Free The Memory of Running by Ron McLarty Page A

away from her and out the window wearing a good hurt face. I heard her
     take another bite of sandwich, but when I looked back, she was still watching me.
    Asshole, she said, her mouth full of bologna and cheese. I got up to leave the kitchen,
     but Bethany grabbed my arm. Im sorry, Im sorry, she laughed.
    Why do you do that?
    If I didnt love you, I wouldnt call you names. I heard youre go- ing to the prom. She
     pretty?
    I sat back down. Jill Fisher. I dont know her. Shes pretty. I went with Bobby Myers to my
     junior prom. Her junior prom. The school gym. The parallel bars. The police.
    Bobby Myers in that Boston hospital. Bobby and his friends all wore plaid cummerbunds and
     plaid
    bow ties. They looked so dumb. The stolen car, the first long disappearance. Im wearing
     purple. And Im getting Jill a yellow corsage with
    some lily in it. Purple and yellow? Okay. That sounds pretty good. I watched her finish
     the sandwich, then rinse off her dish and put
    it in the sink. Yes, I was nervous because she had taken herself off the pills, and yes,
     there still was that crummy feeling that something bad was going to happen, but yes, it
     was more my sister, even looking ratty, than the sleepwalker that had taken her place for
     three months. She walked to the door that led out of the kitchen.
    I love you, Hook. I love you, too. Are you ashamed of me? Do you hate me? I love you. I
     know. Im not ashamed of you. I never hate you. Good. Bethany left the kitchen with some
     energy. I never told my pop
    about the pills.

The Memory of Running
    11
    A fine mist changed over to light rain, and I woke up. I lay on my back, and I could feel
     uneven grass clumps under my ass. My blue mourning suit was soaked completely through. I
     could hear ducks quacking overhead and the sound of water falling onto rocks. For a
     moment, or a minute, or maybe five minutes, I lay still and could form no thoughts
     whatsoever, only feel the rain washing me, like a dead man or a stroke man.
    I tried to stand, but a crackly stiffness and pain wouldnt let me raise my head, clench my
     fist, or even bend my arm. I lay still again and listened. The falling water was close,
     very close. I realized that I was cold, only I wasnt sure if it was being wet or on the
     ground or what. I closed my eyes and opened them and tried to think. The wa- ter on the
     rocks was too much in my mind, and the thick beer and vodka ran all around my body. I
     could feel my heart pumping. I couldnt think at all, and there was nothing to do under the
     rain. I closed my eyes and slept.
    It was like a blinkonly when I opened them again, the rain had stopped and the sun was
     coming in and out of the clouds. It felt good on my wet body, the parts I could feel. I
     tried to raise my arm, and this time, even though that deep, dry pain cracked me, I could.
     I raised it about ten times, each time putting it down gently on the grass, until my
     shoulder and elbow and fingers felt a part of me; then I did it to the other arm. I pushed
     myself into a sitting position, but the fullness of the pain, the pulling and tightening,
     was unbelievable. I lay back down and rolled to my side, and my fat legs plopped over like
     two sides of beef. I pushed into a kneeling position and tried to stand. Its very hard not
     being able to stand. Theres a helpless, hope- less feeling. I couldnt think, and now I
     couldnt stand.
    I flopped forward and landed with a thump on my stomach. I lay there for a minute until my
     heart stopped racing, and finally I formed
    a thought. I have done something to my body, I thought. I have overdone something, like
     the first day of basic training when we ran and climbed the rope and the next morning our
     fingers had raised blisters and our arms and shoulders ached. There were pieces of that
     ache in this ache. I raised my legs and slowly lowered them to the grass, feeling a little
     more limb each time. I pushed myself up to my