Fall, 2012
Jay Haagensen was sometimes frightened by crowds of people swarming around him. The throngs at the London Olympics were no exception. Never mind that they only wanted to congratulate him on his record-breaking 1500 meter and 5000-meter races. He had come to see the Olympic crowds the same way he saw a cold shower after a hard, hot run. He would stand at the edge, bracing himself, knowing, that once past the shock of heart stopping, heart pounding immersion, there would be a physical pleasure, sensual in its caresses. Sometimes, he simply closed his eyes, raised both arms, and let the spectators’ cheers and applause pour over his skin, shivering in response.
A part of what worried him was the way large groups of people smelled when they were close.
The US Olympic Team arrived back in the United States on August 15, the weekend after the closing ceremonies for the London Olympics. A gala welcoming celebration was held at the JFK International Airport. Fans cheered the entire US Team, and the gold medal winners were feted with a reception usually seen only for popular music stars. When New York Mayor, Michael Bloomberg, called Jay’s name on stage at the reception, Jay repeated what had come to be his standard response. He reached behind his head, grabbed one purple ribbon in each hand, and pulled the attached gold medals from under his shirt, his head bowed, his eyes closed, as Nike, the Goddess of Victory, dangled over his head.
Usually, Jay didn’t stop as reporters called his name, but the woman from the Raleigh News & Observer was attractive. He’d talk with her. “Welcome home, Jay Haagenson,” she started. “The State of North Carolina must look forward to your coming home, really home, home to where you were raised. I understand that your home state plans to give you a warm welcome with a big reception at your alma mater tomorrow.
“So, I have been told,” Jay responded. “And when that’s over, I’m getting away from all this. I’ve had enough. You know? Back to the isolation of Ocracoke for me.”
“Our paper has already talked to your father. He says he’s proud of you and that he expects that you’ll work with him on his fishing boat this summer.”
Jay looked toward Coach Blackwell, nodded, and then turned to the reporter. “I’m surprised he talked to you. But yes. I look forward to getting out on the water with him.”
“He said that you were a swimmer before you were a runner.”
Jay laughed. He seemed to be looking at the crowd on the other side of the gate. After a pause, he replied, “A swimmer? Yeah. All the children born on Ocracoke learn to swim about the same time they learn to walk. Now, you need to excuse me. I am supposed to have pictures taken with the others.”
“One more, Jay.” The reporter stepped in front of him. “Did your father encourage you to run when you were a boy?”
“I ran because I could. That’s all. While I went to school in Mann’s Harbor, I wanted to do something so that when people pointed to me, they wouldn’t always say, ‘That’s Jay. He’s from the Island.’ So, I ran.” Jay paused, looking past the reporter. “I ran fast, and everybody knew me that way, as a runner. And, if you don’t mind, I need to run now.”
The reporter called after him, “Jay, is that why you are so fast? You ran away from Ocracoke? I heard that you run away from interviews, too!”
Jay stopped and turned back to the reporter. “You can write this. I love Ocracoke. I loved growing up there. The reason I am fast is because of my Coach.” He pointed to Coach Blackwell who was standing nearby. “I could never have run as fast without the guidance and ...” He paused. “… and without the special attention Coach Blackwell gave me. As you know, Blackwell has a history of producing Olympians. Now, he has …” Jay paused again, stumbling for words. “… he has been rather insistent that I go on and accept an offer at the University of Montana. I could stay in Chapel Hill, study biology, and stay in Blackwell’s …,” he paused again. “Stay in Blackwell’s pack. But I need new challenges. Write that. Write that Jay Haagenson says that he has an appetite for new challenges and new blood.” Jay looked over to Blackwell. A touch of a smile was on his face. With all the commotion in the room, maybe the reporter was the only one to hear what Jay said as he looked toward Blackwell, “Yeah. I said that. New blood.” He winked at the reporter and turned away.
