Time Runs Together

Reggie listened to the sound of his own breathing inside the blast suit as he walked down the steps to the arena floor. He looked around at the empty seats, remembering the conference championship he attended here just three weeks ago. The roar of the crowd, the blare of the band, all exchanged for the echo of his heavy boots.

The blast suit was heavy, weighing in at over 125 pounds. “I’m gonna dread climbing these stairs to get out of here.”

Reggie was running the bleachers in his high school gym, ankle weights just over his Nikes. He had been at it for 30 minutes when his coach walked and saw him.

“Is that all you got, Reggie?”

Reggie picked up the pace.

Reaching the bottom of the stairs, he walked over to the hardwood floor. He instinctively stopped before stepping onto the court with his boots. His coach would have killed him for walking across his floor in anything but basketball shoes. 

When was the last time he stood on a basketball court? Had it really been 8 years? His heart had been beating just as hard then as it was now, down two points with 18 seconds left. Coach called his number. Baseline jumper as the clock ran out. 

Reggie slowly approached midcourt where the box sat. Right in the center of the university logo. When he was 6 years old, his dad had bought him his first cap with that logo on it before they attended their first basketball game together. The painted script A at center court seemed so big back then. Standing on it now, staring at the box sitting on top of it, it seemed a lot smaller. Oddly, Reggie felt smaller in this moment than he did when he was six. Maybe it was the blast suit swallowing him up. Maybe it was the empty colosseum. Maybe he was just scared.

Slowly getting on his knees, Reggie crawled around the box, inspecting it without touching it.

“What do you see, Reg?” the voice of his captain crackled in his earpiece.

 His brother always asked him the same question on their Radio Shack walkie talkies. Reggie would be in the treehouse, peering through Walmart toy binoculars down into the backyard of Annie Taylor, the girl next door they would both have a crush on within the next 5 years. But this year they were too young for such foolishness, and stuck to spying on their little neighbor and her tea parties. Annie wouldn’t make it to their senior year. Drunk driver.

“It looks bad, Captain. This guy’s a pro. Digital timer, mercury level, don’t want to tilt this pinball machine, I promise.”

Reggie and Derrick could play pinball for an hour on a single quarter when they were in junior high. Derrick’s mom would drop them off at the mall, where they would head to the arcade after a slice of pizza. Derrick would play the left flipper and he would play the right. They owned the top ten scores on the Jurassic Park machine.

Reggie opened his toolbox and pulled out a screwdriver. The magnetic driver held each screw as it came out of the box. 

“Don’t drop the screw, Reg! We’ll never find it,” his father barked as they worked on the car in the side yard.

 “I got it, dad! Sheesh!”

The top of the box weighed practically nothing, but Reggie moved like it was fifty pounds.

 “Easy, son,” his captain said in his ear. The top of the box was connected to the bottom by a tangle of wires. No red, yellow, and green varieties like the movies. Just a bird's nest of black, twisting in every direction. A drop of sweat made its way down his forehead, hung briefly on his brow, and dropped perfectly into his left eyelashes. No way to wipe it off without removing the helmet and faceshield. 

It must have been 114 degrees in Basra that August. Worst job in Iraq that time of year was ordnance disposal. Inside the suit was 130, easily. The dust blowing everywhere, walking up to some improvised explosive while children stood by and watched. The sweat and dust caked in your eyes, forcing you to do more by feel than you were comfortable admitting.

“Reggie, you good?” Reggie snapped back to the university campus, wondered how long he’d been gone. He glanced at the timer. Three minutes left.

“All good, sir. Gotta sort through these wires, find the right one to cut.”

Reggie banged his head on the dashboard of his 86 Monte Carlo. 

“You don’t know what you’re doing, do you?” Derrick asked from outside the car. 

“Of course I do. It’s just a car stereo. It’s not rocket science.” 

“Then hurry up! We’re gonna be late picking up the girls.”

Reggie ducked back under the dash, tracing wires back to the speakers.

“Son, you’re running out of time. Drop the blanket over that thing and back away.”

“Can’t do that, Captain. We won the conference title on this floor. How could I ever walk into the Waffle House again if I let the floor blow up?”

The wires were a mess. Everything looked the same. The sweat was burning his eyes. He reached for his wire cutters in the toolbox, fumbling them in his rush. Finally securing them in his hand, Reggie made his decision. 

“Is that all you got, Reggie?”

The crowd counted down:

“5, 4, 3…”

His coach yelled, “Reggie, take the shot!”

His dad turned to him in the back seat.  “Grab your hat, son! We’re gonna miss the tipoff.”

His brother called up to him in the treehouse. “Mom says it’s time for dinner! Let’s go!”

Derrick yelled over the sound of the other machines in the arcade. “Don’t lose the ball! That’s our last quarter!”

“Reggie! I told you not to drop the screw!”

“Sergeant! Get those kids out of here! I can’t see anything!”

“Reggie! Just cut the speaker wire and fix it later! We’re late for our date!”

“Reggie! Throw the blanket over that bomb and get out.”

Reggie looked up into the mezzanine where his captain stood, and said,

“Roll Tide, sir.”

And he cut the wire.