My Heart's in Alabama

2 - Matt

This summer is the first summer I've run heavily since then. It's different now. Then it was an escape. Now it's just part of a routine. I take that same route I did the first time I went. Right past my house, past the school, through the town's one stoplight, past Chellie's diner, and through Peters Paradise Orchards to their slice of the lake. I feel good today, so I strip down to my gym shorts, tuck my socks into my sneakers and drop my t-shirt over them.

Slowly, I walk out to the edge of the dock. I take it all in for a few seconds and dive in. The cool water surrounds me, swallowing me up like a hungry giant. I don't stay under for long. I don't like water in my ears. So, I break the surface and tread for a little while, enjoying the cool relief the water offers before I pull myself back on the dock. I lie face up, closing my eyes. Even then, the sun shines brightly through my eyelids. I close them tighter until I see black and take deep breaths. My arms fall to my sides, two dead fish landing with a small spray of water and a thud. The sun steals the little beads of water from my skin that was keeping me cool and replaces them with rays of heat.

I open my eyes. Not a single cloud in the sky. Nothing but blue, blue, endless blue. I pull myself together. I throw my shoes on but leave my t-shirt and socks. I'll be back for them some time or another. I check my phone and my time. 7:05. I've got 10 minutes to run two miles. 7:15, that's my limit. My personal best is just under 12 minutes. I'm never gonna make it.  I know what that means.

"You're late." I walk through the front door. 7:16.

"Dad, come on, it's a minute," I argue, but I know it's useless. I'm only stalling.

"I don't care if it's a minute or an hour. I said 7:15 and when I say 7:15 I mean-"

"7:15, I know."

"If you know, then how come you're late?"

"Can I at least change my shorts first?"

My dad nods.

"Two minutes," he says.

He opens up the door and closes it, disappearing to our front yard. I can just picture him out there. Arms crossed, serious face, a baseball hat pulled tightly over his eyes, legs shoulder-width apart, whistle around his neck. Waiting for me...shoot, guess I better get going.

I jog upstairs, throw on a dry pair of shorts, but don't bother to find a shirt. It's hot. Too hot for a shirt. Socks. I need socks, I left the pair I was wearing at the lake. I pull on a pair of socks, shove my feet into my sneakers and get outside as fast as I can. My dad's waiting for me just as I imagined.

 I swear, my dad never used to be this bad. I mean, yeah he's always been a neat-freak and punctual beyond the point of normality. And he's always been competitive and strict, but he's never been like this.

"Ready?" My dad asks as we take our respective spots. 

Me on the edge of the grass. My dad leaning against the red fire hydrant outside our house. I take a deep breath and nod. I dig in a little and turn my head towards my dad, waiting.

"To the tree and back. Four times. I'll give you ten seconds and we'll do it again." 

Tweet. He blows his whistle.

I run as fast as I can, cutting through the air, digging into the grass. The tree is about 20 yards from me. I get closer and closer to the tree until I reach out and touch it. One. I don't feel a thing. Two. My legs start to burn. Three. I start to lose my breath. I slow up. Four. I stop.

"Not bad," My dad says, staring at his watch. I lean over, using my knees to support my upper body. "I think you can do better." 

Tweet.