The Raleigh reporter wrote that Jay wanted new challenges. And she wrote that Jay Haagensen was considered a loner by the others on the US Olympic team. His reputation was that he partied as hard as any of them during the Olympics, especially during the days after his run, but he always left early. Sometimes, he was away from the Olympic Village past midnight. After his record setting runs, he was often out all night, showing up at the hotel in London only a little before dawn. The rumor was that a car picked him up about two blocks from the Olympic Village. An unsubstantiated report said that the car had been followed three times, each time into the London suburbs where Jay and a girl walked away, disappearing into one of the suburban parks that dotted the outskirts of the city.
As soon as Jay arrived in the Raleigh Airport terminal, he saw the two men in dark suits and ear plugs. He turned and tried to walk the other way, but they called his name. He sighed, shrugged, and turned.
“Mark Johnson from the Governor’s office,” the older one said as he extended his hand. “Welcome home. The Governor and some people from your home state want to greet you.”
“My father is meeting me here.”
“So is Governor Bev Perdue. She and some of your fans want to express their admiration for what you did for our state over in London.”
Jay had no choice but to make a scene or to turn and go with the two North Carolina State Police. He shook hands with a delegation from the Governor’s office and waved to what appeared to be a collection of North Carolina students. Coach Blackwell was standing with the Governor.
The celebration on campus that weekend was held in Memorial Hall. University President Holden Thorp introduced Coach Blackwell who in turn introduced Jay.
Jay had waved to the warm reception and watched the videos of his winning races in London with the crowd. When asked to respond to the calls from the audience, he stepped before the microphone and thanked the University for giving him the opportunity and Blackwell for all that he had done. He went on, “I’ll continue with graduate studies at the University of Montana. After I graduate there, I’ll get a job,” he responded to a question about his plans. He turned to Coach Blackwell, smiled, and said, “I’ll be back the year before Rio to work with my coach.”
Coach Blackwell joined with the audience in applauding this response, shook hands with Jay, and they both started walking off the stage. One reported called out, asking Jay if his girlfriend was going to Montana with him. He gave a thumbs-up and pointed to her in the audience. Blackwell draped his arm around Jay’s shoulder as the two of them walked off stage.
A picture of Jay and the girl appeared on the front page of the Raleigh Times, both getting in a car after the reception. The car had a Hyde County tag, the county in which Ocracoke is located.
The next day, a phone call to the Lighthouse Bar and Grill in Ocracoke by a student on the staff of Chapel Hill’s Daily Tarheel confirmed that Jay and his father had arrived on the island. “Was the girl with them?” the reporter asked.
“None of your business,” was the last response the Lighthouse bartender gave the reporter.
For privacy, it might have been better for Jay and Dee to give in, to allow pictures and a completely boring interview on the Island. But inexperience led him to think that a demand for privacy would get privacy. Instead, a collection of pictures obviously taken with a telephoto lens, appeared in the Daily Tarheel. Others bordering on indecency appeared on the internet. What could have been simply a week on the island for a young couple sunbathing, fishing, and relaxing became a week of harassment for an Olympic star and what seemed to be an increasing contest for who could get the most exciting picture of Jay, and especially of Jay and his girl together.
The last picture and interview with Jay and Dee happened as they were crossing the ferry on their way west. The two of them had been leaning on the ferry’s rail almost as soon as it pushed away from the dock. He saw the reporter coming up and, without looking up, spoke first. “Shove off!”
The student shook his head. “Jay. I’m just a lowly journalism student, wanting to make a good grade in my class. Please talk to me. It’ll be worth five points on my final grade.”
Jay looked over toward the student, and then back to Dee. She whispered something in his ear. Jay snorted, turned, and leaned back on the rail. “How many points did you get for that picture posted all over the internet of me naked?”
“I swear I didn’t do that.”
“She says that we shouldn’t talk to you unless you strip right here.” Jay looked to Dee. She nodded.
