Without Wings

by J.F.Parks

David’s story begins with a sprint through the food court of a mall stuffed restless with tired old people and juvenile minds.  He chases after no dreams nor does he run from any trailing shadows.  He runs because he can, placing fifth out of five in a race against strangers on a course no one ever ran.

On his face is a green ski-mask with two holes for eyes.  He breathes through the cotton knitting and has already broken a sweat.  Running is a part of him.  He had run every day along the neighborhood sidewalk—a boring but familiar trail—, but it did little to prepare him for the bright lights and fervent stares. 

 “Is it fun?” she had asked him.  Her face, a mischievous perfection illuminated by her small crooked nose, taunted him with its amusing smirk as she peered over the dust tipped window.

His feet continued to pound against the cement as the girl followed in her worn red car.  He waited for her to drive off into the sunset like every other girl he had known, but when she didn’t he answered, “Sure.”

“What's the point?  It's not like you're going anywhere.  You just run in circles.”

David chuckled as he thought of an answer.  “To run.”

The girl smiled.  “I like running—real running that is.”

“Is there something I can help you with?”

“I'm in this group,” she said.  “A club of sorts.  We lost a member so I've been told to find a replacement.  I notice you run every morning.”

“What do you do in this club?”

“Run of course.”

David inspected the girl and her car.  She looked like a high schooler or young college kid at most.  A long gash scarred the vehicle from bumper to bumper, cut deepest in the rear.  “Aren't I a bit old for this group?”

“You have legs, don’t you?”

The next time he saw her was in an old white van parked in an abandoned parking lot.  He considered running away from her and the four other strangers, but he longed for that lost thrill.  He missed the years he had spent in cross country when he would break his body into the simplest of elements and breathe in life at the end of the day.

“Come on.”  A man in the front passenger seat urged.  Like the girl he had raven black hair that fell to his shoulders.  “Are you going to run or not?”

“What about my car?”

“We'll drop you off later,” said the driver.

The girl forced David into the car with a shove from behind.  He sat in the middle row next to a shaggy looking kid.

“Now let’s get the greetings out of the way,” the man in the front said.  “First, introduce yourself.”

“I'm David.” He raised his left hand half way.

“Nice to meet you Dave.”  The man answered.  A melody of greetings soon followed from the other passengers.  “Now first we have our driver James.  He doesn't run like the rest of us—bad knees or so he says—but still puts up with being our chauffeur every week and is one hell of a guy.”

“Here, here,” shouted the girl.

“I'm not all that.”  James laughed.

“The beauty next to you—as I'm sure you know—is my darling sister, Chris.  No idea where she found you but I won't ask and I don't care.”

“It's for the best.” Chris giggled.

“The bastard to your right name is Chris as well, but we can't have two Chrises so we call him Bob.”

“Hi, Bob.”  David waved.

“Hey,” Bob answered.

“And the guy in the back is our club genius, Jason.”

David looked behind him to see an average looking guy wearing a collared shirt and silver thin-framed glasses.  Jason nodded twice before returning his gaze out the window.

“And of course, I'm Matt.”

David shakes his hand.  “It's a pleasure.”

“So what has Chris told you about us?”

“Not much.  Just that you all run.”

Shocked shoppers watch as the five masked dissidents sprint through the mall.  The idle bystanders are a part of the course—objects for David to evade.  Some get out of the way but the speed of their arrival takes most by surprise.  The leading group of Matt and Bob build enough distance by the first bend that David loses sight of them.  Jason follows on his lonesome without the fierce rivalry.  Thirty seconds in and Chris is the only other runner David can see and he struggles to keep up.  He runs, but something inside him refuses to give it his all.

After a sharp left they make a track of a department store.  Past the perfume stands and through the men's department, he winces he hurdles over a stand that had been knocked over, its pants scattered across the floor.  He can hear loud screams ahead, of both his company as well as disgruntled employees.  

“No running,” an angry lady commands from her stand.

One of the employees from the shoe department darts after David, scaring him into a brief sprint, but the man gives up after a dozen steps.  David stumbles as he dodges a collision with a woman holding a young girl, bringing down a discount rack of extra-large shirts.  Profanities follow and the child wails in unison.

