I looked up to the sky. The blackness was spreading quickly, the days were getting shorter. Already the leaves were beginning to fall, migrating from greens, reds, oranges, yellows… another year, another life it seems. I felt an unwelcome tug on my insides, something saying that I missed those times, times when I cared, times when I was weak. But I knew better.

Not wanting to be distracted any longer, I turned my phone on. There was a new message from hours ago when I was still in class.

“Ayo Matt, cover for me tonight? Let’s just say an unexpected opportunity has arisen (: plus I worked for you last week, so you owe me one.”

I sighed. It was true; David covered for me when I needed the night off to take care of my sick father. But it was Thursday, my only time off. Looking at the sky once more, I texted a quick affirmative and headed out into the night.

Five minutes, seven, then ten… and fifteen. Still, I stood alone. He wasn’t coming. Feeling like a fool, I took off, feeling the wind caress my face, whipping through my hair. I ran faster and faster, my blood rushing through my veins. Every time I passed the opening of the track I peered in vain into the darkness, a lost puppy searching for a sign of its home.
I thought back to when I first came. That terrible, terrible night that found me running away from everything, not wanting to believe what had really happened. We had walked through here sometimes, Casey and me, before that night that changed my life. I kept running until I reached this solitude. I knew no one would look for me here. No one would ever find me. And that’s when he came.

He didn’t see me at first, and he stepped out onto the track, paused, and then took off like a panther, fast and steady. I watched him for a moment, mesmerized, and then I kept walking. In the dark, he still thought he was alone until he almost ran right into me. At the time, though, the pain of being knocked down unconscious would have been a welcome way to forget about what I didn’t want to believe was true.


As he spotted me walking alone right ahead, his eyes widened in surprise and he quickly veered to the side, bypassing me by and inch. He hadn’t seen me until it was almost too late. I was too numb to care, I was still in denial. Still, I was not particularly happy about his presence at that time. I wanted to be alone; I didn’t want anybody—stranger or not—witnessing this kind of weakness. I never showed weakness.

I did, though, want to know why he was here. Eleven o’clock at night was hardly the usual time for a running session. I was hardly one to judge, though. At that point, my insomnia had already reached a fairly irreversible level and I had established that everything was better when done at night. There was some contagious beauty, sadness about these hours that shouldn’t be wasted with sleep. Maybe he felt it too.

I peered at him through the darkness. Tall, but not abnormally so, his body tilted forward as he cut through the air. I could immediately tell he was a skilled athlete. He ran with lightness, as if he were merely getting ready to fly. As he passed me again (this time he was prepared, and he didn’t even glance in my direction as he sidestepped me and continued on), I noticed that he didn’t make any sound when he ran. It’s almost impossible to run with some people because they just huff and pant so much it makes you afraid that they’re going to collapse and die, right then, right there. He was stealthy when he ran, and all you were left with was a whoosh of air on your skin and a whiff of his scent—earthy, with a hint of pine and sweat. After the fourth or fifth time we met in the middle of the track and he passed me once more, I noticed his dark brown hair begin to curl on his forehead, glistening with perspiration.

He kept running, around and around, and with his steady pace, my heart gradually slowed its hectic beating and I began to calm down. Less than an hour passed, and without a backward glance at me, he left out the opening, still running, until he was out of sight. I was alone once more, left again with my fears.

I stepped into the patrol car. The scent of old leather filled my nostrils and I rolled my eyes at nothing, frustrated. I thought of her, by herself, running in the rain, her wet hair whipping in the windy cold. It was funny in a weird way, because a couple years back (the times that I thought then would be my prime high school memories) I would’ve been all over this situation. I would wait and get excited about seeing a girl all week, and if it didn’t work out on my part, I would make it out like I had forgotten, or make it out like I was the one in control. For coming up with this superiority technique, I thought I had the world figured out. I could play any girl like a violin—with a sad song, a happy one, but it was ultimately all the same to me. As much as I convinced myself how exciting the business of winning someone over was, then just letting them go, I was bored and stupid and… very ignorant.

I chuckled to myself, at how silly and immature I used to be, how silly and immature I’m sure a lot of guys in high school and beyond still are now. I thought of what changed that. It was Noah, my mentor, my idol, my best friend. The only person, in my eyes, that did it all right. But I was wrong. And by the time I realized where my priorities lay, it was almost too late. Almost.
What makes a man is not how many people he can convince of his worth. What makes a man is what he does to prove his worth.

When I first saw her, I had no idea what to think. But then I realized that I had seen her before, somewhere.
Every night of the week (except Thursday) I work as a college patrol of the town. Now, the actual college is not located in my assigned watch region. I am assigned to the neglected part of town, complete with druggies on the corner, art and graffiti on every wall, and, of course, the half-hidden, over-grown track.

Over time, I had grown an unexpected fondness of the area, and the less-than-perfect conditions did not bother me in the slightest. Less than a year ago, I started running on the track every morning, early, before my first class across town. Except for Thursday, of course. Thursday was my day off patrol duty, the day my classes run late, the day I run at night.

But every other night of the week, Monday through Friday, I am out on watch in my maroon patrol truck, driving around, and waiting for something to catch my eye.

