Sea of Tranquility

Track and Field is a team sport,
until you step onto the track to do what you do.

Two boys who face each other across the track
each week, don't know a thing about one another.

When one of the two goes missing,
the other one needs to find out why.

Prologue:

Track and field isn't a sport where most people think of competitors bonding. The word competition brings to mind a desire to win. There are a dozen teams, and in excess of five hundred competitors at larger track meets.

One of the first events that will be run, once the track meet is under way, is the hundred-meter-dash. The race creates its own excitement. When the starter's pistol fires, the race is over, almost before it starts. Everyone stands to see who makes it across the finish line first, after the most thrilling ten seconds in sports.

Sprinters are a different breed from other athletes. Temperamental, Superstitious, and heaven help you if you dare to get in the sprintersr space while he is preparing for a race. After the hundred yard dash is run, the winner is jubilant. Everyone else is a loser.

It's the story that's present in all sports. The winner goes home to celebrate victory. The losers go back to look for a way to get better, faster.

In Sea of Tranquility, two sprinters develop a friendship away from the track, under quite unusual circumstances.

After the fastest sprinter in the city, stops appearing at track meets. Levi Cordoba benefits, because of Moony's absence. He now wins the hundred, after becoming accustomed to finishing second to the faster Moony. It has not left Levi feeling good about winning.

Unable to get answers about the boy's disappearance from Moony's teammates, Levi decides to investigate on his own. What he finds out is disturbing. He isn't sure what to do, but he has to do something.

Chapter 1

The City's Speedsters

Terry Brown is an athlete, a good student, and he's always been a good son, and the apple of his mother's eye.

His father, like most working fathers, is gone from the house most of each day. He's doing his best to cure the ills of man, while trying to keep the peace.

Mrs. Brown is a housewife. Most of her days are spent at the house. Emily was born in Shreveport, Louisiana. Her one claim to fame as a child, was when visitors to her house said, 'Your mama is, hands down, the best cook hereabouts.'

This opinion, according to the folks who sat at Elsie Johnson's table, received no argument. Folks receiving Elsie's jams, jellies, and canned goods, that she put up each year, felt lucky to receive them. Elsie's soups, casseroles, and her cobblers, never failed to perk up someone under the weather.

Over the years, many folks, friends and strangers a like, found themselves sitting at Elsie's table, in good times and in bad. If a family fell on hard times, and couldn't feed their own, they were sent to the Johnson house, where they were met with smiles, and an open door. Elsie didn't need to ask why they were there. It was understood, they'd be staying for dinner.

It didn't hurt a lick, Elsie's husband, Jubal Johnson, was a Louisiana farmer, father of Emily, and he supplied the food for the table in his kitchen. He'd been heard calling the table his, more than once, but everyone knew whose table it was. Jubal might argue the point, if he wasn't busy eating, and making certain everyone went away fat and sassy.

The Johnsons were wealthy in a way that didn't involve their bankbook. They believed in sharing that wealth, and there was no greater joy for the Johnsons, than when they watched hungry folks eat their fill.

Elsie's daughter, Emily, was an eager student, learning the secrets of her mother's cooking. At six and seven, she stood on a chair, she pulled up next to the stove, to watch her mother add a pinch of this, a dash of that, to whatever was cooking for that evenings supper.

By ten and eleven, Emily was coming close to being able to capture the flavors her mother coaxed out of the food. By the time she was thirteen and fourteen, when a guest at their table complimented a dish, it wasn't unusual for Elsie to say, “Emily fixed that. She's becoming a wonderful cook.”

The reply that followed, “Emily takes after her mama.”

Now, twenty-five years later, Emily is said to be, one of the best cooks on the Southside of Chicago. She put to work all the secrets her mother showed her. There were often guests at Elsie's table too, and word had gotten around..

Mr. Alvin Brown, husband of Emily, father of Terry, Al to his friends, was the son of a Baptist preacher. His father's church was in Batesville.