The daily runs conditioned David for a healthy jog, but he understands what Chris meant when she said she liked 'real running.'  The overflowing adrenaline masks his dry throat and aching side.  Each and every unexpected turn tests his legs, pushing them to move in new ways.  Fear—not of loss but of stopping—pushes him through the pain and keeps him running.  He starts to give it his all, but despite his added efforts he can only follow at Chris’s pace.

Five minutes in and he finishes his track through a second department store.  He’s already made up his mind to see it through to the end.  His competitive spirit burns in full force.  He’s determined not to come in last.  Chris outpaces him on the turns—a benefit of knowing where to run—but he is confident in his superior speed.  Her long legs make her fast, but David can tell that she isn't a veteran sprinter or a seasoned marathon runner.  It’s a matter of pride now.  He can’t lose.

He makes an attempt to close the gap as they exit the store.  He comes into arms reach of her and she cuts to the right.  As they dart down the hall towards a set of glass doors, a chubby security guard springs from behind a group of vending machines.  He misses tackling her body but grips onto her leg bringing her to the ground.  Blindsided by the surprise assault, David continues to run despite the collapsed man in his path.  He leaps over the mess of bodies, but as his left foot comes down he lands on top of the guard's arm.  He stumbles, jars his ankle, and regains his balance after three hops.  The guard cries out in pain and Chris takes the opportunity to make her escape.

He loses the race to a young woman two inches taller than him.  While he believes her to be in her early twenties he is later shocked to learn that she is thirty one.  Although her face shows some signs of aging she carries herself with a youthful spirit that rebels against authority.  Her eyes, a turbulent blue, draw him in, reminding him of when he still spoke phrases such as ‘when I grow up’ or ‘I’ll never be like that.’

James transports the five tired runners to an Italian restaurant for dinner.  A line of people craws out the interior, birthed from the hostess stand where an older gentleman takes names.  Matt leads the way, walking past the lobby and through a closed door to the right of the kitchen.  There a woman greets him and sits the party at a private table.

“It’s almost as though you own the place,” David says while making sure to claim the seat beside Chris.

“He does,” the boy named Bob replies in an arrogant grunt.

After everyone has sat and drinks have been served, Matt raises his glass of silt laden Chianti towards David.  “I propose a toast to our newest accomplice.”

Chris lifts her pint of homebrewed ale and shoves it in David’s face.  “To David.”

“Thanks, I guess,” he says over his water with extra lemon.

The slender woman slams her half empty mug against the white tablecloth.  She smiles at David and asks, “What you think?”

“Wow, um.”  David taps two fingers against the table.  “Not what I expected, not at all.  I mean, I run just about every day, but never like that.”

“You see, Dave.”  Matt points his right index finger at him.  “Man is born to run.  Take toddlers for example.  Not long after they learn to walk they are running all over the place.”

“Not this speech again,” the boy grumbles.

Chris slaps him across the back.  “Quiet Bobo.”

“Small children love to run,” Matt continues.  “It's not like they learn it from their parents.  I guarantee that most people out there haven't run in years.  No, it's something ingrained in our nature.  It's society that tells us to walk.  The older that kids get the less they run.  Remember the times when you would play tag?”

“Well, uh,” David stammers.

“Been a while, right?  Most do only as they've learned thinking it's just the nature of things, but not us.  We know better.  We understand that there is more to life than following a set course.”

David nods.  “Makes sense when you put it that way.”

“We've gotten together nearly every Saturday for the past two years with one purpose in mind—to run where we're told to walk.  Some of what we've done would be considered illegal.  I've served my time for the disruption of peace.  Bob's spent a night in county for trespassing.  They caught Chris on jay walking—walking?”  They all chuckle. “—but that's the price you pay for freedom.  We run because it's in our blood, Dave.  Now tell me, is it in you?”

The next Monday morning David sleeps in an hour later than usual.  He sets his alarm for the same time, but when the time comes to confront the day he sets a new time thirty minutes later.  Making a habit to run every morning was something special that set him apart from all the lazy people who waited until the last second before they got up, but those thirty minutes of extra sleep permeated his being and felt better than the four hundred before.  So he sleeps another thirty, then eight more and another eight after that.  By the time he rises out of bed he has realized that all the small things that compose his morning routine are so fragile.  One decision, one choice to sleep in, and they all are lost.