“Come on,” the student begged. “Are you headed west now?”
Jay took a deep breath. “Because you are a student … like me … and because we really know who took the picture, I will allow two questions. But only two. Yes. We are leaving for Montana. And, don’t ask where we’re staying tonight, mostly cause we don’t know. Somewhere around Nashville, I’d guess.”
The student pulled out a pad and made a note. “Just one more question?”
Jay wrapped his fingers on the rail, drumming out a beat. “I assume you don’t want that to be your second question.”
A grin spread across the student’s face. “No. Let me think.” He paused, looked out toward the water, then turned back. “We know you’re going to run in Rio, and, …” He nodded toward Dee. “it looks like Dee is going with you. How about this: What are you going to do with a degree in biology, or are you going to go to med school?”
“Wildlife biology. I’m not going to end up working all day, every day, in some building. I plan to be in the field all my life.” Jay turned back toward the water. “Now, shove off.”
“One more picture?”
Neither Jay nor Dee turned back.
They didn’t see the reporter until two hours later when they were coming off the ferry at the Swan Quarter landing. He was standing beside a Harley Motorcycle and took a picture as they left the ramp. He waved. Neither of them did, though Dee turned her head, watching him as they drove away. “I wonder if he tastes like chicken.” It was hardly more than a whisper.
Jay accelerated up the street into the small community. He didn’t turn his head from the road. “You know, sometimes, you scare me.”
Jay drove hard and fast all day, stopping for a midmorning second breakfast, and midafternoon for lunch. East of Nashville, they stopped at the Mount Juliet Steakhouse. Dee was cross. She had complained all day, wondering what the rush was all about. When she wasn’t sleeping or poking some of Jay’s CD’s into the audio system, she simply watched the landscape go by.
“How much longer is this going to last, Runner?” she asked after the waitress took their order.
“We’re going to cross the Mississippi River tonight.”
“Do you realize where we are?”
“East of Nashville?”
For a while Dee sat silently. “You planning to get to Montana tomorrow?”
Jay laughed, got up, and headed to the bathroom. When he got back, Dee was eating. His steak looked good – barely seared.
“You’d better phone ahead for some campground,” Dee said without looking up. “Lots of these places close their gates at night.”
Jay paused, waited, then, “I know about you and campgrounds.” It was a statement. Not a question. He watched her continue to eat for a moment. “We’re staying in a motel tonight.”
She turned away from him. “You’d better get a room with two beds.”
They crossed the Mississippi River at a little after one o’clock. A little west of the river, there was a small, one-story motel that advertised that they were open all night. That’s where they spent their first night on their way to Missoula, Montana.
They drove through the plains of Kansas late the next morning, the windows open, the smells of summer wheat swirling in and out of the brassy little VW. The hot wind whipped wisps of lose curls about Dee’s face. Trying to hold that black tangle with a clasp at the back of her neck had been futile.
For most of the morning, Dee had slept with the bucket seat tilted back as far as it would go. Close to noon, Jay glanced toward her and reached over, rubbing the back of his hand over her smooth, bare skin, pushing a finger under the middle of the brief halter. “Are you still pissed with me?”
Dee turned her head toward him, her nose twitching, her eyes still closed. “Is that a wolf’s paw?” It was only a whisper, maybe not even audible over the wind’s thrashing through the car. She put her right hand over his palm and then caressed his forearm. “Better,” she smiled. “The hairy arm of a hungry man.”
Jay pursed his lips, his eyes shifting right and left across the interstate highway. “No place to stop here. Later. Always later. One of these days … .”
Jay had been known as a fast runner even in his high school years. He was one of several outstanding trackmen at the university. Students and faculty on the University of North Carolina campus who knew him knew that he had changed in the year before the Olympics. It was more than a change in bodily appearance with a sharply defined musculature and a hirsute appearance. He had started appearing with a quarter inch stubble over his face as well as his head, all kept short by an electric razor set to make a uniform cut. “Cutting down wind resistance,” he told the sports writers. The press didn’t believe that. After all, he had won the regional races at 1500 and at 5000 meters handily with what had been his characteristic ponytail swishing across his back.
