Cross Country meet #4: Pekin

Our next race is at Pekin.

Pekin which is locate across the river, in the armpit of Tazewell County. Pekin who had a racist mascot I won’t learn about until six months later in the most serene of circumstances. Pekin who had a sign until the mid-70’s on the bridge leading into town stating that all people of COLOR needed to get out by sunset. Pekin who the joke with all the Peoria schools is when they show up to compete they always end up bringing their pillow cases.

 Pekin which, without being vulgar, Coach has warned us that this team is known for starting racist shit and that we just have to ignore them.

For the second meet in a row there is no Jose. He missed practice on Monday night. he has not been at school since. Beano is flouncing around the locker room, dry humping the couch in front of the football coaches office  until an assistant  Coach comes out and tells him to knock it off. Peacock is nit saying anything.  I almost feel compelled to call a team meeting.  Hans just has a look of loss on his face, stating that even if Jose would show up Coach would bench him because he missed school again today.




Again coach has not said anything about Jose.

 Coach has told Peacock that since there is no Jose he is the captain and that he needs to stand up.

“He probably didn’t want to come to the meet because he knows all those Pekin fucks always be talkin’ shit."

Quaynor says the word shit once again.

I ask Quaynor if they talk more shit than Central.

“Central ain’t shit. Central’s just a bunch of white-fools trying to be smart. These guys are racist, These guys just flat out don’t like black people. 

Leatric says shit, they still have lynching’s and shit out here.

Unlike other teams Pekin refuses to acknowledge us when we get off this bus. There are snickers. I am next to Hans Logrotto. Due to a scheduling conflict my parents will not be able to make this meet but will be watching when I run this pending Saturday at the Morton invite.

We start out again. None of the Pekin boys are looking at us as they show us the course. One of the Pekin boy sneezes and pretends to say the word nigger. When Quaynor steps in his direction he looks back and says, what, I just sneezed.

 Pekin is racist. They are full of shit. They look inbred. They are emaciated and fast yet they all look like they were all  born from the same inbred litter while their buck-tooth matriarch keened Pig squeals during the annual Deliverance marathon midway through the Marigold Fest. Perhaps it is the absence of Jose for the second time in a row and no one with the exception of Peacock exactly knows what happened to him. Perhaps it is something deeper. The sophomore from Pekin is in charge of delineating the contours of the course. It happens suddenly but all at once. One of the googly eyed teens wearing what a decade earlier would be a Chinese-defaming uniform sneezes and says higger when Leatric  places the top of his hood up over his brow so that they cannot see his eyes. Beano follows, turns the other way and heads toward coach. Peacock is keeping Quaynor back after Pekin sneeze again. Peacock, our fastest runner, follows Leatric lead with his hood, looking like abbot or truant monk late to chant at Vespers, turns the other way, the peacock boys are still walking. Quaynor follows. He sneezes back an on the G. He sneezes back a fuck you, trotting up to the teammates that are wearing their hoods heading back to Coach.

Our Varsity only consists of six runners.

I am next to Hans. We are the two white boys on varsity, along with Peacock. I lift up my hoodie and place it on the top of my head. Hans follows.

The Pekinites look at us.

“Listen, you don’t have to show us the course. We’ll see you guys on the course when we compete.”

Hans and I turn around and begin to run back. We are all wearing are hoodies. When we get back to our group Quanor is throwing up gang signs. Coach is saying the same thing over and over again.

“Just let your feet do the talking. Don’t worry about anything else. Just let your feet do the talking.”

We preform pregame sprints. “Hey ya’ll keep your hoods on the entire time. Those fucks ain’t seeing our face”

We oblige. We look like medieval monks sprinting away from the onset of the plague as we do our pregame warm-up. We do several sprints. Quaynor keep saying Yo, keep your hood on.

Pekin has about sixty kids out. With varsity and frosh and soph we have around fifteen.

“Let’s do this shit. Quaynor says, informing us all to keep our hoods on until the second before the gun snaps. 

For some reason Hans looks at me a second before the race begins.

“Well, Dave this is it.”

I nod. It is time to fly.

 Again, somehow I feel the opposing team wouldn’t be talking quite so much shit if Jose was here.  

                                                                      ***

start of race vs Pekin, 1992

At the crack of the gun the Pekinites take out off strong. I am vying to be with them. On the first turn I find myself completely swallowed. For the first time all season there is no Peacock ahead of me.  I am running alone. I am thinking about Jose. I am wondering why their team feels compelled to individually set back civil rights fifty years.

Tersely I wonder if they teach American history at this school. Tersely I wonder if they pledge their Allegiance to the Confederate Flag.

I am being swallowed by red-shirts. For a second Hans Logrotto is next to me and for a second he’s not. There is a scuffle behind me. Someone says the word Nigger.  The group is running. Peacock is nowhere in sight. I am surrounded by Pekin red. The top Pekin three can hang with anyone in conference.  At the half mile mark I am fourth, flanked by fifth and sixth on both sides.

We are moving. The first mile is 5:20. I look around. Peacock is still nowhere in sight.  I am fighting for my team and somehow racism at the same time.

“What you do on that team with all those niggers?”

I ignore them. They are full of shit. I am focusing on my race.

“You must feel like Huck Finn going to school with all them Nigger Jims.”

The last race I pushed sheep dog boy to the ground and got away with it. Something tells me that these guys are a bunch of babies and that if I knocked one on their white trash ass they would cry about it and tell their coach.

