{"id":4524,"date":"2023-12-01T10:43:33","date_gmt":"2023-12-01T18:43:33","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/dornsife.usc.edu\/palaver\/?p=4524"},"modified":"2023-12-01T14:38:41","modified_gmt":"2023-12-01T22:38:41","slug":"the-pavement-speaks","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/dornsife.usc.edu\/palaver\/fall-2023\/the-pavement-speaks\/","title":{"rendered":"The Pavement Speaks"},"content":{"rendered":"\n\n\n\n\n \n \n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n
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The Pavement Speaks<\/h1>\n\n\n<\/div>\n \n \n By<\/span>Lorraine Wheat<\/strong>\n \n December 1, 2023<\/span>\n <\/div>\n<\/div>\n\n\n <\/div><\/div>\n\n \n \n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n
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\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 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\u2019d 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.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 All he could hear now was his body aching, but he wasn\u2019t going to listen. If he did, he\u2019d lose. He couldn\u2019t lose. Not this time. Not after Stephen had stared him in the eye and said, \u2018You\u2019re a weak runner,\u2019 right in front of his girlfriend, Olivia. <\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 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, \u2018Boyfriend shirts in summer?\u2019 Walter had turned on the AC and pleaded with his eyes till she put on the shirt. <\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 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 \u2018that one fifty\u2019s doing wonders,\u2019 until he couldn\u2019t stomach another bite of wheat toast and eggs. He didn\u2019t expect her to say anything. Olivia was way too sweet, just like his mom. That\u2019s 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\u2019t 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 \u2018How hard is it to ride the subways?\u2019 \u2018Is Brooklyn really expensive?\u2019 \u2018Are people really nice at NYU?\u2019 \u2018Did you pass all your exams?\u2019<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u2018I got in early admissions,\u2019 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, \u2018I give you guys a month.\u2019\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 When Stephen started feeling Olivia\u2019s 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. \u2018Let\u2019s go for a run.\u2019 <\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u2018I\u2019m not done yet,\u2019 Olivia had replied. She hadn\u2019t touched her fork the entire time Stephen flirted with her, which meant she was never finishing her breakfast. \u2018Come on, you never run with me.\u2019 He hadn\u2019t 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.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u2018Alright,\u2019 She had said.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u2018If you don\u2019t want to run with him, don\u2019t,\u2019 Stephen had said. \u2018He\u2019s a weak runner anyway, especially in the mornings.\u2019\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u2018You sound stupid,\u2019 he had replied.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u2018I always beat you in the mornings. . . and the evenings. I guess I always beat you.\u2019\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u2018Yeah right,\u2019 Walter had said, pulling at Olivia\u2019s arm. \u2018Let\u2019s go.\u2019 <\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u2018Leave her alone,\u2019 Stephen had said louder. \u2018She doesn\u2019t want to weak run with you.\u2019 <\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u2018Says the frat boy with the beer gut.\u2019\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 Stephen had pushed him. \u2018I\u2019d beat you right now.\u2019<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 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\u2019s 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.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 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. <\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 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. <\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 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, \u2018Be like Stephen. Stephen makes Dad proud.\u2019 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. <\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 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.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 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, \u2018You\u2019re a winner,Walter!\u2019<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 Stephen cranked his head left, curling his lip upward. <\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 This was his moment. They turned a corner, and he leapt shoulder to shoulder with Stephen as Olivia\u2019s house came into view. Her garage door was up. He knew Olivia wasn\u2019t even there. They had abandoned her in the kitchen, but he didn\u2019t care. He imagined her waiting in front of the house, shouting, \u2018I love you, Walter. You can do it.\u2019 He tasted her kiss, imagined her spit filled with electrolytes and salt, and then elbowed Stephen in the ribs. <\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 Stephen grabbed his shirt and pulled him into a headlock, getting sweat in his right eye.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 He bit Stephen, trying to get free.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 Stephen\u2019s 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.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u201cTake your fight onto the sidewalk, please,\u201d a woman yelled as he and Stephen rolled and rolled onto the grass. <\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 Walter kicked Stephen, digging his fingers into the dirt and pulling himself up on Olivia\u2019s lawn. Between the blood and tears blurring his vision, he caught sight of Olivia\u2019s stepmom standing on the porch, drinking tea, dressed in yoga pants, mouth flapped open. Her dreadlocks swinging back and forth.