On Wednesday morning David wakes to the buzz of his doorbell at seven o' five.  Like the two days before his first desire is for more sleep, but this annoying sound won’t go away with a push of a button.

“Oh god...”  He grumbles as he looks through the shades of his front window.  In a red shirt with dusty blue jeans Chris stands smiling on his porch.  “Be right there.”

“What took you so long?” she asks as she let herself in.

“How did you know where I live?”  He rushes to remove a plastic wrapper from his otherwise immaculate couch.

“Same way that I knew you ran every morning.”

“You're not stalking me are you?” A tinge of panic drips down his throat.

She laughs.  “You wish.  You know the house on the corner with the cherry-wood mailbox?”

“The one with the ugly scarecrow in the back?”

“Hey, it’s not ugly...  is it?” she voices some doubt.

“Yeah... well...”  David's eyes trace her long slender calves as she takes a seat.

“I live there.  See, we've practically been neighbors for years and didn't know it.  I don't normally get up so early.  If anything I'll be going to sleep at seven, but if I am up very late I like trying to catch the sun rise.”  Chris rises to her feet and makes her way towards the kitchen.  David raises his hand and opens his mouth, but she continues just the same.  “Anyways, that’s how I first saw you.  I was waiting for the sun to rise and there you were running.  When Matt mentioned recruiting a new guy I immediately knew where to look.”  She opens the refrigerator and closes it after finding nothing of interest.  “I guess I could see it in your eyes while you ran that we were the same.”

“The same, huh?”  He scratches the back of his neck.  Her presence brings conflicting emotions.  As much as he hates uninvited guests making themselves at home, having her near gives him a mellow buzz, one part excitement and another part curiosity.

“You want to go get some food?  I'm starving.”

“Well I...”  He looks at her and then the clock.  Only a little over an hour before work starts.  She proceeds to make funny shapes with her mouth as he debates an answer.  “Why not?”

David takes a bite of his bacon.  A bit softer than he liked, it tastes alright.

“I love bacon,” Chris says as she devours her own plate.  With hers gone in a flash she starts eying David's two remaining pieces.  “There's something great about food that is half fat.”

“So tell me.”  He takes a sip of coffee while he frames his question.  “How come… no, why?”

“Why what?”

“Why the weekly rendezvous at an abandoned gas station?  Why the deliberate disregard for rules and regulations?”

Chris puts down her fork and stares into his eyes.  “You tell me.  You felt it didn't you?  The feeling of being free?”

“I don't know.  Maybe, but I don't know.”

“You know you didn't have to run back there.  You could have walked away while we all ran through on our own, but you didn't.  You want to know why I run with everyone?”  She lifts her fork, points at him and stabs into the yolk of her egg.  “Because I can't fly.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“If we had wings we'd use them to fly places instead of walk, but we don't.  All we got are a pair of legs—if we're lucky—and two arms.  I run because it’s the only way I can soar.”

“You and you're brother have an interesting view on things.”

“Matt's a great guy.  He's been looking after me since our parents passed away fourteen years ago.  When it all happened he was stuck taking charge of the family business.  You know we only had three restaurants then.  Now we have five.”

“That's very impressive.”

“When we were kids he used to talk about being a doctor.  Things were kind of forced upon him when he was still a senior in high school.  He created the running group four years ago with Jason.  It started as a bet to see who could get to their car first from the middle of a store.  The next day Jason came to Matt with this idea of racing through the mall—same mall we ran in, but a different course—and things started from there.  I was their first recruit.  James worked as a waiter for us and he later brought his cousin Pete, the guy you replaced.”

“Replaced, huh?”

“Yeah well... oh and can't forget Bob.  He just sort of invited himself.  We were running through a skate park and piled into the van like always when Jason noticed that some kid had taken his seat.  No one knows why exactly, but he saw us running and felt like coming along.  Matt got such a kick out of it he instantly made him an honorary member of the team.”

“No kidding.  Where'd the name Bob come from anyways?”