 I am fighting just to keep up. Pekin’s course, like their high school. Like their town, just doesn’t make much sense.  We repeat the course twice then take a loop towards the finish line.Instead, I push faster.  The next half mile I toss in a surge. I am next to the lead runner who is top five in conference.  We get our second mile at 10:45  With two Pekin boys behind me. I feel like I am somehow fighting racism in America.  I am way too fast. I am still pushing myself.
 

I am keeping an even pace. I am controlling myself as to not lash at them every time they say the N-bomb.  For a second I take the lead. For a second I am out of control. For a second I am swinging my arms like a trapeze artist while. I fall back to third. I am confused as to the direction of the course. I glance at the Pekinite next to me and point, thinking that we need to make a half-loop a final time. He bobs his head. The minute I turn he shoots off the opposite direction, bobbing his head as if he had just gotten away with something.

I turn around. I sprint. I am ousted at the finish line by Pekin’s number five runner.

For a minute I think they are going to give us a Nazi Salute.

I look at Coach. My teammates are still on the course. They are nowhere to be found.  

                                                             
                                                                        ***

                 

That night there is a phone call. I clamber up the stairs exhausted, my legs expired stems, gravid and heavy.

“Dave?” It is David best.  From Limestone. I feel like telling him how happy I am at Manual. I feel like telling him that I finally don’t feel like a leper.

He asks me how the girls are. He asks if I feel safe with all the gangs and drugs and everything.

“There’s a couple hotties.”

“Anyway," Dave pauses, like he has something really significant to convey.

“You know my friend Renae?”

I tell him yeah, your ex—girlfriend.”

I tried to be really friendly with her at the fourth of July fireworks and she totally just blew me off.”

Dave says not to worry. She sometimes just comes off like that. She can be a bitch.

“Anyway, she wanted to know if you want to go out this Friday and see a movie. She says she really wants to hang out."

"?????"

                                                                          ***                                                  

 

                                          

I feel like I have failed coach. I walk over to Coach afterwards. Quaynor is talking about going for a ride.

“They be talking smack coach. All those Pekin folks. They be talkin’ shit.”

Coach Ricca says hey, admonishing Quaynor for cursing, reminding him that he is an ambassador for Manual high school.

“Coach they be talkin’ smack. They be callin’ us niggers. I’m fucking gonna be going for a drive.”

“Hey that’s enough!”

Branddun Russell says they were, he be hearing it.

Coach just remains silent.  He is making demarcations on his clipboard.

“You guys just remain silent. You don’t have to talk with them. Just let your feet do the talking.”

“You alright, man?”

Peacock is quiet. He is our fastest runner yet he is reticent. His time is a minute slower than how he preformed last week vs. Central.  It almost looks like he is limping when he crosses the finish line.

 

“I was spiked,”

I ask him what. Peacock is the only other runner from Manual in the top ten. Quaynor, Lagrotto, Leatric, all finish together, 11-12-13, respectfully.

“Some Pekin kid stepped on my shoe in the first mile. I didn’t think I would be able to finish.”

I almost feel guilty for beating Peacock.  I hung with their fastest runner for the first mile, after that I somehow went downhill.

I somehow failed.

Before we can say anything Quaynor is throwing our warm-ups at us. He tells us to put them on with hoods. He tells them not to look at them in the eyes.

                                                ***

“Yeah, this weekend bro. Renae really wants to hang out. She really wants to go see the movie with you. We’ll pick you up at seven.”

I again ask Dave if he is cool with this.

“Renae’s like your ex-girlfriend. You guys dated for almost a year.”

I can feel Dave shrug from the opposite side of the phone like it is no big deal.

“We’re just really good friends now. Besides, you are all she talks about. We’ll pick you up at 7:00.”

I tell him I have a meet on Saturday.

“That’s okay bro. Mom said she’s pick us up after the movie. You’ll be hom before 11. Sounds cool?”

“Cool,” I tell my oldest best friend whose last name is opportunely Best.

“I can’t wait.”

                                                         ***

There is no meeting to shake hands with both teams after the meet. We are being shepherded to the rackety school bus.  Quaynor is still going off saying that he is going to talk with the Lords and go for a drive. He says that on the G he is going to go for a drive.

Quaynor configures his fingers into a gun and makes a chorus of consecutive popping sounds.

Coach tells everyone to get on the back of the bus. I still need to talk to him I feel like I have failed.

"Hey coach,”

My time didn’t suck. For the second time this season I took a wrong turns. If those inbred Pekin fucks wouldn’t have been so duplicitous I would have kept us from being swept.

The moment I am ready to tell coach I am sorry he turns to me.

“Good run today Von Behren.”

Coach saw that I was competing with Pekin’s two fastest leads for the first two and a half miles.

I am trying to tell coach that I am sorry. I am trying to tell Coach that I should have been faster.

“I can’t tell you the last time a freshman finished first in front of the whole team.”

I can’t help but think that it would have somehow been different if Jose would have showed up.

Quaynor is on the bus dancing like a Witch doctor with his hood up.

“Hey ya’ll, we lost the race but we won ya’ll.” He says, as he slaps each of our individual hand.

"We lost the race but we won, ya’ll. We lost the race but we fucking won.”

As we leave Quaynor says the same thing.

“No one sit at the back of the bus. Ya’ll sit at the front as we pull out with our hoods on. None of ya’ll sit at the back of the bus." Quaynor says again, stating that its our fucking principle, yo. Stating that we lost the race but fucking won, yo.

We lost the race but fucking won.