It was on one of these nights, I realized, that something did catch my eye. And it was her, with her friend, walking along the track. I had paused in my truck, curious because I never saw anyone on the track, much less two young women obviously not belonging in the neighborhood.
She was laughing, her long, dark hair cascading down her back in small waves. Even from where I sat, watching, I could see her brilliant, unforgettable blue-grey eyes, sparkling like morning sunshine; happy, laughing eyes. Her friend was making a joke, but there was something about her face that suggested a hidden sadness, and her dark eyes were a melancholy contrast to those of the girl’s that I couldn’t take my own eyes off of. Finally, I drove away, shaking my head. They had not seen me.
So when I saw her once more, on that night, over a month had passed since I first noticed her and her friend on the track. I didn’t notice her at first. It was a Thursday, and I was running late, feeling the cold air in my lungs, thinking I was alone on the gravel trail.
I almost ran right into her, it was so dark, and I didn’t expect her to be there in the slightest. She was alone this time. In the dim moonlight I caught sight of her face as we passed each other. Her cheeks were sallow, her eyes and cheeks stained with tears. Those stunning eyes seemed so dull.
Where was her friend, the one with which she was laughing so merrily? Where did her joyfulness and sunny beauty go? I put two and two together. Every time my eyes passed over her that night, my suspicions seemed to be confirmed. Her grief brought a deep sorrow that tugged and pulled at the pit of my soul. I hoped she would be okay. But I could stand it no longer. Without another despairing glance in her direction, I ran out of the place, anxious to find some emotional safety.

Back to reality. I focus on my breathing, like I always noticed he did. In, in, out… in, in, out. I tilt my head forward slightly, propelling myself further, faster.
I don’t remember exactly when I started running here every day. But he was my motivation. He would show up every Thursday at the same time, and I, of course, would be there. We never talked, but that was okay. It was accepted, never awkward.
There was something about the darkness that we shared. Because the night was lonely, we made a way into it together.
We ran opposite ways, meeting twice every lap, once on one side of the track, once on the other. It pushed me to run faster—I couldn’t slack off, because we wouldn’t meet at the same place anymore. He would be running more than half a lap for each half a lap I ran. No, we were in this together. And, of course, that would show him my weakness.
Instead, I worked every night, harder, until I was confident in my speed. It was relaxing, therapeutic, really. It took my mind off of other things. I wondered, though, why he never came on the other nights I was there. Childishly offended, I figured that if he were as intrigued by me as I was by him, he would be here every night with me.

I was with her every night, even when I wasn’t running. Just like tonight, patrolling the streets in my truck, always stopping at the track to watch her—not in a creepy way, but to make sure she was okay. She intrigued me. But also, she wasn’t necessarily safe around these parts at night. Especially with her age, her beauty, and the fact that she didn’t even seem to care what happened to her. I didn’t know her, yet we had a connection, and that made me want to protect her at all costs, especially since she’s not in any state to protect herself right now.

I watched from the street, then began my rounds. Up one street, down the next, peering into deserted alleyways, feeling myself become drowsy. After my mandatory Art History class every Thursday evening, usually the only way to revive myself is through running. Instead, here I was, practically falling asleep at the wheel…

Sometimes I think a lot when I run. Run things over in my head, think about what has happened and what will happen. But sometimes I don’t think at all. I just concentrate on one foot and then the other. One step, two steps, three, four. I focus on where I need to go—just beyond this turn, along this lane, one step, two.

I wasn’t really thinking a lot tonight. Just moving my legs forward, trying to breathe steadily. In my excitement to see my mystery runner I had left home without my iPod. But it was fine, in fact I kind of liked noticing all the details of my surroundings. The hum of cicadas through the high treetops, or the remote water running from the stream further down the path.

Suddenly I thought I heard footsteps behind me. It wasn’t just my two feet, one after the other, anymore. One, two- three, four, one two- three four. Staggered. There was someone running behind me. Like a child on Christmas morning, my heart leapt and I twisted my head around. Was it him after all? Late for our usual running “date” and sneaking up behind me to explain why? Would he talk to me this time after all?

But no. Nothing. Only the darkness greeted me, and the footsteps weren’t there. I had imagined them. I was probably feeling the effects of so many sleepless nights. But I was almost positive…

Shaking my head and rubbing my eyes momentarily, I picked up the pace once more. No sooner had I run a couple meters than I began to hear the footsteps again. I tried to shake off the feeling of being followed. I was being silly. But I couldn’t ignore those footsteps, ones I now noticed were heavier than my own. Like a man. Mystery man? No, mystery runner made no sound when he ran. None at all. Though he was solid, clearly muscular and strong, his feet always seemed to barely touch the ground and he raced through the track.

So I turned around once more. I must be crazy, because there was nobody there. No, now I knew what it was. It must just have been a deflection effect staggered from my own footsteps… one that I hadn’t noticed, of course, because I usually had my headphones on and my music cranked up high. I laughed out loud, just to prove to whoever wasn’t there that I actually wasn’t crazy!

Then everything was fine, and I was on my merry way once more. But those footsteps still freaked me out, even though I knew it was silly. I wish I had remembered my iPod now.

Hot breath on the back of my neck made me freeze, the fine hairs on my skin standing on end. Good thing, indeed, that I did not bring my iPod. Or else I might have forgotten to scream.



To be continued....