There was an aggressiveness that came with his maturing. The aggressiveness stoked concerns that he might be using performance enhancement drugs or testosterone injections. These concerns were dismissed with repeated blood tests administered under the US Olympic Committee’s sanctions.
Yet even Ralph Haagensen was surprised at how his son had changed. The trip to attend Jay’s graduation was Haagensen’s second visit to Chapel Hill. The first trip to the University had been to carry nearly everything Jay owned as he enrolled as a freshman. The older Haagensen’s discomfort on the campus started when he and Jay were at the orientation program for parents and students; the man sitting next to them had asked which college his son was entering. Haagensen answered, “The University of North Carolina.” For a moment there had been an embarrassed silence, then a smile, a nod, and that was the end of the conversation. Jay whispered to his dad, “The College of Arts and Sciences, Papa.”
If it had been up to the father, Jay would have stayed on the island, never gone to the University. He would have become a partner on the fishing boat. The older Haagensen never felt comfortable with people on the mainland of North Carolina and, after several incidents during that original visit to Chapel Hill, he swore again that the island was where he planned to stay. Let Jay visit him, he thought. And Jay did come home every summer and every holiday until Christmas in his senior year. “Coach wants me to stay at school,” Jay had said at Thanksgiving that year. “He wants me to put the books aside next semester and run. All semester, I’ll run. And race. Coach says that I might stand a chance to run in the Olympics if I train hard … if I’m willing to train like he tells me.”
His father had looked up from his breakfast coffee, surprised. “What happens about graduation and your scholarship?” he asked.
“PE, Papa. Maybe I’ll get a degree in PE. Physical education, ‘stead of biology if it becomes too much. And coach is putting me up,” Jay answered. For a moment, his father glared at him, and then Jay told his father that Coach Blackwell had trained five Olympians, that it was an honor to be considered.
“You can’t get no job running. I’ll tell you that. You’d better stay in that biology stuff and keep your nose in the books, else you gonna find yourself back here working on this boat.” The older Haagensen pushed up from the table, walked over to the stove, and refilled his coffee cup. He kept on talking without turning back toward Jay. “How you gonna git a job or git into medical school? Or, veterinary school, if that’s what you want? I’m letting you go to school over there instead of putting you to work on my boat. I want you can get yourself a good job and make something out of yourself. I ain’t counting on you spending your time running around.” He turned back to the table where Jay was sitting. “And living with some coach.”
“I’m not living with some coach!” Jay had raised his voice. Then, in a moment and quieter, “Papa, listen to me. Coach Blackwell has a cabin between Durham and Chapel Hill. The track team has been staying there on weekends. Training. Now, he wants me to prepare for the national trials and, maybe go to London. The Olympics, Papa. Do you know what that means, what that would be like? Coach thinks I can. He wants me to run.”
“He wants you to run? Well, what about what I want? I’m the one who has gotten everything I own hocked to that damn bank up there on Hatteras. This house and that boat out there,” he raised his arm, pointing toward the dock. “All that so you can go to school. School, damn it! What is that damn coach gonna do for you? I’m the one up to my ass in debt! I want you to finish and git a job!”
“I know what you’ve done, Papa. And I’m going to finish. I’ll graduate on schedule.” Jay got up, walked to the screen door, and looked down the pier toward his Papa’s fishing boat bobbing in the wake of a passing yacht. He turned back, his voice louder now. “Did you hear me? I’ll graduate. In physical education if I need to. Okay? All those biology courses are in my record. School won’t be over.” He paused, turned back toward the pier. Then, quieter, “I’m thinking I’ll get a masters and stay in biology. If I am good enough, and Coach thinks I am, then, he says I can get in a graduate program anywhere.” Jay turned back to his father. “Papa, I have to try. If I don’t do it now, I’ll never get a chance.”
