Not If I See You First(74)

At the first curve I hear a voice I don’t recognize say “What the hell is she doing?” as I jog past.

Halfway down the next straight I hear a couple more comments and I tune them out. I want to go faster but don’t know if Molly can keep me on track. I accelerate slowly to find her top speed.

In the second curve I can’t tune out the world anymore. Around me I hear pandemonium, people shouting at each other, but no one’s telling me to stop. In my ear Molly’s voice is steady and calm. “In… in… straight… out… Okay good…” I keep going… faster… and faster…

I hear the bullhorn whine again. “Grant! What…” Coach’s voice goes fainter yet still amplified, like he turned away from the horn. “How the hell is she doing that?”

Faster. I lean into the next turn, connecting Molly’s voice to my legs. “In… in… Okay… in… out… in… Okay… straight now…”

“Everybody off the track!” Coach shouts through his bullhorn. “Give her room!”

“If the track… is empty…” I shout to Molly, hoping my swinging microphone can pick up my voice, “… move me… to… the center… lanes…”

“You have tons of room now. Stay straight, you’re drifting toward the middle now… Okay, now out… out… Good, you’re good. Curve coming up…”

Now that I know the corridor is wide and clear, with me right in the middle, I can go even faster. When I come out of the turn, I open it up some more.

God, this is fantastic! To run again without having to stop every ten seconds… Do people without broken parts know this feeling? Would I have ever felt something like this if I wasn’t blind? To lose something, mourn it, and then suddenly get it back again?

The next turn is rocky—at this speed Molly has trouble with me overcorrecting. I try to shift less when she directs me and let her use more urgency when I don’t veer enough.

On the next straight I open it all the way. I’m flying!

People are shouting, whooping, and yelling, “Go, Parker!” Mostly from my left, which is the center field, but also on my right when I pass bleachers on the straight legs.

I come out of a turn and the shouting becomes a chant… “Par-ker! Par-KER! Par-KER!”

I hear it from the left and right and in my earbuds picked up by Molly’s microphone…

“Out… Par-KER!… Ou—Par-KER!… In—Par-KER! PARKER! IN IN STOP STOP—”

My foot lands on something not track, not rubber, not turf—I’m off the track entirely and headed for the bleachers at top speed— “STOP STOP STOP!” people yell but mostly it’s Molly’s voice rupturing my eardrums as I slam into someone and we go down hard…

… but the impact isn’t as bad as it should have been. It wasn’t a random collision—someone caught me and we fell and I landed on them. The heels of my hands and my knees scrape the ground, my head bounces off a sturdy chest, but it’s mostly painless. We’re lying flat and strong arms hold me tightly.

Scott’s voice is a harsh whisper in my left ear.

“Are you out of your f*cking mind?”

I kiss him hard on the cheek. “Yes!”

People help us up, which for me is more trouble than it’s worth. I think I need to add a rule about letting blind people stand up on their own when they fall down.

“Are you hurt?” Coach is in front of me sounding half worried and two-thirds totally pissed off.

“Nothing broken.” I check my scrapes. They feel meaty but dry so no blood yet.

“You are never doing that again!”

“I hope not!” I say, laughing.

“Not the crash! The running like a maniac with someone telling you where to go on a damn cell phone! They’d never allow that in competition, so it’s pointless and downright stupid!”

And completely exhilarating!

“Hit the showers. You’re done today.”

“I’ll take her,” Scott says.

“Yeah, do that. Everyone else, show’s over! Get back to it!”

Scott pulls my arm—I guess we’re heading for the gym. Then I hear a lot of scuffling footsteps and someone breaks Rule Number Two and crashes into me with a bear hug.

Molly whisper-shouts in my ear, “You f*cking lunatic! I’m so sorry, Parker!”

“I’m not sorry!” I let her go. “Same time tomorrow?”

“Hell no!” Scott says. “What the hell were you doing? Showing off to all your friends?”

“Of course not. Molly—”

“Not just Molly. Everybody.”

“Everybody?”

“Sarah—”

“Sarah’s not here—”

“Hey, Parker,” Sarah says. “Nice run.”

“Sarah, what are you—”

“And Faith,” Scott interrupts. “And Kennedy and—”

“Faith?”

“Present,” she says in her world-weary voice, trying to cover her still-worried-heart-in-her-throat voice.

“And Lila,” Scott continues. “And… and…?”