A Mark Made

“You don’t understand!” Prince Leo, third son and fifth child of King Arlon and Queen Ellia, fumed. Hands clenched at his side, he shot the tall man standing beside him a withering glare, the type royals had mastered centuries ago as they looked down on those of a lower social status. 

“I have to get this right!” he continued, beginning to pace frantically, his tennis shoes scuffing the chalk-drawn starting line. “I’m destined for this life!”

Standing at the starting line, staring down the long dirt path that had been cleared for this purpose, he could see five bright orange markers indicating each milestone reached. So far he hadn’t managed much more than a hop halfway to the first marker.

Ron Johnson shook his fair-haired head wearily. Over the past few weeks he’d heard this argument countless times. His role as advisor to the prince conflicted directly now with his status as closest companion. On one hand, he knew Prince Leo’s sudden obsession with becoming an Olympic long-jumper was absurd: the thin, wiry man had never shown much aptitude for athletics. 

And yet, as best friend, he felt compelled to support his friend in all decisions, no matter how crazy they sounded. 

“Are you sure you wouldn’t rather retire inside where it’s cool?” Ron questioned, rays from the noonday sun beating down harshly on his uncovered neck and arms. His skin had turned angry red within the first two hours, blistering after the fourth. Still, it was not his place to complain.

Shaking his head in reply, Leo turned his attention back to the orange markers mocking his every attempt. “I need to keep going. Can’t give up now.” Straightening his shoulders, determination shone from every pore of his stoic form. 

Dreams changed, Ron supposed. He should be glad Leo had moved away from chemical experimentations. He could go the rest of his life without explaining why there was yet another chemical explosion in the prince’s chambers. 

There was still the all-too-real possibility of injury to the prince himself. 

Perhaps fire-blackened drapes and a room full of thick grey smoke was preferable after all.

“I’ll get this right,” Leo muttered, staring down the line and envisioning himself leaping over the furthest mark. “I’m going to get this right.” 

No one understood where the prince’s obsession with long-jumping had come from, though for the past few years he had consumed every nonfiction book, coaching guide, YouTube video, and How-To article he could locate. Leo had offered no further explanation besides an offhand comment that he needed to begin preparing for the next Olympic Games.

If Ron had not known his prince had little experience with comedy, he would have assumed the entire endeavor was a joke.

It certainly was not the field his parents had expected him to join. As a known junior scholar with a business degree, it was expected that Leo would find himself with a cushy desk job, overseeing a few of the kingdom’s well-known non-profit organizations or charities. Not the most glamorous life, to be sure, but one which Leo had long been prepared for by tutors. 

Ironically, Leo could easily have followed his medieval-age predecessors in the traditional practice of chastity and honoring God by becoming a monk. A well worn path for third sons of kings. 

First sons were shining heirs to the throne, holding the hopes and dreams of the people in their hands. Second sons were spares, trained in the way of law and politics in case any horrible accident or illness befell their elder brother.

Third sons, well, third sons were simply more male heirs to carry on the family name in whatever role would bring the most honor and respect to their familiar line. 

Ron stood back, hand raised to shield his eyes from the blinding sun as he watched Leo prepare to once again launch himself into the air. He had yet to make it any notable length. Though Ron had to admit that his friend’s persistence was admirable. 

Taking a running start, his tennis shoes slapping the packed dirt, Leo leaped into the air, his legs whirling underneath him. Fighting against gravity, he lifted into the air, soaring a good ten feet high before crashing back to earth, stumbling on his feet. Not a balanced landing, but one that evaded broken bones.

Panting from the effort, Leo turned, his eyes twinkling with victory though his main mark had not been struck. “Did you see that?” he called, pointing up into the air. “I got more height that time!” Grinning, he jogged back to where Ron patiently waited. 

“I really think with a few more tries, I’ll pass over the third mark!” 

Ron decided not to point out that just making it over the first mark or two hardly qualified Leo for the Olympics. No sense hurting his prince’s dreams. 

“A very good effort!” he replied, clapping in praise. 

“Perhaps a coach would be useful? Someone to offer more guidance in this arena than I can provide,” he tentatively added, knowing Leo preferred to learn things on his own through constant practice. It seemed to Ron a spectacular way to injure oneself, however, and if there was a way he could prevent harm befalling his prince, he would.

To Ron’s surprise, Leo hesitated a moment, considering the idea. Waving his hand, Leo dismissed the thought. “What could a coach teach me that I cannot learn from books? All the best strategies have already been exposed! Laid out in clear black ink, stark against their white pages.” 

It had at least been worth a shot, Ron thought with a heavy sigh. 

“Just a few more hours and I’ll have it down!” Leo declared happily, regaining his earlier enthusiasm. “Then you’ll record my spectacular leap across the furthest mark. The Olympic committee will be clambering to let me in. They’ll need me on the team!”

Mouth agape, Ron stared at his friend. Did he really believe he could become an Olympic Champion so quickly? It took years of practice and dedication! 

“Perhaps you should aim lower,” he suggested, already knowing his words would be dismissed. “Settle for a few local competitions first. It’s a long, hard road to the Olympics.” 

“Nonsense! All I need to do is prove my talent here and now.” 

Sighing in resignation, Ron took out his phone and thumbed open the camera. Pointing the phone in the direction of the mark stoically shining bright white at the end of the track, he nodded, showing his readiness. 

Really, this would be better on Funniest Videos on YouTube than a sports program.