“You get all this running from your mother’s people,” his father shook his head. “She birthed you right over there on that bed,” he nodded toward a single bed lying at the corner of the screen porch. “Didn’t hang around to nurse you ‘fore she ran. Yeah. She wanted to run, too. And she damn well did.”
Jay had heard the story for as far back as he could remember. And as far as he knew, there had never been another woman in that bed or any other with his father.
“Look at me, Boy.” Jay turned back to his father. “Haagensens have been on this island for four generations, not counting you. My daddy, your granddaddy, and his daddy. Your granddaddy said that you are his youngest brother come back. The spitting image. The 1942 storm took that boy.” He paused, waiting for Jay to answer. When he didn’t his father turned away. “Maybe I should of kept you here.”
Jay heard the icebox door open.
“You get enough breakfast?” his father called.
Jay didn’t answer. He walked out onto the pier. The tide was low. He’d row out to the wreck where the warm Gulf Stream tangled with the fresh water coming off the mainland.
Jay had no memory of learning to swim. He swam before he walked. His earliest memories in the water were of paddling on the top, sticking his head under and watching his father swimming around one wreck or another, spearing a red snapper or a flounder for their supper. When he got older, his father threw pennies overboard and laughed as Jay slid over the side, diving over and over into the shallow waters of Pamlico Sound. Nearly four years old: that’s how old he was when he would come up with a handful of coins that his papa let him use for ice cream. He was twelve when he first came up with a fish on the end of the small spear his father made for him.
His father taught him to read and to count, but Jay didn’t to go to school until he was eight years old. Nobody seemed to care about one more fisher boy working on the family’s boat. After Jay kept talking about what was in his books, his father took him to Manns Harbor on the mainland and started him in a boarding school. To pay for the boarding school, Ralph Haagensen made a weekly delivery of two hundred pounds of fish. Young Jay was at the dock at sunset every Friday evening when his father got there. He never brought books back to Ocracoke, clothes either except for what he was wearing. The boarding school did his laundry, and they seemed to feed him enough.
During the warm months, Jay would dive off the side of the boat as it approached his father’s pier. His father would shut off the motor and watch as his son swam to the beach, and then turn, running south toward the end of the narrow island.
Jay came home with his long hair hacked short the first Friday of his third year at the boarding school. Ralph watched Jay as they crossed the sound toward Oracoke. He didn’t ask what he feared had happened and he didn’t ask about the bruise under Jay’s left eye. After supper that night, Jay’s brought scissors to his father and asked him to fix it. “They called me a wild boy,” was what he said. His father held Jay’s head with his left hand and clipped the best haircut he could. When he was satisfied, he brushed the hair off Jay’s back.
“Did you get a lick?”
Jay turned to his father, his eyes shifting back and forth across his father’s face, seeming to remember. Finally, he balled his fist, turned and walked away. “One good one,” he called, his voice quivering.
“Go for two next time!” his father laughed.
Jay continued to run on the beach when he came in on Friday evenings, barefoot and in his father’s sweat shirt when it turned cold. Running was the way Jay gained respect, first from the high school coach, then from the track team, and finally from his classmates. His success in the regional track competitions attracted the attention of the track coaches at the University of North Carolina. All that launched him on the way to the Olympics and two gold medals. He would keep running and racing. And he now knew what Dee and Coach Blackwell knew: he could choose to run in Rio; and if he did, It was a sure thing that he’s take gold again.
Before he left for the London Olympics, Dee told him that she would go to Missoula with him. “I’ll go. But you know what I am,” she said. “And what you are.”
Jay nodded.
“No two-car garage and three kids playing in our front yard,” she said.
