I-90

"Dino"

When we were ten, Jimmy "The Dino" Day and I would spend all afternoon collecting sticks and logs for our backyard hideout. Mrs. Day would peer out of her kitchen window every so often, and when Gretta would come scampering towards us, we knew it was time for us to come inside for supper. Who or what we were hiding from, we didn't know, and we never found out. All we knew was that the casserole would be hot, and we'd do it all over again the next day.

When we were sixteen, Jimmy stopped going to school, and his ma wouldn't let him out of the house, or anyone else in. A couple of the other guys told me they swore on their pop's grave they saw him sitting by the old baseball field we'd play together in, but Jimmy was dead long before this. At least, I thought he was. Turns out, I was right. Jimmy'd fallen sick from TB a few years prior, and I guess it finally caught up to him. I knew the kid had a mean cough, but I never looked long enough to see how or what he'd coughed up. I remember we'd hop on our bikes, pedal to that beaten up baseball diamond, and just run for our lives. He had short arms, and a funny run, so we'd call him "The Dino." Who or what we were running from, we didn't know, but it didn't matter. Jimmy "The Dino" Day could never run much faster than the tuberculosis. It always found a way of catching up.

Two years later, when I came home a Marine, from excruciatingly hot months in San Diego, I ran that diamond every morning. I finally found out, I was running for Jimmy. Perhaps, from. We were supposed to join together, you know. As soon as we left that auditorium, wide-eyed and proud of our country, we knew we were boys made to be men who defended our stars and stripes. We shook on it. I still made sure to see Mrs. Day whenever I was home, and she still made sure to have a plate on the table for me. It isn't like I didn't have my own family- I did. I guess I just needed Mrs. Day as much as she needed me. Maybe even more. I needed to laugh and tell stories, and collect wood, and run that stupid diamond. This persisted for so long, Gretta was eventually gone, too, and it was just Mrs. Day, Judith and I eating silently- all of us needing each other, but too afraid to say so. Who or what we were afraid of, we didn't dare find out.

When I was twenty, Judith was just eighteen. Mrs. Day rang me up, and chirped brightly over the rotary telephone,
"Charles! Come on over- I've made a special meal for Judith's birthday. 1800, mister! See you then!"
Before I could say anything, I realized she had already hung up. I smiled and glanced at the clock. It was just 4:00. Just enough time to run to the neighborhood market.

I brought Judith flowers, because I really didn't know what else girls liked. I had spent so much time running, I didn't even see the world I'd been running past. But as she had always, she smiled sheepishly and thanked me genuinely. We drank wine, ate well, and were merry. Before I left, I slipped away into Jimmy's old room, where I imagined his spirit lingered, and sat on the edge of his bed. It was unmade, and a white baseball t-shirt hung lazily over the edge.

"Jim," I said, after a while. I think I might have been the only soul to call him that. He hated it, and said it made him feel like a geezer. So, as his best friend, it was only right I call him Jim.
"You missed a mighty good meal, guy. Don't forget the next one."
I sat there for only a moment, it seemed, before I noticed Judith had her hand atop of mine. It was warm and soft, and unfamiliar, but it comforted me, so I let it rest there. I didn't notice I had been crying until she stood up to bring me a towel. Why she sat and cried with me for an hour, I wouldn't know for some time.
A week later, Judith let me take her out. She wore a dress that accentuated her tiny frame, and her hair swept away from her face in a scarf. I never realized how strong and beautiful her face was, since she moved so meekly, and her eyes always hid behind her hair.

When I was twenty-one, Judith let me marry her. We agreed upon a nontraditional wedding, so on the first day of summer, we eloped. When I awoke one morning, Judith had cut her hair short. Her curls sat neatly on top of her head, and she beamed and twirled to show me. That afternoon, we hit the town for a dress of her liking and a secondhand camera, hopped in my car, and followed I-90 as far as it would take us. On the way, Judith shrieked,
    "Charlie, pull off here!"
Hurriedly, I broke off onto the sepia colored dirt.
    "Judith, what is it? Are you alright?" I spoke anxiously. Only she and I knew she was pregnant, and I was always unsure if she shrieked in delight, or in pain.
    "Look..." she whispered. Her eyes were like a child's, wide with wonder, as she was transfixed by a very large dinosaur statue. Relieved, I redirected the car onto the road, and burned rubber towards the gleam of the brontosaurus' head. We took the picture, and finally said goodbye to "The Dino."

Why we ran? We ran for Jimmy. We ran for Mrs. Day, and we ran for us. We came from hiding, from silence, and from a full on sprint, to start our new life. You were born six and a half months later, Jimmy.