Requiem for a Runner

Rubber soles slapped the damp pavement as heated breath dissipated in the chilled morning air. The fallen leaves had turned hazel underfoot as the last of autumn gave way to winter. There was no need for music; every step was the beating of a drum, and the shrill bird calls like a melody in this symphony of sweat and toil.

Four minutes.

Aaron picked up the pace. His lungs and heart begged for mercy, his legs a slave to his mind. The world record for fastest one mile would be his and he would torment every fiber of his being to make it so.

Three minutes, fifty two seconds. Nine seconds off the pace.

Time.

Frustrated, Aaron came to a halt at the street corner less than a hundred yards from his home and stopped his watch. He stood, hands on hips, and struggled to catch his breath. Three miles in under thirteen minutes was 13.85 miles per hour. It was faster than the majority of people could sprint for a hundred meters, much less five kilometers. Still, Aaron needed to reach a pace of 16.2 miles per hour if he wanted to have a chance at upending the world record.

Aaron placed his hands behind his head. His legs trembled as he sauntered towards their one-story, three bedroom home. His wife would be awake by now, and a pit began to form in his stomach as he approached the door.

Aaron heard the latch click as he removed his waterlogged shoes. He would have to try again when the streets were dry.

In the kitchen, sitting at the round oak table, was Melanie. She was wrapped in a snug robe sipping an oversized mug that read, "OK, but first, coffee". Aaron silently hung his thin rain jacket on the coat rack and went to pour himself a cup. Steam rose from the mug as it filled with the invigorating elixir.

Several tense moments passed before Melanie asked, "So, are we not speaking to each other again today?"

Aaron stayed quiet, stirring a dash of sugar into his coffee.

"Are you even going to try to make this marriage work?" Her words bit at his soul like the sting of a wasp.

Aaron furrowed his brow. "Perhaps we could make it work if you stopped hating me."

"I don't hate you, Aaron," she scoffed. "We've had a difficult few months; we need to work together."

Aaron couldn't even take a sip. "How can we possibly work together? You've looked at me like a stranger since Jaylin left! We haven't had sex for two months, every conversation turns into an argument, and any time I show a hint of an emotion you don't like, you scold me like a child!"

"Because you act like a child, Aaron!" Melanie screamed. "You acted like a child when we had a child in our home! I needed a husband! I needed you to be a man, not scream and curse at our foster son because he wasn't what you wanted him to be!"

Hot coffee splashed over the ceramic mug as Aaron forcefully set it on the counter. "All I wanted him to be was respectful! To respect you and me, to listen, to learn from us, to give a damn about what we were doing here! We were both miserable; at least I did something about it!"

Melanie's voice lowered, "And you drove him away, calling him a hateful little asshole, reminding him of what he already knew–that he had no one."

The pain was palpable. Their faces were wrinkled with it. A despair deeper than death crept into that kitchen, its shadow choking the life from their souls. A faceless wall had been erected. Hatred indeed had moved in where love should be, but who hated who was more difficult to tell.

Aaron stormed out of the kitchen and once again put on his running shoes and jacket.

"You can't run forever, Aaron," Melanie called after him, and the door slammed shut.

Rubber soles slapped the damp pavement as heated breath dissipated in the morning air. Every step was agony. There was no rhythm, no melody, no symphony. A dense, eerie silence lay over him like a thick fog.

Four minutes.

Aaron hadn't bothered to start his watch. This was just a run. It was what he was good at, after all. His parents had been runners, and they taught him well. Shame that he never got the chance to tell them how much he hated them for it.

Three minutes.

Aaron made a left turn. A car honked. Wind struck him from the side, chilling his face. His breathing became rapid and his eyes burned with tears. She didn't understand. No one could understand. Melanie loved Jaylin, and truly he felt like their son, until he didn't. Still, she saw the best in Jaylin even when he lashed out, lied, threw things, and cursed at them. Aaron couldn't understand her love for Jaylin. What was worse, he couldn't understand why that same love was now absent for her own husband.

Two minutes.

His legs screamed for reprieve, but he did not listen. He could not hear them. His heart should have been burning with exhaustion, but he could not find it. Or maybe he never had one. He promised Jaylin they were forever. He told him that he loved him. Now he was a reprehensible father, an angry husband, and a liar.

One minute.

Finally, Aaron came to stop on the bridge overlooking the river. He and Melanie use to come here, once upon a time. The days seemed sunnier then, and life was full of bliss. Or was it ignorance? He looked down several stories to the swift, rocky, and shallow waters. They were cold this time of year. He drew a breath, letting himself feel the crisp air burn his lungs. It seemed like an eternity on the edge of that overpass, the roaring waters calling out to him.

Melanie was right, he couldn't run forever.

Time.