“We’ll get a place, raise some animals, I’ll study and run. After Rio, … . Well, I’ve done my homework. Come with me and we’ll shoot for four high intensity years and then retire to some place in the woods.”
She laughed. “That’s your dream, Runner. And how long will this dream last?”
“How about a job as a research biologist with the National Park Service? I’ll make that my dream after Rio!”
Their dream was unfolding. Jay and Dee were on their way to Missoula, Montana and it was close to time for lunch.
“No place to stop here,” Jay had called over the wind. “But there’s a Cracker Barrel in ten miles. That growling you hear is my belly.” He looked over at Dee, again. Her eyes were open now. “You make me hungry for food, too.”
Dee sat up and, reaching down, pulled the back of the seat upright. “Cracker Barrel. We stopped at one of those in Tennessee yesterday.” She pushed the button on the car door next to her, sending the window sliding up. “I guess if we came to a Fish N Chips you’d stop there.”
Jay closed his window and flicked on the air conditioner. “The ones in the states don’t have the atmosphere like those in London.” He rubbed his hand over his chest. “We’ll need to put on more clothes before we go in.”
“Or you could park in the back of the place.”
“Miles to go, Dee. Miles to go. We need to eat.” He looked toward Dee again, his eyes were smiling. “We need to keep our strength up. Besides, sausage biscuits were six hours ago, and I need some coffee.”
Dee reached over and put her hand on his bare leg. Her little finger slid up under the edge of his khaki shorts. “You were the one who woke up in the middle of the night.”
“You smelled good to this human.” He laughed. “The dog in the next room last night near about had a fit.”
They spotted the tall sign advertising a Cracker Barrel only a little before the next exit. Dee looked at the map as they turn off the interstate highway and stopped at the overpass. “This looks like a country road. I’ll bet if we go on down the road, we can find a place to stop and go hunting.”
“Not a chance. Number one, the little furry creatures are all bedded down at this time of day and, number two, I’m hoping we can make seven hundred miles today. St. Louis slowed us down. We’re going to grab a bite at this place and hit the road.”
Dee undid her seat belt and turned. One of Jay’s shirts with a collar and his UNC TRACK tee shirt were on top of boxes of books and clothes. She had her sandals on by the time Jay pulled into a slot in third row of the Cracker Barrel parking lot. He reached over the middle console and cup holders for his sandals.
A dog tied under a crepe myrtle in the grassy area stood and strained at its leash to see them as they started walking toward the restaurant. When they got closer, the dog yelped and started running the other way, only to be snatched off its feet when he had gone as far as the leash would allow.
The dog tucked its tail, whined, and peed when he heard Dee. Jay snorted, “Don’t get the poor critter so excited!”
“Yeah? Talking about excited, don’t you see the little old ladies looking out the window at you.”
Jay slipped the tee shirt over his head.
“Anyway,” she went on. “That little mutt would have made a good appetizer.”
The blast of cold air hit them as they entered the sales room, causing Jay to have an urge to turn back, to feel the heat, to rip off his shirt again. The placed smelled of perfumed soap and hand cream.
“Seating for two?” the man at the restaurant door asked.
The room was crowded. Two men near the door were hunched over a barbeque beef plate. Mashed potatoes, cow gravy, corn bread, greens. They ate without looking up. The two of them smelled as though they had been around cattle. Jay and Dee passed three ladies who had come from a funeral; the chemicals lingering in their clothes. And there was the family, the older boy watching them as they approached. He whispered to his brother. Jay touched Dee’s arm. She took his hand. She had heard them, too. Jay looked back toward the door as the host pulled out Dee’s chair.
Jay lifted his nose, frowning. Then he saw the woman who had entered the restaurant was carrying a baby.
“Janice will be serving you,” the host said. “She will be with you in a moment.”
Jay touched the host’s arm, “Dudley, before you go … .” The host looked back, a smile on his face. He reached up and touched his nametag. “Yes, sir?”
“Two coffees. Black.”
