Crossed Paths

Advisory: Thematic material involving race and gender inequality.

She was Tootledale’s loudest runner, likely the whole of Alabama. Near age thirty, Maxime gunned for her Olympic appearance in Rome within two months. Those prior performances in 1948 London, 1952 Helsinki, and 1956 Melbourne garnished no savored medallions. The local citizens heard her disappointment and desperation as she trained at the university track, in parks, and around town. Maxime grunts a lot, especially during the hard workouts—a self-implementor without a coach or mentor to tilt her toward her peak.

Still, the state’s native primed herself physically—and mentally for a conclusive rematch with Tennessee’s gold medalist, Wilma Rudolph. She prepared to propel past other competitors who nicked her by fractions of inches. Otherwise, the splinters have bonded since the London games. Max’s clandestine romance in Helsinki didn’t affront Ms. Rudolph. After the races, the champion reunited with them at cafés and eateries outside the Olympic villages. Little-known places were unacquainted by most Team US members—particularly individuals who would’ve voiced condemnation. Maxime trusted a few to prevent an account from reaching her father’s insensitive ossicles. If so, and without doubt, Maxie’s corporate Papa discharged, deafening himself with rage. He could’ve ignited the Sayers’ clan and community to clash with his youngest offspring and drowned her in ostracization.

Tiny brown and sepia irises peeked through the high cross-linked fence that separated unwanted youngsters from the Whites-only playground at Tootledale’s Bend Park. If other Caucasians weren’t present, Maxime smiled and waved at them. The petite, auburn-haired athlete strived on the rutted, dirt-packed path treaded by recreational vehicles. An inner signal rang within her regarding the zone’s nearness. Of course, familiar signage reminded her of “Blacks Entrance.”

Before the turn-away, Maxime withdrew the pebble from her Keds. She untied the laces and revealed her pale pink flesh foot. A steady gallop halted behind her; she rotated to view an African American male come to his run’s conclusion. His skin appeared genuine leather over the fabric of modeled muscles crafted by the Almighty. For unquestionably, a black beauty will have him as her handsome king. But, for that moment, the encounter paralyzed both. Maxie and the man dashed in opposite directions in seconds, like escaping an atomic bomb.

“Why are we afraid?” Maxime wondered.

*****

It was hours ago, Friday morning before her after-work run, Maxime was heralded for a consultation with the law firm partners—all six pin-striped men in the private conference room. Hers was the sole good morning expressed. Instead, five lead lawyers put her in the decisive study under their mental microscopes, turning their focus knobs backward.

“Miss Sayers, do you perceive why we wish to meet you?” Asked haggard-faced Beanford Jokins, the firm founder and president.

“Is it the partnership’s congratulations on my fourth consecutive court win?” She replied.

Jokins Sr. responded, “That is what we expect from our attorneys; this is a greater matter.”

“Gentlemen, if you have me,” Maxime expressed. “I will be honored to accept the role as an associate partner.” 

A collective barrow of hilarity contained the room’s sound molecules and saturated into her Haley pencil dress’ fibers. The offensive vibration prompted her to snap apart the writing instrument between her peach-polished fingertips.

“From a staid lassie, I didn’t expect hardy laugher,” Jokins Sr. reassured. “Don’t fuss. Notetaking isn’t necessary for our discussion.”

“Sir, is humiliation the price for excelling? Is it for increasing the firm’s reputation and revenue?” The stunned woman questioned.

Daniel Jokins stood and gestured to his father that he would resume the conversation.

“Maxime, aren’t you a bit young for this ambition? Keep up the good work, and we’ll see where the stars shoot.”

“Dan, what’s your transmission here?” Maxime remarked, “I accredited pass the bar exam like burnt rubber. How have you scored, follow alumni?”

The space was vacuumed to silence. Jokins Jr.’s lips pressed inward; he glanced at his father, who faced away. The partners comprehended Maxime squeezed through the jingoistic barrier’s crevice to earn a law degree. 

