Heat - 3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

The next morning I wake up before my alarm with the sheets tangled around me, soaked in sweat. I dreamed that I drowned in boiling water, my final breath filling my lungs with heat and liquid and killing me slowly and in agony. I write it down in my journal as quickly as possible and shut it, locking the dream away. Then I pull on some jogging pants and a loose hoodie and head out into the chill early spring morning.

The cool air is nice, and the last vestiges of nightmare sweat are whisked away as I find my pace and start towards the school. My usual route takes me through a local park, past the middle school, and onto the high school grounds before looping back around and returning to my house passing over an old bridge across a small stream. With the addition of Asher’s house I have to swing out a bit and skip the middle school, instead going up a side street and down an alleyway like I’m headed to the local Dairy Queen. He is waiting outside just like I told him and jogs up to meet me as I run past what I assume to be his house.

“Hey! Good morning!” He says cheerily. He’s wearing the same shorts and t-shirt that he was wearing when I first met him yesterday morning. The shorts are clearly much too light for the forty degree weather and I’m not really sure how he isn’t shivering. Maybe he did a warm up around the block or something.

“Morning.” I don’t like to talk on my runs. I don’t even really like to run with other people. Messes up my pacing when I have to match them. Why did I agree to this?

“So, how have you been?” His form is all off, he runs in a way that looks like he has somehow never run before - arms way too wide and legs bouncing like a newborn deer.

“What do you mean? We saw each other twelve hours ago. Also, you’re doing it wrong. Copy me.” I gesture at myself and then turn and display the proper form without slowing down.

He looks at me and then scrunches up his nose in exaggerated focus. Then he copies my form perfectly, his arms and legs rigid and disciplined pistons. Immediately his pace increases and I realize I had been unconsciously slowing to better match him as he pulls ahead.

“Is that better?” He turns to look at me and suddenly I see a puppy anxiously waiting to see if he did the trick correctly and is going to get a treat.

“Yeah, that’s fine.” I turn my head back to watching the path in front of me and we run in silence for a while. We’re on the high school grounds now. It’s about five thirty and the campus is beginning to wake up with the early morning football drills happening on the field and the custodial staff running the riding lawn mowers on the quad.

“So. How long have you lived here?” I knew the silence couldn’t last long.

“Fifteen years. My family moved here when I was three.” I answer, and then because conversation is inevitable with this boy - “What about you? I don’t recognize you. When did you transfer to this school?”

“Over winter break. I rent an apartment on the top floor of that duplex you saw me in front of. Though I guess it’s not really a duplex when they rent three parts of it. That would be a triplex. I live in a triplex.``He gives me a goofy grin and I think he’s trying to make me laugh but it’s not a funny joke. I smile despite myself if only because of the funny look on his face.

“So you live alone? Why?”

“Yeah. It’s complicated. Two parts family shit and one part excessive optimism.” Suddenly I realize he has started to overtake me and I speed up. He keeps distracting me and I can’t focus on my own feet.

“What does ‘excessive optimism’ mean in this context?” I side-step to avoid stomping on some child’s chalk drawing of the sun leftover from the day before.

“Well. Before I came here I had never really been out of my very insular community. I didn’t get to see a lot of the outside world. Also, I had an excuse. We have a tradition where young f-” here his tongue slips for a moment, probably because he nearly trips over a large crack in the sidewalk “uh, people, where young people are supposed to go out and see the world before they take over the family business.” When he says “take over the family business” it sounds like a euphemism for something bad.

“Are you like, Amish or something?”

“No, nothing like that. Though you could say it is a bit of a religious thing. It’s more like a… what’s the word… commune? Like they used to do in the nineteen sixties.” We’ve looped around now, and are nearly to the park near my house.

“Huh. That’s weird. So what’s the family stuff? Did they not want you to go?”

“Yeah. They very much would have preferred I stay home. Tried very hard to keep me there as a matter of fact.” He has yet to get even slightly out of breath at this point and I am a little impressed. Maybe he might make the team after all, if only for long distance or cross country.

“Oh, so you directly went against what they wanted you to do by coming out here then.” I look over at him for the first time in a while and am surprised to see him staring at me. I look away and my face burns a little with a weird, inexplicable embarrassment.

“Yeah. I suppose I did. Do you think I did the right thing?”

I am surprised both by the question and by the intensity with which he asks it. “Well. I think it’s your right. Your parents don’t own your life. You should get to choose what you do with it.” I look over at him again and his face is more serious than I have ever seen it.

“Thank you. That means a lot to me.” he says, and I believe him.

Suddenly I trip over a root that stretched too far into the path. I am about to spill face first into the sharp gravel before he catches me at the last moment, pulling me to him. We are facing each other with inches between our faces and his arms around my waist, supporting nearly my entire weight. That heat is back and it’s stronger than ever, threatening to fry the tender skin of my face and turn my lips into ash. I pull in. His eyes are gray. I realize I hadn’t noticed before. They are a deep and dark gray like the ocean at night, nearly black. Can eyes be that color? His mouth is about to reach mine and I’m not sure which of us is moving in when… there’s a flash of blinding bright red light and he pushes me back into the tree that had nearly killed me.

Something hurts on the back and side of my neck where his hand had drifted when he pulled me in closer. He looks at me, horrified. “Oh god, I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Shit. I’m sorry.” He starts to back away.

“Asher. Asher, don't run away from me again.” He turns and starts to jog and then to sprint. “Asher goddamnit. Get back here you asshole!” He turns a corner in the path and then is gone. Just before he goes out of sight he looks back and I can see tears making tracks down his face.