Out for a Run

I used to have these nice earbuds that I really liked, and they didn’t slowly inch out of my ears or anything, but I accidentally left them in a hotel room while traveling. The only problem is that they were like 200 bucks and I am now super broke, so I can’t be dishing out money like that anymore. But I also can’t bear to exist without earbuds, so during the same trip I lost them, a few cities down, I bought myself a pair of cheapo earbuds. Contrary to the nice ones, these do slip out of my ears whenever I do anything like run or even chew. But the main issue is that they are really, REALLY, affected by bluetooth interference. This means that if there's more than a crowd of like five people, they start bugging out. This can be a real problem. I try to stay healthy by jogging, but I’d rather shoot myself than have to jog without listening to anything. This is why I prefer to run across Manhattan Bridge: there aren't that many people around, so my earbuds are able to actually function.

I almost always run at night. The reason for this is that I actually hate running and don’t run unless something has inspired or motivated me to do so. Usually the thing that motivates me is hanging out with friends that are more fit than I am. So we hang out, I listen to them talk about how much they work out, and how much running they're doing, and then I come home and decide that I should probably get my butt off the couch and also go for a run.

And so it was on this occasion. It had been a warm October day, but I stepped out into a cold brisk street. Usually I stretch before I start running, but I decided that if I don’t start immediately I’m going to freeze, my running clothes offering little protection from the cold. The distance from my small Chinatown apartment to the bridge was short. There were still many people out, and a lot of activity outside the restaurants, abuzz under the streetlights. I weaved past them on my way toward the ramp onto Manhattan Bridge.

The bridge itself also still had couples slowly making their way across, heedless of the gusts. The lighting on the bridge was always patchy. Some lights worked and others didn't. It has a sort of nice ambiance. Looking to the right, I saw Brooklyn Bridge twinkling in the night, a twin to the bridge that I was crossing. Its reflection shimmers on the water. Occasionally, I came across people that had found holes in the fencing, and were taking pictures of the river, and the city behind us. It really is a beautiful sight. 

Occasionally I passed runners going in the opposite direction. I never quite know if we should acknowledge each other or not. Sometimes I give a little nod, as if to say “you're a runner; I’m a runner too!” Sometimes they return the nod, more often they don’t.

On the other side of the bridge, as the bridge slopes down, I used to run past this one building. The cool thing about it is that on one of the floors a little above bridge level they have a gym, with the treadmills looking out towards the bridge. If I see someone on the treadmills I always wave at them, and they sometimes wave back. A nice little interaction.

On this day I had been running as usual. And, spotting someone on a treadmill, I gave my little wave as usual. Then a girl running towards me said “hey”, and then actually turned around to run next to me, back in the direction from which she had come. My heart started racing just a little. I get a little nervous when approached by strangers in the best circumstances, and to be approached here, on the dark bridge, seemed a little weird. Then, between heavy breathing for air as we jogged side by side, she said, “you’re the guy that waves up at the gym right? I’m the girl from the treadmills!” Now, quite frankly, I can’t actually see who I’m waving at on the treadmills at all. Everybody just appears as a silhouette. But my anxiety relaxed a little. I turned towards her and said “yeah, that's me!” I took a close look at her. She was wearing a hoodie and running shorts. She had short blond hair. Her cheeks had a blush to them either from the chill in the air or from the running. She was absolutely stunning. I quickly turned away. “I really appreciate the wave. It makes running on the treadmill a little less lonely,” she said. “Yeah I like to do it too,” I replied. “So what do you do for work?” she asked. 

And that's how we started talking. We talked about this and that, I don’t even remember what we talked about. And it was so easy. I mean we really clicked. I usually don’t warm up to people that quickly, but with her it just worked. We had the same hobbies. We both liked running, obviously, but she also liked to read like I do, and we liked the same TV shows, and we both loved dogs. I really felt a connection. Like never before. Or since. When we reached the bridge, I turned around, and together we ran all the way back, although I had not meant to keep running this long. And meanwhile within me dread was growing, as I thought about how this run would end, and I would never see her again. She would just go poof and disappear back up into her apartment. Maybe I would wave at her up on the treadmill again sometimes and not even know it. But of course that's not what happened. 

Eventually we both came to a stop and rested a little to catch our breaths. We were on the Brooklyn side of the bridge, not on the Manhattan side where I live. After a minute I said, “well, I’d better head back, I live back in Manhattan.” She replied, “I live near here. Why don’t you come over? After all, you’ve seen my building so many times from the outside, why don’t you take a look at the inside?” I had never been happier than when she said those words, and I followed her back to her building. At least initially. But the walk back was strange. The wind had picked up, and now that I was no longer running I began to shiver in the cold. And she was unusually quiet. I began to get nervous. Had I said something? Or maybe it had been an empty invitation and she simply had not expected me to agree. Uncomfortable with the silence, I asked “is everything alright?” “Yeah everything’s fine,” she responded. Which of course meant that everything was not in fact fine. This is well known.

We reached a wide avenue and came to a stop. The wind continued its chill and I silently wished we would get a move on. The moon was full, and its pure white light mixed with the yellow illumination of the streetlights. The avenue was completely empty. It was quiet except for a distant rumble of traffic, accentuated by intermittent honking or sirens. She turned toward me. She had a look of serenity and melancholy about her. “It makes me so sad,” she said. “What does?” I asked. “You remind me of someone I once knew. Many years ago…” she trailed off. She forced a smile. “Well, here goes nothing!” she said. 

Her form began to shift. Her face warped, becoming slim and old, skin both taut and sagging. Her hair grayed and lengthened. Her hoodie whirled around her, transforming into a gray cloak. Her legs grew more and more slim until they were no thicker than a quarter, and her shoes popped off, revealing chicken feet beneath. Her knees bent sideways. She spoke, and every word sounded like a groan, “I’m sorry my poor boy. It is not always up to me who I catch. But catch I do. So it goes. But I trust you don’t mind too much. From what I’ve heard your life sounds dreadful, simply dreadful! You really are such a nice boy. You deserved better, but alas! Now, now, come here, don't back away!” And then with an amazing speed which I did not expect the hag to possess, she lunged forward and pressed her index finger to my forehead and began to chant: 

In the cauldron bubbles boil, 

Children smile, parents toil.

That is what fate has decreed,

Climb inside my pot of  greed.

The chant hypnotized me for a moment. With its sound and its audacity. I noticed a giant cauldron was indeed standing near us, although I do not know when it had materialized. I stood there for a moment, then leaped away, whirled around and ran, the wind hurrying me along. I did not dare to look back. I could hear the cauldron continue to bubble, but the witch was silent. 

…

I am writing this exactly a year after that day has passed. Many things have changed, but the warmth of summer has gone, and I am once again listening to the howling wind. I think about the girl on the bridge a lot. I think about that moment when I broke away from the hag’s finger. In that moment when I leaped away from her, I saw in the eyes of the witch a great shock. Whatever magic she was trying to work on me had failed. But I saw more than shock. I saw disappointment, and deep sadness. I saw that she too was sad that we were parting. I miss the girl that she had been. In that hour that I knew her, I think I loved her. I mean really loved her. I don’t think I’ll ever meet anyone like that again. And it breaks my heart. Of course I had nightmares about her transformation for a while. But they went away, and now I can barely even remember what the witch looked like, of course besides the chicken feet. And I wonder if she was a real girl. Maybe that girl is still running on the treadmill overlooking the bridge. I don’t know. I don’t run anymore, on the bridge or anywhere else. I just don’t have it in me anymore. But I think tonight maybe I will. And who knows? Maybe I’ll see her again.