“Daniel, let’s pinpoint the real issues.” Jokins Sr. directed.

Jokins Jr. paced with grace as he spoke to Maxime. Her stare aimed at his forehead.

“A third Olympic trip; you are without coach support, business sponsors, or anyone else backing you. Something odd about it, Ms. Sayers?”

*****

It was the prior Sunday Maxime stormed from her father’s estate. She slammed the door and attempted to cover her infuriated countenance—the Asian chauffeur stationed by the limos noted.

“Misses,” the driver solicited. “Please, may I take you by the lake, somewhere else?”

She continued to the cobblestone sidewalk outside the gates. Soon, the older sibling was in pursuit, just as upset.

“Maxie, stop,” Jill ordered and grasped her forearm. She compelled an embrace. “Daddy’s verbal daggers drip vulgarity, but you must deaden your temper.”

The women wept upon one another’s shoulders.

Jill said, “Maybe you cannot anchor your life in Papa’s settlement. God knows Luc and I struggled. The earth here isn’t so pious. We barely soaked in, nor did our little Patty.”

They strolled the footway with their arms around each waist.”

“You have a family,” the Olympian acknowledged. “Mother and I would separate. I don’t know if I could …”

Dark-haired Jill halted her.

 “Big brother, Ken, Luc, and I will care for her.” She assured Maxie. “Won’t you accept the good doctor’s offer? It’s a deal above Daniel, who perceives no probability besides a trophy spouse claim for Tootledale’s recognition.”

Max shot her chin up and giggled. Jill was pleased. She cranked a smirk from Maxie.

“The card dealer supposes I’m a marketable commodity, poor sap.” Maxie agreed, “he fails to realize we are not a pair. And I shouldn’t be anyone’s side dish.”

She paused, but uncertainty spun her procrastination.

“I’m scared crazy, sis, for my physician, myself, and about what happens to us next.”

******

“Daniel, let’s pinpoint the real issues.” Beanford engaged.

Jokins Jr. strode, his vocals arrowed to Maxime. Her gaze leveled at his temple.

“A third Olympic trip.” He paused and thus continued, “You are without coach support, business sponsors, or anyone else backing you. Something odd about it, Ms. Sayers?”

The second senior partner, Freddie Krab, spoke. “The town’s behind your father’s senatorial campaign. Wish to be the empty medalist who leaves us a sour note?”

The third senior partner, Zom Stone, added, “The outcome might affect your career. Just give it some careful thought.”

The female breathed a surge of disbelief through her pouty rose lips. Both palms gently rubbed her cheeks before resting them on her knees. The feminine solicitor sat and spoke confidently without slouching.  

“It is the spirit of international competition. As a sportswoman, I compliment my community and country at this global event.”

Jokins Jr. animated his hands. He advised whether she could handle the pressure.

“Same for our clients, the prestige is winning. Alabama thirsts it, and Tootledale has been a home for champions.” He continued. “Nonetheless, a relative concern exists.”

Daniel walked near her and beheld down with his arms folded.

She met his eyes, chin raised. “Care to recite some townsfolks’ guidance?” 

 “Is it, ‘You’re outdated for Olympic dreams, settle down, get hitched and make babies? ‘”

Maxime remembered why she detested the neighborly encounters with spray-starched traditional citizenries.

Jokins Sr. motioned the sixth senior partner his turn to speak. The man called her attention in his earth-seasoned African American tongue.

“I am not wary to acknowledge your talents, Ms. Sayers.” He stated. “We, a common stock, fought for our positions. However, each is accountable for their decisions and actions. Do you concur with me?”

Maxime’s humility and admiration swirled for the Southern rarity, Malcolm Februis.

“Yes, sir.” She resolved.

“On the law firm’s behalf, I met with Spencer Charles for your dad’s securities,” Malcolm elucidated. “He agreed to stay clear a far expanse – from you.”

Maxime’s throat felt disturbed. A threat funneled in her heart to spread like charcoaled tempest clouds. A prize she craved more than a gold medallion cometh in denial.

