The Man And The Deodorant

-1-

Gasping for air, Jake continued to gratingly jog across the track. The afternoon sun unforgivingly and mercilessly beat over the boy's head as the callous waves of suffocating heat crashed over his face. The number of laps he was on seemingly melted from his skull, draining and mixing with any other of his other previous thoughts, creating a feverish overload of indiscernible ideas and emotions. However, one strong feeling overpowered them all, surrounding him in a tight, suffocating cloud- pain. As he ran, Jake's lungs wheezed and clamped, as if threatening to cease altogether. Around Jake, an uncentered roar began to burrow its way deeper and deeper into his faded consciousness. As he ran the thundering yells became louder and louder until he thought he could almost make out words, "Jake! Jake! Jake!" The chant grew closer and closer. In the distance, he could finally spot some kind of metal frame-like structure. People filled the structure to the brim, enthusiastically climbing and jumping above one another. As Jake squinted past the scorching rays of light, he could make out faces, many faces. So many faces in fact he began to feel as if they were watching him. The farther he ran, the harder the thundering noise pounded in his ears. Why doesn't he just stop? One way or another, the agonizing torture would end. He could fall to the ground and wait for the buzzards to snatch him up. However, due to a forceful motivation far beyond his memory or understanding, Jake continued to gruelingly pace his feet against the now seemingly burning red road. By now, the yelling and screaming were much closer than simply within his earshot. He felt as if the sound was surrounding him, clobbering against his ears like a stone hammer. The sound continued to pound harder, harder, harder, harder, until it stopped. In less than an instant, all of Jake's senses suddenly fleeted him. There was no more hot sun, no more thundering noise, no more pain, no more grating track- only black.

Jake could not keep track of how long the deafening darkness lasted. Soon, similar to many other things from that day, the passage of time became lost in the obscure depths of Jake's mind.

Eventually, through the dense layer of silence, Jake could hear a muffled voice. Slowly, Jake became aware of his surroundings as the voice became clearer, although he still could not quite make out words. Below him, Jake felt a rough paper coating the ground underneath his lying body. Suddenly, he also became conscious of the overpowering scent of rubbing alcohol that lingered in the air. Now the voice was clearer than ever and Jake attempted to open his eyes. Immediately, a glaring light overwhelmed his senses, causing him to squint. As he peered around, he found himself in a light blue room. Posters plastered over the walls exhibited different forms of human anatomy. Under a row of wooden cabinets, Jake could make out what he assumed to be a sink. One he began to stir, the source of the voice as well as two other adults made their way over to the bed. Looking up at them, Jake could easily make out their faces.

"Dad? What's going on?" Jake murmured from the bed.

Jake's father retained his playful yet serious tone as he replied, "Do you not remember the race? You passed out. Mrs. Murphy says you'll be fine though with enough rest and fluids." Race? Suddenly the contents of that day began whizzing back to Jake. He had been running a race. If Jake remembered correctly, there were countless other students there as well, many of them from different schools. What happened? Confused, Jake's eyes continued to dart around the room, concluding he was indeed once again lying in the nurse's office. Memories of that day continued to seep back into Jake's mind as he recalled more and more previous events. The entire school had been greatly anticipating the distance running event, in which Jake of course had intended to participate. As with any other of his more intense sporting events, Jake received advice from many who were close to him. Specifically, Jake recounted his father's words, "Drink water. I don't want to see you with any of that Gatorade junk on the field. It's crucial in these sort of performances, you stay properly hydrated." His father's words echoed back in Jake's head as he also remembered his unsurprising disregard for the advice. Could that have been what caused Jake to pass out? The answer became clear as numerous of Jake's similar sports experiences began to recover. Jake realized that this had by no means been the first time turning a blind eye to his father's words had culminated into a dreadful outcome.

"You really do need to put more effort into taking care of yourself", Jake's dad continued sternly, "That means drinking more water, having better hygiene, and maybe finally using some of that deodorant I got you."

Jake groaned in exasperation. While he could perhaps consider humoring his father's words, he would never stop despising the degrading tone in which he said them.

Quickly, his dad replied in a noticeably sharper manner, "Now don't you be like that young man. And really, please use the deodorant." He finished this last sentence with a shudder, one Jake could hardly bring himself to appreciate.