Patina (Track #2)

Curron started to pull ahead, so I turned on the jets and really started burning my legs out, even though I knew it was a bad idea. But I was no way going to take another loss. Not today. I stepped off the sidewalk well before the construction and ran in the street, close to the curb to avoid an oncoming delivery van.

“Back on the sidewalk, Patty!” Coach yelled through his megaphone. I ignored him. “Patty. Back on the sidewalk!” A bus was coming up the block, the roaring of its engine like a bear waking from its sleep. Coach is gonna kill me, I thought, but so what. Come on, Patty. You got this. Almost at the construction. Curron was just a few steps behind me, still on the sidewalk, the pit-pat of his footsteps in my ear. Coach in my ear. The horn of the bus in my ear.

Come on. Come on, Patty. Krystal was close. I could see her ponytail flicking in the wind like a brown flame. Curron was gaining on me. But he had his work cut out for him, because Eric was farther ahead than Krystal. Now the bus was only a few yards away from me. Honk! Honk! “Patty!” Coach bellowed. The bus was right . . . there. I was at the construction site. Hard hats. Metal clanging. Men talking. Laughing. The bus was right in front of me. Honnnnnnk!

And I hopped back onto the curb at the last second, avoiding the bus and the construction site. Curron however, was stuck.

Keep pushin’, Patty. Krystal was five feet away. Four. “Stick! Stick!” I yelled, just like we’d learned in practice. I took the inside of the sidewalk, running closer to the shop doors, while Krystal smoothly slid to the outside, skimming the curb. “Stick!” I pushed the word out, now gasping for air. Krystal stretched her arm behind her, speeding up as I was coming in fast. And just like dancing, like being able to move with each other without actually touching, in one smooth motion I handed the baton to Krystal.

And suddenly, I was winded. I fell back a bit, while Krystal kept her pace. Then came the second horn. And Krystal now had to catch Brit-Brat, who was, at this point, a speck in the distance. Ahead of her, scatterings of everyone else. Krystal pushed forward while I stayed about fifteen steps behind her, passing Lu and Ghost, who’d pulled over on the sidewalk. Ghost was hunched over puking up purple. So it wasn’t candy. Probably soda. Lu, standing over him, was yelling, “Come on, man! Hurry up and get it out so we can go!”

“Get it together, Ghost!” Coach barked on the infamous megaphone. Aaron was just ahead of us, looking over his shoulder, his bottom lip hanging.

In another minute it was Krystal’s turn in the red zone, close enough to get the baton to Brit-Brat. I wasn’t far behind, my heart beating so hard it felt like it was rocking side to side. Hard, like it was trying to pump the blood out of my body. “Stick!” Krystal yelled. And like with the last pass-off, Brit-Brat, with those big ol’ feet of hers, sped up, just enough to fall right into rhythm with Krystal’s stride. Krystal swiveled to the inside, Brit to the outside. Arm back. Arm out. Handoff. Perfection. Just dancing the waltz. I fought back a grin. Whit’s crazy waltz. Yeah.

Just about the time we expected to hear the third horn, we instead heard the clang of metal on concrete, like someone had rang a bell. A baton had been dropped, but not by any of the girls. We were holding tight, waiting on Coach to hit the horn again so Brit-Brat could catch Deja, and we could bring it home.

“Start again, fellas!” Coach was yelling at the guys’ relay. “Back to Curron. No dropping the stick! NO DROPPING THE STICK!” By the time Brit-Brat sailed over to Deja, she was done. All of us were. The final handoff was fine. Not perfect, but not terrible. And, hey, we killed the guys! But our legs were shot. And on top of all that, none of us knew where to go because Whit was gone, probably chasing after Sunny who runs long distance like it’s a leisurely walk to his locker. The sweetest show-off ever.

“Where did they go?” Deja asked, slowing, waiting for the rest of us to catch up. We jogged in place on the corner trying to figure out where to head next. We knew better than to stop running. Coach was heading our way in the taxi; if he caught us standing, he would give us the blues. And the jazz. And the freakin’ rock and roll. So we kept our legs moving. Like he said, the best never rest.

“What are you waiting for?” he called out, his taxi creeping up the street, emergency blinkers on.

“We don’t know which way to go!” Krystal called out.

“We don’t know where Whit went!” I added. Coach smirked.

“So?” he said, like this wasn’t an issue.

“So what should we do?” I asked.

“You tell me.” he replied. Now the guys relay team caught up to us, their mouths hanging open. I looked to the right. Hardware store. Man on the sidewalk selling used books. I looked to the left. An old woman sweeping the steps of a church. A little girl with a much smaller broom, helping. Her hair in dookie braids, maybe five or six of them sprouting every which way like antennae.

“This way,” I decided, heading left toward the little girl. I didn’t know if it was the right way, but in that moment, with Coach looking at me all crazy, I knew I had to do something. The comeback kid. Let’s see if I could be the “get-back kid” and get us back to the park. Everyone followed as I led, until Coach finally pulled up beside us again.

“Follow me,” he said, grinning out the window. He headed straight, which meant I was leading us in the right direction. Phew. And from there, Coach led the rest of the way back to the track.



When we arrived at the park, everyone crashed, rolling onto the track like cars whose tires had just blown out. And for once, Coach let us stay down there. He even brought our water bottles over to us! Sunny and Whit, on the other hand, were leaning against the fence having a casual conversation. They didn’t even have the decency to be panting or nothing, while the rest of us were trying not to cry like babies. Ghost and Lu came sputtering in a little after us, Ghost dehydrated from all the puking, and Lu purposely jogging a few steps behind him, one hand on Ghost’s back, almost pushing him along so that he wouldn’t be last. Aaron immediately handed his water bottle to Ghost, who pretty much crushed whatever was left in it. I gave mine to Lu, who took a swig then gave it back.

“Good job, good job!” Coach said. “Give it up,” he added, now clapping his hands. He went on. “Relay is about everyone pulling their weight. But sometimes, there has to be one person to just take over. Take the inside lane, and go for blood. Make a decision, because sometimes, there won’t be a leader there to tell you. There won’t be a coach or a frontrunner or a roadmap. Sometimes, you just gotta make a decision, take a turn and see what happens. If you trust yourself, nine times outta ten, you’ll get to where you’re supposed to be.”

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