The summer wind blew past Miranda Browning’s hair as she watched her son race past the other children while they played tag. She never grew tired of these days. Never did she become weary of the hours she sat on the green park bench in the cool yet burning air of the summer days.
The other children could never catch her son, Noah. He was seven years old with scruffy brown hair and milk chocolate brown eyes. Miranda could never quite get his hair to lie right, no matter how hard she tried. It always stuck up or out, here or there, but never flat. Perhaps it was from playing with the other children and getting sweaty or maybe it was naturally that way.
Miranda and Noah had been at the park for nearly two hours now, and though she tried, Miranda could not bring herself to finish her book. She could already see the devastating ending it held within the last few pages bound in the book. Instead she watched the zooming small figures before her and heard the laughs they produced. However, supper time was approaching and she knew she must bring Noah’s fun to an evening’s end.
She closed the open book in her lap, picked up her purse which lay beside her and slowly stood. “Noah!” She called as he raced past one of the boys who held out his hand to tag him. “Noah, it’s time to go home. Say goodbye and let’s go.”
The boy sighed with disappointment but followed his mother’s orders and said his goodbyes. He walked over to his mother as she put her hand on the back of his head in a gentle, loving grip. “It’s ok, dear. We’ll come back and play tomorrow.”
As they began to walk home, two men approached them while one greeted, “Hello Madame. Might we have a word?” The two strangers set Miranda off guard. She almost answered when the other added, “It will only take a moment of your time.”
She sighed, “Noah, you may go play for five more minutes.” He smiled and ran off back to the play ground with the children he had just played with. “Five minutes!” Miranda called out to him as a reminder then she turned back to the two men before her.
The first was a very tall, thin man. He had light blonde hair that stood up on short ends and he wore large round glasses in front of his ocean blue orbs. The second man was a bit bulkier than the first and far shorter. His hair, what was left at least, was a deep brown that lie on the top of his scalp. He wore no glasses in front of his green eyes but an eyeglass chain hid in his coat pocket.
Both men were far better dressed than to be at a park. “Good evening, my name is Phillip Goodman,” introduced the blonde man. “This is my colleague Thomas Westcott. You may be?”
“Miranda Browning,” Miranda shook both extended hands. “May I help you?”
“Perhaps. Mr. Westcott and I were out for an evening walk due to our disability at work. Whilst we were strolling along, we noticed a zooming figure. Your son…”
“Yes,” Miranda smiled, taking a glance at her son. “Noah is quite fast.”
“Lightning he is,” Mr. Westcott corrected.
“But what does this have to do with anything?”
“Your son Noah, you said- my I haven’t seen a boy of a quicker speed before! We believe he has the great potential of being one of the world’s fastest runners in time.”
“You’re implying my son do something to reach this goal?”
“Mr. Westcott and I are from the racing business. We are agents for track runners and we would love to coach your son.”
Miranda couldn’t respond to this one. She began to process what these new faces explained to her. “I- the boy is but only of seven years old.”
“We understand the boy is young, but Mrs. Browning- look at him.” She turned around and watched as he flew past the other children while they raced. “Have you ever seen anyone run that fast? He out runs many of our competitors, who are well above his age. All we ask is that you consider our proposal to coach the boy for races. You will be paid for each race he wins…”
She thought for a moment. “I shall think about it, but no promises. My husband will want to hear of this before a final decision is made.”
“Understandable. Here is our card, call us when you have an answer, would you?” Mr. Goodman nodded his farewell as did Mr. Westcott. “Good night.”
Miranda stood holding their small two and a half’ by three’ inch business card. “Noah!” she called once more and they left.
