More Happy Than Not

“He had sex without a condom and is now expecting a kid. The end.”

“He’s probably stressed.” Thomas browses for a little bit longer, knocks on the fireplace. “Pretty cool place you picked.”

“Thanks. I’m ready to bounce whenever you pick a place.”

“I decided. I hope you’re game for a run,” he says while walking toward the door.

“Thomas?”

“Yeah?”

“Can the store maybe have its cape back?”

We’re at his high school’s track field.

The gate is wide open and apparently it’s available to the public all summer. There are six people running the track right now; two are listening to music, and the others are forced to hear the 2 and 5 trains as they speed past. Because it’s a high school field, it doubles for other sports, like soccer and football. There’s a nice breeze here, and it’s exactly the kind of place to come to when life is suffocating.

“Are you on the track team?”

“I tried out but wasn’t fast enough,” Thomas says. “But I bet I’m faster than you.”

“Yeah right. I’ve seen you run during manhunt.”

“There’s a difference between racing and being chased.”

“Not for me. I’m always ahead.”

“Loser has to buy winner ice cream.”

We make up our own start and finish lines and crouch like we’re pros. “I’m thinking pistachio,” I say. “FYI.”

Three.

Two.

One.

GO!

Thomas takes the lead, putting all his speed into these first few seconds, whereas I know to be fast but to also pace myself. After about ten seconds, he’s already winding down. He may be a month or two away from a six-pack, but I’ve been running relay races with Brendan since the better part of my childhood. My feet pound against the pressurized rubber, and the sneakers are way too tight on me, but I run, run, run until I pass him and I don’t stop until I leap over the discarded water bottle we marked as the finish line. Thomas doesn’t even finish; he just collapses onto the grass.

I jump up and down until my rib cage hurts. “I dusted you!”

“You cheated,” Thomas pants, catching his breath. “You have a height advantage. Longer legs.”

“Wow. That’s going into the Bullshit Hall of Fame.” I fall face-first next to him, and the grass stains the knees of my jeans. “Maybe don’t choose a place next time where you’ll get your ass handed to you. Why here anyway?”

“I’m used to quitting things—”

“Really?” I punch him in the shoulder.

He punches me back. “Yeah, really. But this place rejected me from becoming someone and that was a first.”

“Way to make me feel guilty for proving how slow you are.”

“Not at all. It’s not like my heart is in running or anything like that, but at least I learned that you can’t always choose who you’re going to be. Sometimes you’re fast enough to run track. Sometimes you’re not.” He tucks his hands behind his head, still catching his breath. “Anyway, it’s a pretty chill place to just remember and think, you know?”

I do now.