“Beats me.”  She lets out a big yawn.  “Man, how do you get up this early?”

“Practice?”

“So,” Chris tilts her head to the left.  “My turn to ask you some deep meaningful question.”

“Sure, that is only fair.”  His hair stood on end he tried to figure out what she could possibly want to know.

Her eyes returned to his bacon.  “You going to finish those?”

David laughed and pushed his plate over.  “Is that it?”

“Nah.  I don't actually have anything to ask.  I'd ask if you're going to show next Saturday but I already know the answer.”

“Psychic now, huh?”

“You'll be there.  I know.  You're just like me after all.  You want to fly with those broken wings you've got.”

They sit in the front row just off of third base.  From there David can see the players as people.  Although only minor leaguers, they look ready to give it their all.  He hasn't been to a baseball game since his dad moved, but the sounds and smells of the field wake fond memories of his youth.  His dad would try to take David to a game once a month.  They would go with some of his dad’s friends from work and their sons.  The others got into the sport like an addiction, but David never understood Baseball; he just liked the time it provided for him to be with his father.

Matt hands a hotdog to Jason and approaches David.  He places his right hand on his shoulder and squeezes.  “I know something inside of you is telling you to hold back.  I know because I hear that same voice telling me to step back.  It's the voice mediocrity placed by the world to keep us from being something.  You see, Dave, if everyone were to break free then the world would collapse into anarchy.  Most will never escape from the inhibitions holding them back, but ask yourself, are you the same as everyone else?”

David watches in the corner of his eye as the batter swings missing for the second time.  A full count, one more strike until it begins.  He puts on his mask and fits his baseball cap on top.

“I can't tell you to go out there with us just like I can't tell you that you are something that you are not.  The choice is yours to make.”

David nods his head.

“Alright!”  Bob screams out loud.  He bounces up and down in preparation.  “Strike him out already.”

Chris leans over to whisper.  “Win this and I might just have to treat you to dinner some night.”

He turns to face her but she has already moved into position against the railing.  He approaches the wall, his legs tense and ready to fire.  The pitcher throws a loose sinker and the batter swings.  The umpire calls strike three.  David leaps from the stands and falls five feet before hitting the ground.  He stumbles, as do they all, but is quick to recover.  The crowd roars in excitement, not for the pivotal out that the pitcher just threw, but for the five runners that take the field.

David had vowed to win this time.  He was tired of coming in last.  Back in high school he made it to the cross country state championship.  He was the best runner on his team, but when the day came to prove his worth he came in dead last.  He blamed it on an upset stomach.  His coach blamed it on the pressure.  It crushed him.  Not this time, he recites.  Each step he takes is forced and thought through.  He presses on feeling both Matt and Jason breathing down his neck.

The pitcher laughs as he watches the strange spectacle.  Many of the players are still on the field, but none of them care enough to get in the way.  The suddenness blindsides even those whose jobs are at stake.  The five runners cross first base before there is any other movement, but then, as if some sort of magic spell has been cast, crowds of people pour into the diamond.

David rounds second, still in the lead; he takes notice of a mob of reaching arms approaching from the third base side.  He hesitates but then observes that the movement centered beyond the third base.  The mob is closer but he is faster.  Like racing a wave he presses on to touch the bag before the path is forever washed away.  David cuts hard to the left, just nipping the rim of the bag, and sprints home free.  The mass of fans come to a halt turning their attention to the ground where scattered green papers lie.  

David stomps his foot against home base; victory at last.  His celebration is cut short and the ocean of people devours him.  He loses control of where he goes and is at the mercy of the torrents of feet and arms.  The next thing he knows he is pushed to the first base side of the field.  He discreetly discards his mask and hat to avoid suspicion and climbs back into the stadium bleachers.

David doesn't look back for anyone else's whereabouts.  Instead he walks away feeling like he had entered another world.  It isn't until he reaches the van that he notices how much his chest hurt.  There he finds Matt and Jason waiting.

“You alright?” Jason voices some concern.

“Yeah why?” he asks.

“Nice one.”  Matt raises his fist and taps himself on his right cheek.

Jason points at the van’s dark windows.  “Take a look at yourself.”