Victims of Chicago's suburban sprawl, Batesville and Alvin's father's church, were buried under that highway. Along the way, the idea parishioners had, Alvin is going to take his daddy's church, once his daddy's gone, was buried too.

Al went to college in the South, LSU. He met Emily Johnson there, and he had cause to sit at Emily's mother's table, because, when you court a Louisiana girl, you are forced to court her parents, too. It's not how it was done in Chicago, but Al made an exception, when it came to Emily.

Terry Brown was the result of his father courting his mother. There would be no brothers or sisters to join him in the well-kept house. He never regretted having been born. As children went, Terry was a happy child. He followed his parent's example, and he didn't break too many of the family's rules. The one time he did stray a bit from the straight and narrow, earned him the name Moony.

It's how Terry was known to his friends, and to the competition, much to the chagrin of his parents. While Terry could hit a baseball a country mile, his sport was track and field. His specialty, the hundred-meters.

Some athletes called him a one event wonder. He was confined to the one event he excelled in, because of a physical problem that prevented him from running the longer sprints. He also started the four by hundred relay.

The doctor advised Terry's father, “See to it he sticks to the hundred. I'm afraid if he runs the longer sprints, his career will be short lived. As I see it, running the hundred should be OK, but we'll see as time goes on.”

Terry stuck to what his father told him. The hundred was his race, and it was no hardship to sticking to the race he ran best. Moony was the fastest school boy Chicago. All the sprinters knew his name.

Moony knew, no one wins them all, and in the race he lost, he'd blown his start, and lost the race by one step. Buckling down at practice, he spent an hour a day on his starts. He wouldn't blow another one.

Moony filled many an official timer's watch with 9.9s this season. Moony Brown was a gifted runner, and when he stepped on the track, every eye was on him. If someone wasn't watching, the person next to him would give him a nudge. Being the sprinter the other sprinters wanted to beat, didn't bother Moony Brown.

Since his junior year, Moony was the man in the hundred. College recruiters had been ringing his phone constantly, since he ran his first 9.9 hundred. Ten flat was a very good hundred, but 9.9 separated the men from the boys.

Moony filled many an official timer's watch with 9.9s this season. Moony Brown was a gifted runner, and when he stepped on the track, every eye was on him. If someone wasn't watching, the person next to him would give him a nudge. Being the sprinter that the other sprinters wanted to beat, didn't bother Moony Brown a bit.

* * * * *

When Moony stopped showing up at track meets, most sprinters, were aware that he didn't step on the track, when the hundred-meter was called.

His teammates knew, but weren't talking.

Moony Brown's father spoke to Coach Moore, telling him, “I don't want this information spread around. It will only cause trouble.”

Coach Moore told his troops, “Don't be spreading this around. If someone asks you, play dumb. That won't take much effort for most of you.”

They'd been told before the next track meet, “Anyone asks you about Moony, shrug, and say nothing. We aren’t here to gossip. Run your events and stick with the rest of the team, once you've run your event.”

Everyone was clear on that. The most reliable performer on their team, was no longer on the team. He no longer stepped onto the track, and his name was no longer announced. The points he routinely earned, now went to another hundred man, on another team. He lost once that season, finishing second to Levi Cordoba. He'd won the rest of his races, until he stopped coming to track meets.

Without Moony starting the four by one hundred relay, setting the pace, the relay team was an also-ran. They didn't always win with Moony, but now they didn't even place or show.

As dependable as Moony was to win the hundred, that's how dependable the coach was in keeping his word to Moony's father. His boys stayed silent.

* * * * *

If things were bad for Moony's track team, it was no picnic at the Brown house either. Terry's future was tied to his speed. Being the fastest hundred man in one of America's largest cities, meant colleges, far and wide, were courting him for their school.