She expressed, “I don’t understand. He never bothered, spoke, or gawked at me. He merely exercises at the areas I do a long distance away.”

“It’s too frequent. Wouldn’t it be best to exercise common sense,” Zom Stone rebutted. He circled his hand for their support.

“The Charles boy, I hear, encores the games. You encountered him on extraterritorial land during past stints?” Beanford inquired. “The home folks paint an ugly picture and gossip; see the trouble?”

Maxime’s face reddened in glacial degrees. She held in tears and hoisted on her heels from the lacquered conference table.

“Gentlemen, I request permission to leave.”

Jokins Sr. responded, “You are already at it; exit to your duties. Be definite you’ll not cross paths with the dark racer.”

*****

The winded trail weaved into the park’s dense woodland and rivered through another path. It was like a ribboned styled ‘X’ in the forest grassy clearing. It was highlighted by the splitting orange dusk sunrays puncturing the tree’s thick foliage. Maxime grunted, sprinted her legs at hip level, arms thrusting, and sped by the x mark. She slowed, regaining her breath, and jogged back to it.

The runner slanted her head, eyelids sealed, and sensed the sun’s warmth. She ruffled the sleeveless top and two-striped shorts, airing herself. Maxime shook her arms and hands and performed a few stretches. The female’s sight spanned the area, trying to notice any movement amid her. Present were only squirrels, a timid deer, and chirping birds. This was their usual meeting spot. 

Several minutes are consumed. Maxime’s anticipation swooshed through her veins, sustaining hope. With billboard purpose marketing intolerance, the recent cautions forwarded her disappointment; she couldn’t contain tears and dropped to her knees. Maxime wailed softly.

 “Not fair,” she repeated. “Utterly unjust!”

*****

Maxime abided, compelled her palm onto the lacquered conference table, and compressed her writing tablet to her chest. She ignored taking the broken pencil.

“Gentlemen, I request permission to leave.”

Beanford Jokins retorted, “You are already at it; exit to your duties. Be definite you’ll not cross paths with the dark racer.”

She proceeded and hesitated near the door; her sight orbited to Malcolm. The partners’ questionable expressions triggered.

Displeased, Daniel said with a sharpened tongue, “Is there a problem, woman? Have a reason to eye him? You’re done here; go forth.”

Dan failed to prompt a fraction of movement. Maxie’s scope held to a distinguished elder. A negro who paved his worthy passage beside his growing household and apathetically labored faded blue-collar jobs. 

“Can you speak freely amongst your partners?” Maxime inquired.

The man tendered his tongue for his listener as if she were a daughter.

“Child, what’s your question? Ask.” 

“The restrictions, whites only here, the colored there.” Maxime asked, “Is it what you consent: a foundation for your grandkids and mine?”

Malcolm rose from his chair. The men sat stirred. Minus a frightful reflection, he lingered to operate his vocals, for his insight simmered in mindful calculation.

“Why the necessity to consent? Old ‘Jim Crow’ journeys to his tombstone.” Malcolm tinged his heart with his fingertips and jostled his hand to the wood-grained flooring. 

The suited, brown-skinned lawyer continued, “In dust, it shalt disintegrate to vanish; standby, dear lady, await and behold.” 

Februis grinned, given his legal comrades’ scrutiny. Maxime refunded him a slight smile and departed. She gambled not to say thank you.

******

Maxime lay, tired from despondency: her crushed heart should heal after the reservoir of tears emptied. Through the irregular oval window of leaves, the clouds coasted parallel the quacking fowls of Lake Guntersville. She strummed on the pine-showered ground; her fingers mouse lime-colored nodes, blades, and seedheads. Maxime envisioned stroking his coiled follicles. Can I do it once more with his crown latent on my lap?

The nested mortals communicated their sunset plans; crickets arranged their instruments for their overnight concert. A rubicund, black-spotted ladybug discovered respite climbing the twin mountain-clothed breasts. Nor did she fidgeted about a few honeypot ants exploring her flesh. 