“Huh.”  David rubs his left eye tenderly where a big black bruise has grown.  “When did I get that?”

“Now that was fun!”  Chris screams out as she jumps into the side of the van.  “I haven't felt this pumped... well damn do I feel good.”  She grabs David by the shirt and forces a kiss on his cheek.  He moves in to return the favor but is shoved away as her attention turns to Matt.

“We got everybody?”  Matt asks as he hopped into his seat.

“Looks like it,” James replies.  “No wait, were missing Bob.”

“He’s always the one caught,” Chris comments.

“Fire it up James,” Matt commands.

“Are you just going to leave him?” David asks.

“I’m sure we’ll see Bob again.  This wouldn’t be the first time for him not to make it.  Oh, and good job there, Dave.  You gave it your all.”

“So what caused all the people to run in like that?”

Jason hands him a thin stack of green paper.  He looks at it closely.  Money, mostly ones, but mixed in were larger valued bills that looked out of place.

“Million dollar bills, huh?”  David shakes his head.  “Classy.”

David looks out through his window to see Chris standing on his porch wearing a tiny blue dress.  In her right hand she holds onto a large red cooler.

“C-come in.”  He stumbles as he looks down at his collared shirt and dusty gray jeans.  “You look nice, too nice.”

She smiles and dashes for the kitchen with the cooler.

“I mean it.  I feel under-dressed now.”

“Don't worry about it,” she says.  “A girl's allowed to get all dressed up every now and then.  You look good enough.”

“Sure.  Thanks.”  He nods.  “So where do you want to go?”

Chris opens the cooler and pulls out a tray of uncooked lasagna.  She grabs a pinch of cheese and puts it in her mouth.  “Your oven work?”

“Yeah.  You make that yourself?”

“Uh huh.”  She plays with the dials until she finds the right settings.  “My mother's recipe.  All the recipes at Bianchi's were originally hers.  She always did like to cook.  It's why my dad started the restaurant.”

“That's pretty cool.  My father never did much of anything for me or my mom.  He always worked and those few hours when he was home he spent alone in his room.  Only time I ever saw him was when he took us out for Sunday brunch.”

“Most dads are like that.”  Chris put the glass dish in the oven and left it to cook.  “There we go.  Should be done in an hour.”

“So what do you want to do in the meanwhile?”  David sits at the kitchen table.

“What would you be doing if I hadn't stopped by?”  She asks, taking the seat opposite of him.

“Not much to be honest.”

“I know what we can do.”  Her posture straightens and her eyes grow wider as she speaks.  “Let's sit here without talking... and wait.”

“Sure why not?”  He laughs.

“No, I'm serious.  There's a lot you can learn about a person by watching.”  Her eyes zone in on him as though they could capture the moment alive.  “Just by looking and being nearby.”

“You are an odd fish.  Should call you odd fish Chris.”

She smiles.  “Did you know you talk out of the right side of your mouth more than your left?  It's kind of silly looking.”

“I do?”

She doesn't answer.

“Did you know I used to be a star athlete?”

She shakes her head.

“I once did five kilometers in fourteen minutes.  It was practice and didn't count for anything, and the coach probably botched the time slightly, but I'm pretty sure I did it.  Funny thing is at states that year I couldn't even pass the fifteen minute mark.”

She opens her mouth as though in shock.

“After that I gave up on ever being able to go any faster.  I just conceded that from that point on I'd be getting slower and slower as the years go by.  Instead of trying and fight it I took the attitude that I'd be doing myself a favor if I just ran at my own leisure—that as long as I ran at my own pace I could be proud.”

She frowns.

“Anyways.  After running into you I don't want to run at my own pace anymore.”

She pushes herself out of the chair.  “Then who's pace do you want to run at?” 

“Yours?”

She shakes her head and walks away.  The front door creaks open and slams shut.  David eyes the timer on the oven and waits in confusion.  She doesn’t return.

Chris says nothing as David enters the van.  She sits in the back where Jason normally sat.  Jason didn't show.

“It tasted good by the way.”  David says.

“I bet it did,” Bob jokes.