The phone had gone still at the Brown house. College recruiters knew what happened to Moony the morning after it happened. College recruiters were paid to know what was going on with boys they were recruiting, and they'd moved on to recruiting other sprinters now.

The phone calls that interrupted dinner most nights, stopped. It hadn't been unusual for Terry to get off the phone with one recruiter, and before he sat back down, the phone rang again. It was almost funny, but there was no humor at the Brown house these days. No one was sure how it might turn out.

A future that once had seemed to be written in stone, was now in doubt, as Chicago's fastest sprinter, sat in the front window of the family home, looking out on the world passing by the the front of the Brown house. There was no longer any joy at 1909 2nd Street, on the Southside of Chicago.

* * * * *

Levi Cordoba, one of the fastest sprinters in the city, wasn't accustomed to sulking around. He had things to do, and places to go. But for several weeks, he'd felt s though he'd lost something. It hadn't been his speed. He'd swept the sprint events six straight weeks in a row. Levi was on a tear.

Cordoba was odds on favorite to sweep the hundred and two hundred at the upcoming City Championship, and college recruiters all wanted to be Levi's new best friend. Along with his speed, his grades would have any parents smiling.

As the track season was nearing its end, most athletes were looking for a college that would take them, but Levi had narrowed his choice down to the two dozen schools who were offering him full scholarships. They loved his speed, but his near perfect scholastic record was a bonus colleges didn't expect to come with every athlete. Levi offered the college he went to, the entire package, and he was a recruiters dream to boot. He was polite, unassuming, and easy to talk to.

Levi was ready to go. He'd never been in better shape. He'd lost weight in his first two years, as the track season progressed. With adding light weight training to his routine, he'd stayed at one hundred sixty-five pounds, on his six foot frame, and since before mid-season, he'd won every sprint race he'd started. Levi had never been in better shape, and a week after the City Championship Track Meet, he'd graduate from high school, and he was looking forward to life as a college students at whatever college he decided to go to.

He had his entire future in front of him, and he knew he was a lucky lad. Everything had gone just right, and he'd charge hard into whatever it was that awaited him. He rarely gave much thought to kids who were less fortunate than he was. He accepted he was fortunate, and he planned to make the most of it, just like any red-blooded American boy would.

Levi had a target on his back now, but that was nothing new. He hadn't lost a two-hundred-meter race, since halfway through his junior season. He didn't plan to lose one now, as his senior season was coming to an end. He'd been everyone's pick to be the city's fastest two hundred man, this season. Then, the man he finished second to in the hundred, stopped coming to track meets, and Levi no longer finished second to anyone. He'd become the city's fastest man.

High school, and high school track, were coming to an end. That could have been what was bothering Levi. He was well-known, popular at school, and he made the right friends, while being close to no one. Making real friends, took time, and more energy that Levi had.

Levi greeted everyone with a wide warm smile. It's what people loved about him. He didn't mind smiling. You didn't get far if you frowned all the time. People assumed he was g friendly, because he smiled.

A 4.0 grade point average, attention to detail, speed, and his friendliness, were what gave him the inside track on his future. They were all handy traits, but the friendliness did not extend to the track. When he stepped onto the track to prepare to race, Levi Cordoba was deadly serious.

There were no smiles or greetings for the competition, whether or not Levi recognized other sprinters. He wasn't there to socialize, and no one mistakenly thought he was. He had come to win, and he usually did what he came to do. Except for a quick wave to the people in the stands, after he won, he went directly back to where his team was.

Levi was doing what his parents expected him to do, and leaving high school wasn't a big deal. High school was about preparing him for college, and college would help to prepare him for a career, and eventually independence from both parents and his school days, and nothing about it bothered him.

There would be bigger fish to fry in college. His future would begin to take shape there. That had always been the plan. His last high school track season, while instrumental in getting him the scholarship he was after, was no big deal.

Until a few weeks ago, Levi was on the fast track. Everything was going as expected. There had been no surprises. As close as he was to graduating, he should have been pleased as punch, but he wasn't, and he didn't know why, but something was definitely bothering him.