“Yes, sir. I’ll tell Janice.”
As Dudley walked back up the aisle, the father in the family two tables away stopped him. Jay and Dee watched and listened. Even before Dudley got back to their table, Jay called to the father, “Sure. Send’em back.”
The oldest boy looked back toward Jay and Dee. Jay raised his thumb, giving consent. The boy turned to his brother, whispered, and they both got up. The mother in the family searched her purse. In a moment, she produced a pen.
“Is this why you like to eat in these kinds of places?” Dee asked. She had taken her sandals off and was running her foot up Jay’s leg, pushing her toes under his short pants leg.
Jay leaned toward Dee. “Stop it,” he whispered. He stood as the two boys came up. “You’re two runners. I could tell that when I first saw you. And you,” he slapped the older boy on the shoulder. “You’ve got bunched up leg muscles like a quarter miler. Am I right?”
“Yes, sir. On a good day, I can do 400 meters in less than a minute.”
“Good man. Keep it up.” Jay turned toward the younger brother. “You look like the making of a marathoner.”
“I’ve done a half. A junior tri, too.” The boy was shifting from one foot to the other, his hands shaking loosely, looking like he was waiting for the call to the line for a race.
“So. A sprinter and a long-distance man. How’d you two end up in the same family?”
They looked at each other, grinning. “Mama and daddy were on the track team for Kansas.”
“Really?” Jay looked back toward their parents. The dad nodded.
“Okay, your mom gave you a pen. What do you want me to sign?”
“Our shirts.”
“Your shirts!” Jay laughed.
The younger boy held out a pen and turned his back to Jay. Jay grabbed the younger boy’s shoulder. “Hold still. What’s your name?”
“Emanuel Tepper. Folks call me Manny.”
“Okay, Manny,” Jay whispered, “Right across your back.” He wrote
Long and fast, Manny.
Jay Haag.
2 Golds in London
The people next to Jay and Dee’s table had been paying attention and laughed as the older brother pulled his tee shirt over his head. So did the boy’s parents. Dee uttered a low, quiet growl. Jay grabbed the shirtless boy behind his neck. “You want it on your chest?”
The boy blushed. “No, sir.” He handed his shirt to Jay.
“I need a name.” Jay said as he spread the shirt on the table.
“Nathan,”
Jay bent and wrote.
Like the wind, Nathan.
Jay Haag.
400 m in 42.9.
He shook hands with them both. Then, he leaned forward and whispered to Nathan, “Put on your shirt before my friend here jumps you.” Nathan blushed again, looked toward Dee, and then backed up the aisle. He laughed, pulled his shirt on, and turned back to their table.
Jay was surprised that in the five or six tables around them, the people had been watching and applauded as the boys were walking back to their tables. Jay raised both hands in a wave.
The boy’s mom and dad leaned toward them, getting a full recounting for what happened and who said what.
“You like it, don’t you?” Dee asked after the waitress brought their lunch.
Jay didn’t answer.
“You remember that the second thing Blackwell said to me after he told me your name was that some pole dancer at a bar out in Carrboro had called you up on the stage and got you out of your shirt right away.”
Jay looked up, then went back to eating.
“And, that you put on your shy façade and wouldn’t even say if you wore boxers or briefs.”
“You remember the damnedest things,” Jay answered. “And why are you bringing that up again. Besides, back then, it might have been neither!”
“Yeah, but you were young and so innocent back then!” Dee laughed. “The creature who is now sitting across the table from me would have ravaged her right there on stage.”
“Is that what you want? Here? I saw you. You were salivating for that older boy.” Jay put his fork down. “Eat. We need to get on the road.”
Dee drove through Topeka, Junction City, and Salina. “I hate cities,” Jay said as he pulled up from his long nap and reached for a map. “Where are we?”
“A half hour west of Salina.”