James starts the van as Matt begins his typical speech.  “Everyone ready for an intense time?  I doubt we can match last week's experience.  That was something else.”

“So where is Jason?”  David asks.

“He couldn't make it,” he answers with a glare.  “He'll be back next week.”

“So where are we running this week?”

“The block run.  Bob, explain it to him.”

“It's basic.  We start in the middle of the city.  When the light turns green you go.  You run four blocks down, take a right, run another four, take a left, four more—pretty much make a figure eight crossing thirty streets in all.”

“So what about the traffic?”

“Once you start running,” Matt says.  “You keep running until the race is over.”

“Don't worry,” Bob mumbles.  “They usually stop.”

James drops them off at the corner of fourth and main.  A light drizzle falls from the overcast sky, adding to the musty city stench.

Matt pats David on the back.  “I hope you brought your best tonight.  With Jason gone I'll need you to give me a challenge.”

“I'll try my best.”

The light turns red.

“You ready?”  He asks Chris.

“Don't worry about me,” she snarls.  “See if you can keep up with my pace.”

“Yeah about that...”

She points to the parallel, yellow lights.

“Fine.  I got it.  Let’s race.”

The lights turn green.  They take off.  A small two door car speeds through the red light.  Matt sees it first and jumps aside bringing Bob along with him.  The tires skid as the driver hits the brakes.  It slows.  The front of the car smashes into Chris's legs slamming her against David and then the pavement.  The vehicle comes to a halt; its front right wheel rests on the bone of Chris's left ankle.

“Damn it!”  Matt screams out in anguish.  He rushes to his sister to find her shaking on the street.

“Get the car off her.”  David yells as he picks himself back up.  He is bruised; Chris had absorbed most of the impact.

“Oh god,” she moans.  Her lip curls in pain.

The driver of the car, an elderly woman with a hunched frame, climbs out to see what had happened.

“Back in the damn car!”  Matt screams in a zealous rage.  “And back it off of her.”

The woman returns to her car as demanded, but she does not back up.  Frightened for her life, she slams on the gas twisting the wheels of the car forward and into the flesh of Chris's leg.  Matt punches his fist in rage against the side window of the woman's car.  The first wheel passes over splintering Chris’s left ankle.  As the car continues David grabs her beneath her arms and pulls her with all his might out of the vehicles path.  The lady swerves leftward and the rear wheel misses.  The woman speeds away in a flash of smoke and horns.

“Get back here you bitch.”  Bob yells as he chases down the road after the car.

Matt turns his attention to his sister and David whom holds her in his arms.

“Yeah, were going to need an ambulance.”  Matt speaks into his phone.  Tears lash out as Matt looks at the mess that was once Chris's left leg.   “Hit and run at fourth and main.”

“I'm sorry Chris,” David whispers.  “I'm sorry.”

David sets flowers by the many other potted plants and get-well gifts, most of which came from employees of Bianchi's.

“They are lovely,” Chris says.  Her left leg hangs, suspended in a cast.  “You mind watering my other plants while you're over there?”

“Not at all.”  He speaks in dull-voiced whispers.

“You still running every day?” She asks.

“Nah.  Haven't felt like it.”  He finds an empty glass and fills it half full.

“Well you should.”  She pauses.  “Did I tell you I started running because of you?”

“What?”

“Yeah, it was after another all-nighter.  I was sitting in my room watching the sun rise and you came running by with the biggest smile on your face.  You got me wondering what was so fun about doing something so hard.  Later that day I went outside and tried to run around the block.  I got to the end of the street before giving up.  I felt like I was going to die.  I told myself I was crazy, but as I walked on back home I started running again without thinking.  It hurt so bad that I couldn't breathe, but I couldn't stop running.”

“I'm sorry.”  His voice quivers.  “I'm sorry Chris.”

She shakes her head and gives him a big smile.  “Don't be.”

“But they say you won't be able to run any longer.”

“Since when has that stopped me?”  She grins and lets out a hearty laugh to mask the tears.

David smiles as he stares into her vibrant eyes.  “We’ve made it this far without wings.  What’s a busted leg or two?  I’ll keep running as long as my legs will carry me, so you better get better soon.  Otherwise you won’t be able to keep up.”