Levi was in the best shape he'd ever been in. His coach added the weight training to his regimen. No muscle building, simply a way of keeping his muscles honed. Ready them for competition. Initially, Levi was indifferent to weight lifting. It was just part of his training.

Once he'd been at it for a couple of months, he liked the way it made him feel. It made him feel faster. The light weights were traded for heavier weights. His body lost any sign of being fleshy. He was tighter, leaner, harder, and he liked the way he looked.

Levi stayed at one hundred sixty-five pounds all season. Each of the previous three seasons, he'd lost from five to ten pounds by season's end. He was sure, after weight training, he had no weight to lose.

Levi knew who Moony was, and he knew Moony was faster than he was in the hundred. A sprinter has his bad days, just like any athlete. Sprinters also had very good days, and Levi was waiting to put one of his best days, together with one of Moony's bad days, and that's the day he might win a hundred race. It wasn't an obsession. It was simply on his list of things to do. He liked winning.

Remembering his junior year, Levi began beating some of the sprinters, who often finished in front of him. By the middle of his junior track season, Levi began winning the two-hundred-meter race. As a junior, he was beating seniors.

It gave him a good feeling, and when he got on the track in the two-hundred, he began to expect to win.

One day, after he'd started winning, Tim Hammond pulled off what was called an upset of the city's top two-hundred-meter man. Levi made up his mind he'd lost his last two-hundred race. No one but Levi had finished first in the two-hundred, after he lost that race to Hammond. He knew the moral to the story. Be careful what you wish for, it might not end well.

Moony was in a different league, and Levi knew it. For Levi, the hundred was his second event. The two hundred was the race he trained to win, and Moony pulled off his first 9.9 as a junior. Ten flat was Levi's best hundred, and he'd only run ten flat once. Everything had to go just right for him to run that fast.

Moony Brown ran ten flat on his bad day, beating Levi by two strides, while doing it. The one time Levi beat Moony, he didn't think he'd become the city's fastest sprinter, even when the winner of the hundred usually was given that title.

Levi didn't expect to win the hundred, and he knew he was lucky to beat Moony once. Then, Levi started winning the hundred. He didn't mind winning, but the city's fastest hundred man wasn't in those races. Moony missed six track meets over two months.

Levi won the hundred, because of Moony's absence. He still won the two-hundred, and he was still the city's fastest two-hundred man. When you added the four by two-hundred relay, which usually won, because Amalgamated had four very good two-hundred men, Levi left most major track meets with three gold medals in his pocket.

No one could take home more gold medals. Participation was limited to three events, which included any combination of field and running events that added up to three.

Levi had been called the city's fastest high school sprinter more than once, in the past few weeks, This bothered him, because Levi knew it wasn't true. The fastest sprinter, was the fastest hundred-meter man, and that wasn't Levi Cordoba.

The week after Levi beat the city's fastest hundred man, Moony threw down the gauntlet. Once he stepped onto the track a week later, his icy stare told the whole story. He intended to erase any doubt about who the fastest hundred man was. Moony Brown ripped off a 9.9, leaving Levi Cordoba in the dust.

The man who beat Moony the week before, could do no better than a 10.1, and a second place. It wasn't a race. It was a rout. No one finished in the same zip code as Moony.

He'd done what he came to do. Few high school sprinters run a 9.9. Fewer yet disappeared after doing it. Moony Brown did both, with two thirds of the track season left ahead of the city's track teams..

Chapter 2

Where's Moony?

Levi was bothered by his continued good luck. No one said, Moony pulled his hamstring, or sprained his ankle. At least that would give Levi some idea how long Moony might be absent, but no one had said anything.

A hamstring pull would put him out for the rest of the season, but a strained hamstring wouldn't. A sprained ankle might keep him out for a month to six weeks, depending on the severity of the sprain. Knowing nothing about Moony's condition, meant he didn't know how long he might be absent.

