PINTA PARADE

March the 24th is a Monday. It is warm enough for the distant runners to run outside.

The snow is beginning to subside in taupe rainbow-afflicted puddles. In track and field distance is constituted by anything 400 meters plus. On days we are not doing speed work we all run the same amount the milers and two milers normally running ahead in a bubble. The half-milers plus lagging behind, talking, jesting each other, often taking a short-cut still finishing well behind the distant elite. We stretch across the fresh vernal earth at Madison golf course. We take off running through West Peoria, cutting across, running down Bradley quad, making it to Main street taking a hard right at running central, wending our way to Moss avenue a mile and a half of old Peoria money furnished in the fashion of monopoly mansions, arriving back into West Peoria only to dip in to the southend and finish in a sprint in front of the high school.

I run next to Hans LoGrotto. We have separated from the pack near the two miler mark. The two of us are avg. less than six minute miles.

 

I have won a trip to Britain and all I can think about is how I can make it back to Bollingbrook, Illinois. I have the searing opus of SONGS OF FAITH AND DEVOTION lodged in the front part of my brain along with music by the 77's.

The last hundred meters Hans and I vie each other for position. For speed, jockeying towards the finish where the cheer leaders are still practicing even though football and basketball seasons both are over.

We sprint. Coach is waiting as well. The sun is beating down. I wonder if the red-haloed girl from up north dons a cheer leading uniform. I wonder what her lanky legs resemble under the helm of her outfit.

 

Hans LoGrotto and I finish at the same moment. Bending over. Coach looks at us and nods, informing that we finished a rather grueling five-mile course in less than thirty minutes.

 

We go for a mile cool down run. Logrotto informs coach that the reason we were trekking so fast across Bradley campus was because all the girls were lying out sun tanning. 

Joe is my closest competitor. His mile time avg’s in the five-twenties.

 

Both of us have a goal to break five minutes in the mile sometime this year.

                                                                        ***

The next day I sit with the shy girl with the gentle civil war china doll cheekbones for lunch. I sit next to the girl who is shy. She is sitting by herself.  No one knows who she is. I ask her if this seat is taken. She smiles. She is shy. She looks down.

"Hi, I'm Dave." I say, jutting out my arm. There is a bible next to her teal lunch tray. She identifies herself as Jennifer. Jennifer-Rose. She says she is lonely. She says that she just transferred here from Woodruff and that she hasn’t made friends here.

“I only went to Woodruff for a year. My dad moved up here from southern Illinois.”

I love the subtle twang in her voice. She tells me she was born in Viennes Illinois which doesn’t sounds at all as it should.

"You're actually in my math class only you never see me."

I say Mrs. Peabody. She says yes.

"Yeah, I sit at the front. Mrs. Peabody and myself kinda loathe each other. I had her advance algebra class early in the semester and is just marred my GPA so I transferred to tan easier class."

Jennufer Rose says that she doesn't think  that this class is that easy.

"Well if you like, I'd be happy to help you with it. I was in Mrs. Peabody advanced algebra class for masochists and all she did was disparage me and I got low C's. It totally marred my GPA so I transferred to this class." Jennifer looks down. She is coy. I look at the bible next to her tray. Somehow I feel like confessing to her that I carry a diminutive Gideon bible in my front pocket at all times. The bell is about to ring. I need to get back to the remainder of Mr. Reents Maybe tomorrow we can sit together and do lunch and go over math."

Jennifer Rose says that she would like that.

She thanks me for sitting with her.

She tells me it is good to have a friend.


                                                                ***

 After practice the cheerleaders continue to form human pyramids and aerially flip each other. Tree boughs are giving birth to albino buds that seem to wink. Everytime we inhale the air is invitingly crisp and enter our body with a benevolent huff. It is spring. Everything is brand new. Coach says that he realizes that most of the sub-milers often just look at these work out as a jog and that they only go half the allocated amount that the distant runners go. Coach says that he admires our heart and how we wear it on our sleeve.

 

We go and shower.  Logratto was born in Europe. is uncircumcised unit looks like some kind of root that was left in the dry cellar and sprung more roots. When he asks for shampoo I try not to look at his uncircumcised penis, a peel banana wrapped in a hot dog bun.

 

I wait in front of the school, trying not to think about what the red headed girl is doing right now. Trying not to think if she thinks I am a freak. Trying to figure out how I can find her again. I have doffed my running shoes for my boots. The station wagon arrives. Mom beeps several times. We are giving Hans Logrotto a ride home. As I enter the car she barters an oversized package that cost over four U.S. dollars to mail.

 

“This came for you today Dave. It finally came.”

 

She holds it up.

 

Mother calls me by my first name. She calls me David. She is smiling. She tells me that it has finally arrived. The package from New York. The package from Parade magazine.

After all this time it has finally arrived.

Spring is here.