“Town people chased us from each other, distanced companions splintered between the north and south poles.” The runner deliberated. ‘Why the necessity of consent”’

Time, it was elongated enough. Maxime has forsaken listening for a distinct signal. It was any shuttlecock’s tune but his, her prospective custodian, who probably reasoned they’re securer dwelling separate futures. Isn’t it for the best to keep life conflict-free? 

 “One day, I’ll marry the white businessman, surgeon, or scientist Daddy yearned for,” Ms. Max thought. “I’ll be subjected as a model housewife, forsaking a law career. My tribute will please the lead Tootledale census.”

Twilight approached. The park was soon to close. Discreet, a Bachman’s warbler’s song routed amidst the timberland’s miscellaneous babble. Unaided or gathered with feathered chorus, an alternative creature couldn’t blanket the bird’s coon from Maxime’s auditory system. Eardrums throbbed the heart’s rotary mechanism, and chambers pumped. A roar of plasma fluids reconnected across veins. In her flamed elation, she tilted erect. Brighten female’s Irish eyes rummaged for the repetitious chatter’s source, articulated by a man. She aimed to mark it amongst the surrounding shrubbery and saplings and haste to him. Yet the shadows, in huge patches, concealed the guy.

Desperate, Maxie cried, “Spencer, find me.”

Her responder was nigh some yards from the interior of what appeared to be a leafy hut. It was an endarken encavement structured by foliage Spencer exited. He held in his hand blue spur flower plant leaves. The man who ran from her earlier absconded to Maxime. A sweetened flood poured from the female’s tear glands in an implosion of emotions; she collapsed in his sturdy arms, wrapping hers around his torso.

Like cotton paper, he compressed two Plectranthus barbatus leaves under her triangular snout.

“Go ahead, babe, blow your nose gently,” he instructed. “I knew you’d be sobbing. That’s okay.”

She rejected some mucus. Spencer wiped it clear with his usual tenderness and tossed it aside. 

“Is this what they taught you in medical school, doctor?” 

Spencer cupped her face. “No, Momma showed me.” He sucked a big breath and released effortlessly as a steam pot anxiousness. “Sugar, did you decide? For I’m unable to move forward without your agreement.”

“I was born in this world but never was in Papa Sayer’s hometown.” Maxine declared, “My lord, I will be one flesh with you anywhere but there.”

She laughed. In jubilation, Spencer hollowed as if he won his race.

“Maxie, we depart together. It’s best not to return to your father’s house.” He warned.

“Why?”

“Your dad’s aware of us. Luc warned me he planned to ambush me. Arise - this way.”

Mister Charles prompted her from the x-marked center. It was onto a fresh trail they jogged.

He explained, “Jessye and Howie are in the outer park, by the highway. They’ll drive us to the airport. Mr. Februis produced renewed passports and other documents. Everything else is set.”

The two arrived at a sectional fence overcast by a colossal, yellow poplar tree. He elevated her, getting her feet to edge the mid-rail, her fingers clasped top pickets. She scoped the scene and peered down, noticing dual males and females and their off-sided Chryslers behind them. The four expanded for her drop, an Afrocentric patchwork quilted bedcover.

A woman told her, “Girl, hustle. We got you.”

Spencer urged. “Throw yourself over. We’ll wash and dress at the hotel.” 

 She turned to Spencer and asked, “Honey, where Is my man taking his bride?”

“Back to the foreign land where we became friends.” Mr. Charles answered. “As new residents, we’ll resume our professions and hatch our family.”

Maxime impelled herself on her rumps, edging the top picket line. The ladybug had stayed on her top and stretched its wings to sail. Crickets launched movement one of their opus. The runner smiled, sealed her eyes, and spread her arms heavenward. The June full moon shrined its spotlight. She reflexed her feet, pointed as a reverse pike diver, and tumbled rearward.

A female on the other side confirmed. “Spencer, you have yourself a confident partner.”

End