Each time Levi stepped on the track, before running the hundred, the first thing he did was look for Moony Brown. He continued to be absent, and after everyone picked him as the odds on favorite to win the hundred title at the city championships, Levi moved to the number one spot.

For six straight track meets, Moony hadn't showed up, and Levi won each of those hundred-meter races. With only a few weeks left, until the city championships, time was running out.

According to the rules, even if Moony showed up at the city championships, he couldn't run, if he didn't qualify in the track meet a week before those championships.

Levi didn't know if the rules could be set aside, if there was a good reason why Moony hadn't been running. Certainly his official times would qualify him for any race he wanted to run, and rules were fickle, if officials saw the wisdom in bending one.

Levi kept his ears open for news about Moony, and he'd heard everything from, 'He died,” to, 'His mother died,' to, 'He broke his leg,' to, 'His mother broke her leg.' It was high school, after all, and in high school, you believed half of what you saw, and none of what you heard, if you were smart.

When he asked one of Moony's teammates,”Where's Moony Brown?”

The reply was a shrug, with hands held our helplessly.

Could it be possible that the guy just disappeared off the face of the earth? What ever happened, no one was talking about it. Levi was a live and let live kind of a guy, but after winning the hundred, the first few races where Moony didn't run, Levi became more and more uneasy about it.

Levi considered walking over to Moony's team to ask the coach, “Where's Moony Brown,' but he valued his life. The guy who was winning the races Moony would have won, didn't want to get too close to his teammates. They might think he was gloating.

The hundred was to sprinters, what the mile was to distance runners. If you won the mile, especially if you set a new city record, you were the king of distance men. If you won the hundred, you were the king of the sprinters, the fastest man. It was a coveted title, when it was deserved.

No one looked to see who won the two hundred. That's the way it was, and Levi accepted that. He ran the two-hundred, because that was his race, and only his parents looked to see who won the two-hundred.

When Levi was running the hundred against Moony Brown, he often found himself looking at the six foot prototype of a hundred-meter dash man. His chest was bigger, his arms were better defined, and where the rubber meets the road, Moony had big muscular thighs. Levi's thighs were longer, the musculature not nearly as prominent as Moon's.

When Moony caught Levi studying him, he gave him a nod, and a confident little smile that said, 'This is my race. You're in my house now,' not unlike how Levi reacted to other two-hundred-meter men.

When Moony looked at Levi, he knew who he was. He was the city's second fastest man. He knew, Levi Cordoba had a lock on the two-hundred-meter race, just like he had a lock on the hundred-meters. The nod Moony gave Levi, was a sign of respect, and Levi would give a similar nod back.

Respect for your competition was important, because the guy finishing second this week, might be finishing first the next time around. Levi had beaten Moony once. He didn't think it made him the city's fastest man.

Levi acknowledged no one, when he was ready to race. He took to nodding back at Moony, after Moony initiated the nods. Moony only nodded at Levi. They both knew who was going to win, and which would finish second. Most people in the stadium knew which boy was about to win the hundred. Moony Brown was, and had been, the fastest hundred man in the city.

Levi hated losing, but it was easier, when you knew you were likely to lose, before the starter fired his gun.

The one time Levi beat Moony Brown in the hundred, they'd given each other a nod before the race, but Moony had broken the silence between them. As Levi realized he had won, he waved to the crowd, acknowledging their cheers. When he turned around to leave the track, after the race, Moony was there.

“Nice race, Cordoba,” he said.

Moony extended his hand for the winner of the race to shake.

Levi's thought to himself, he's got more class than I do.

Levi wasn't in the habit of noticing other sprinters. For a second, he regretted it, but it was what it was. He was there to win races, not to socialize. If his competition wanted a friend, he needed to get a dog.