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 Stephen pressed his head into the grass so that he couldn\u2019t see. \u201cWiggle, worm,\u201d Stephen yelled over his grunts.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 He struggled against his brother\u2019s hands pressing into his back. It was pointless. He ran a lot, but never weight lifted. Stephen did both. That\u2019s why Stephen was winning no matter how much Walter tried to wrestle Stephen off of him.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 He started to smell shea butter through the dirt, and he felt Stephen\u2019s weight lessen so that he could tilt his head upward. Olivia\u2019s stepmom stood above him, haloed in sunlight. <\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u201cHey, Mrs. Burns,\u201d Stephen said, releasing him completely.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u201cUh-huh,\u201d Mrs. Burns said. \u201cWhere\u2019s Olivia?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 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\u2019t matter? He became the worm Stephen demanded, wiggling in the grass, covered in shame.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 Whatever Mrs. Burns thought, she wasn\u2019t 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. \u201cNow take a deep breath in through the nose.\u201d She repeated it again when they didn\u2019t do it the first time. \u201cClose your eyes on the exhale. 1\u20262\u20263\u20264\u20265.”\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 He closed his eyes. And he listened to Mrs. Burns prompt them to inhale and exhale, counting \u201c1\u20262\u20263\u20264\u20265,\u201d with each breath. She rubbed his back and a coolness slowly eroded the hatred that had formed deep in his shoulders.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 He breathed in Mrs. Burn\u2019s shea butter. He hadn\u2019t 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\u2019t located anywhere near here, but there\u2019d be a bunch of them in New York City. Her step mom would show them some if they were interested.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 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\u2019t realize when Mrs. Burns took his hand. He didn\u2019t notice when she replaced her hand with Stephen\u2019s. 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.<\/span><\/p>\n\n\n\n<\/div>\n\n\n <\/div><\/div>\n\n\n\n\n \n \n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n

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Lorraine Wheat<\/strong> is a writer and filmmaker that loves a caramel macchiato as much as she loves character-driven, young adult romances. After earning her MFA at USC’s School of Cinematic Arts, she wrote for “The Hollywood Reporter” and “Variety,” before writing and directing several short films, becoming a Panavision New Filmmaker Grant Program recipient to direct her social justice romance “Heart of Compton.” Now she’s working on her debut young adult romance novel while picture editing and media managing digital long- and short-form stories for Paramount Global. Lorraine believes great stories entertain while healing, inspiring, and creating a thinking generation. Feel free to connect with Lorraine on Instagram<\/a> or Tiktok.<\/a><\/p>\n<\/div>\n\n\n\n<\/div>\n\n\n <\/div><\/div>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"","protected":false},"author":288,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[54],"tags":[52],"class_list":["post-4524","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-fall-2023","tag-prose"],"acf":[],"yoast_head":"\nThe Pavement Speaks<\/title>\n<meta name=\"robots\" content=\"index, follow, max-snippet:-1, max-image-preview:large, max-video-preview:-1\" \/>\n<link rel=\"canonical\" href=\"https:\/\/dornsife.usc.edu\/palaver\/fall-2023\/the-pavement-speaks\/\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:locale\" content=\"en_US\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:type\" content=\"article\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:title\" content=\"The Pavement Speaks - Palaver Arts Magazine\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:url\" content=\"https:\/\/dornsife.usc.edu\/palaver\/fall-2023\/the-pavement-speaks\/\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:site_name\" content=\"Palaver Arts Magazine\" \/>\n<meta property=\"article:publisher\" content=\"https:\/\/www.facebook.com\/palaver.arts.magazine\" \/>\n<meta property=\"article:published_time\" content=\"2023-12-01T18:43:33+00:00\" \/>\n<meta property=\"article:modified_time\" content=\"2023-12-01T22:38:41+00:00\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:image\" content=\"https:\/\/dornsife.usc.edu\/palaver\/wp-content\/uploads\/sites\/175\/2023\/06\/palaver-logo.jpg\" \/>\n\t<meta property=\"og:image:width\" content=\"710\" \/>\n\t<meta property=\"og:image:height\" content=\"198\" \/>\n\t<meta property=\"og:image:type\" content=\"image\/jpeg\" \/>\n<meta name=\"author\" content=\"akcannon\" \/>\n<meta name=\"twitter:card\" content=\"summary_large_image\" \/>\n<script type=\"application\/ld+json\" class=\"yoast-schema-graph\">{\"@context\":\"https:\/\/schema.org\",\"@graph\":[{\"@type\":\"Article\",\"@id\":\"https:\/\/dornsife.usc.edu\/palaver\/fall-2023\/the-pavement-speaks\/#article\",\"isPartOf\":{\"@id\":\"https:\/\/dornsife.usc.edu\/palaver\/fall-2023\/the-pavement-speaks\/\"},\"author\":{\"name\":\"akcannon\",\"@id\":\"https:\/\/live-usc-dornsife.pantheonsite.io\/palaver\/#\/schema\/person\/8ac801b3c8176b6860207b43ecbe9e78\"},\"headline\":\"The Pavement Speaks\",\"datePublished\":\"2023-12-01T18:43:33+00:00\",\"dateModified\":\"2023-12-01T22:38:41+00:00\",\"mainEntityOfPage\":{\"@id\":\"https:\/\/dornsife.usc.edu\/palaver\/fall-2023\/the-pavement-speaks\/\"},\"wordCount\":3,\"publisher\":{\"@id\":\"https:\/\/live-usc-dornsife.pantheonsite.io\/palaver\/#organization\"},\"keywords\":[\"Prose\"],\"articleSection\":[\"Issue 14: Fall 2023\"],\"inLanguage\":\"en-US\"},{\"@type\":\"WebPage\",\"@id\":\"https:\/\/dornsife.usc.edu\/palaver\/fall-2023\/the-pavement-speaks\/\",\"url\":\"https:\/\/dornsife.usc.edu\/palaver\/fall-2023\/the-pavement-speaks\/\",\"name\":\"The Pavement Speaks - 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