It was a moment before Jay looked up again. “The Saline River is dammed up a little bit ahead and there is a campground at the south end of Wilson Reservoir. Let’s get a burger and find us a spot in the campground.”
“A lake?” She didn’t look toward Jay.
“Yep. I never told you that I considered being an Olympic swimmer.”
Dee laughed, “You’re too dense to float!”
“What? Remember where I grew up. I fill between these ribs with a lung full of air and sink only to my arm pits,” Jay laughed.
In the late afternoon, Dee and Jay swung into a drive-thru for a hamburger and milk shake and decided to drive on. Not until Limon, Colorado did they actually pull into a campground. It was near dusk.
When Jay walked in the campground office, the attendant looked out the window toward their car. “You ain’t pulling a trailer.”
Jay was looking at a map of the campground taped to the counter. “No, ma’am. We have a tent.”
“I guess your missus wants to be close to the bathrooms.”
“Er,” he looked back at the car. “There were people coming and going around the bathhouse all night at the place where we stayed last night.” He figured a lie might get him what he wanted. He pointed to the map. “Can we have this spot?”
The attendant looked at the map, stopped chewing her wad of gum, and nodded. “Sure. Nobody usually wants a spot that far out.”
“Maybe it’ll be quiet,” Jay gave her his best smile.
The woman looked over her glasses and then out to Jay’s car, a smile playing around her mouth. “You guys on a honeymoon?”
Jay laughed.
“That spot is our honeymoon suite.”
Jay watched as the attendant’s eyes slid over his body. He deliberately flexed his chest muscles. He’d let her get her fantasy going.
She was chewing the gum again. “Nobody’ll bother you up there. Put up your food, though. We’re getting a family of raccoons popping into the grounds up at that end, cleaning up leftovers.”
Their spot was only a patch of asphalt and a picnic table. The low brush nearby was on the eastern side, so the tent site was hot. Jay popped the trunk and pulled out the cooler, the tent, and two sleeping bags.
“Why are we sleeping in the tent?”
“The woman at the gate thinks we’re on our honeymoon. I think that’s a good idea.” Jay turned back to the trunk and got out his running shoes, a cap, and running shorts.
“I’m running, too,” she said.
Jay looked at her. “Would you be careful?”
“Come with me.”
“If I’m going to be competitive this fall, I’ve got to run like a male homo sapien. You know that. To be an Olympian, I have to train hard and fast. At this time, that is what is primary: to be an Olympian at Rio.”
Dee shrugged.
It took Jay about fifteen minutes to get the tent situated and their gear safely put away. When he finished, she was gone. She had thrown her clothes in the trunk of the car. He looked out over the almost treeless plain beyond the campground. “Damn it.”
He undressed, put on his running shorts and shoes, locked the car, and left the campground with a slow jog. The country road going past the campground was flat as a running track. He needed to stretch it out. Almost imperceptibly, he picked up his stride and began at what he knew was the pace for a four-minute mile. At about a half mile, he slowed, planning for a long, slow distance, going at the pace of six-minute miles.
Twice, far ahead of him, he saw what looked like a big black dog crossing the road. The first time, it stopped, looked back toward him, and disappeared into the nearby corn field. The second time, it did not turn.
As he crossed a bridge over a creek about six miles away from the campground, he heard the bark. He stopped and looked up stream. The wolf was sitting on the bank just below a bend in the creek. He chuckled and nodded. He left his shoes and shorts in the sand beneath the bridge. The water was cool, and he was hot.
He looked for her. She was loping away, not fast, almost playfully daring him. Sure, he’d give chase. He suspected she’d not run far. And she’d be hot too.
AUTHOR’S NOTE: There were always these interesting starts. But I was on the library board, the treasurer for the Historical Society, and coordinator for the book club. Maybe I’ll come back to this one. I ran in Montana … sometimes kind of like Jay. Go look at my SELMA SUN story about the year in Missoula in Jim Herod Asks (google.com) .