Between the blood and tears blurring his vision, he caught sight of Olivia’s stepmom standing on the porch, drinking tea, dressed in yoga pants, mouth flapped open. Her dreadlocks swinging back and forth. 

          Stephen pressed his head into the grass so that he couldn’t see. “Wiggle, worm,” Stephen yelled over his grunts.

          He struggled against his brother’s hands pressing into his back. It was pointless. He ran a lot, but never weight lifted. Stephen did both. That’s why Stephen was winning no matter how much Walter tried to wrestle Stephen off of him. 

          He started to smell shea butter through the dirt, and he felt Stephen’s weight lessen so that he could tilt his head upward. Olivia’s stepmom stood above him, haloed in sunlight.

          “Hey, Mrs. Burns,” Stephen said, releasing him completely. 

          “Uh-huh,” Mrs. Burns said. “Where’s Olivia?”

          Walter pictured Olivia standing in the kitchen, alone and confused. He had abandoned his girlfriend. And for what? To beat Stephen in a race that didn’t matter? He became the worm Stephen demanded, wiggling in the grass, covered in shame. 

          Whatever Mrs. Burns thought, she wasn’t going to say. She sat down in the middle of them and crossed her legs. She stared down the street. And she placed her hands on each one of their knees. “Now take a deep breath in through the nose.” She repeated it again when they didn’t do it the first time. “Close your eyes on the exhale. 1…2…3…4…5.” 

          He closed his eyes. And he listened to Mrs. Burns prompt them to inhale and exhale, counting “1…2…3…4…5,” with each breath. She rubbed his back and a coolness slowly eroded the hatred that had formed deep in his shoulders. 

          He breathed in Mrs. Burn’s shea butter. He hadn’t known what shea butter was until Olivia had told him. She told him her step mom loved to use it in her hair, and in her lotions, and in her soaps. Olivia told him once that her step mom bought it in small hair stores that weren’t located anywhere near here, but there’d be a bunch of them in New York City. Her step mom would show them some if they were interested. 

          He stared down the empty road surrounded by trees blowing in the wind. He breathed in the air just cool enough to caress his lungs. He listened to the birds chirping. He watched an orange cat wandering past a mailbox. He didn’t realize when Mrs. Burns took his hand. He didn’t notice when she replaced her hand with Stephen’s. She just kept counting and telling them to breathe. There was a peace there in the counting, an endless peace that was so quiet he began to hear the pavement speak.