On that day, the day Levi beat Moony in the hundred, Levi Cordoba found himself admiring Moony Brown. He wished he was that cool. The respect he had for the city's fastest man had grown, after their handshake.

It was later that Levi found out, Moony slipped coming out of the starting blocks. It allowed Levi to get out two steps ahead of Moony. He won the race by less than a single stride, and it had taken Levi's best start ever to finally beat Moony Brown.

Knowing the truth about his win, Levi took congratulations in stride.

* * * * *

Terry sat in the window of 1909 2nd Street, where he'd lived all his life. These days he only left the house to see his doctors, and they did him little good. They'd saved his life, but left him paralyzed. He watched the cars, who came down 2nd Street, and turned left to get to the main drag.

Once in a while, a police car, or an ambulance cut down 2nd Street, to get around a traffic snarl on the main street that cut across Southside. Once a transit bus turned down 2nd Street, for the same reason.

His mother brought him breakfast at eight thirty, helping Terry out of bed, and over to the chair in front of the window. He would sit there until she helped him get back into bed in the evening. He could watch the TV from his bed.

It was hard for Emily Brown to see her son become helpless. A few weeks before, everything was peaches and cream, but in one of those instants no one sees coming, Terry's life changed, which altered all the lives at the Brown house.

Alvin, Terry's father, had insisted Terry eat dinner at the table, when Al

was able to get home for dinner.

He'd told Emily, “Allowing the boy to sit in that window all day, wasn't doing him a bit of good. There needs to be some normalcy in his life. No one died, and we're still a family, in spite of Terry's injury.”

That's the day when Terry began eating dinner with his parents again. It was awkward getting him out of the wheelchair, and making him comfortable enough for him to eat, but once they figured out the logistics, it was no big deal.

Terry was a senior who made good grades, when he turned down an offer to allow him to go to school, Terry opted for lessons being sent to his house. They would allow him to use a computer for his homework and tests. Any written work would be picked up at his house, if it couldn't be dropped off at school.

His coach and some of his teammates had come to the hospital, once they got the news about Moony. He'd accepted that sort of thing as necessary, for them to see he was alive and out of danger. The problem with his teammates, they thought they were indestructible. Looking at Moony had them question their indestructibility. The looks on their faces showed it.

The looks on their faces had Moony asking them not to come back. He would need a while to rehabilitate himself, and then he'd be back, but everyone knew that there wasn't enough time for him to make a comeback this season, and graduation would end shortly after the final track meet of the season.

Since coming home from the hospital, he allowed the coach to call once a week to check on him. He asked that his teammates not visit, and except for a teacher delivering his assignments to the front door of their house, and taking away his homework and other things that were due, no one came to see him.

His father made it clear to the coach and to school officials, “The less said about this incident, the better. If you don't want to be stirring up a hornets nest, you'll simply not comment on Terry's injury. It could head off violence.”

Terry knew that what happened to him was an accident, a mistake. The boy who shot him, hadn't meant to shoot the city's fastest sprinter. The reaction to him shooting the city's fastest sprinter was swift. He'd been shot, and killed, a few days after he shot Moony.; Moony blamed himself for the boys death. He didn't send a message, there is to be no retribution for my accidental shooting.

After the fact, he knew that's what he should have done, but he had still been dealing with being paralyzed from the waist down. His wound hadn't gotten well enough for him to be off the medications they were giving him, and in that atmosphere, he never gave a thought to the repercussions over him being shot.

Moony Brown didn't need to wait to grow up to become somebody. Moony Brown was somebody in Southside. Moony was leaving his mark on high school track and field. He'd become Chicago's fastest human. No one shot someone who had become somebody. If you did, there were people who would deal with you.

The word to his team, 'I'll be back,' were uttered, without anyone, who had half a brain, believing it. The boy could walk. How could he possibly run again?

He wouldn't go back to his track team. He'd be lucky to walk again. The doctors said, “Maybe.'

Most of the doctors didn't know who Terrance Brown was. The ones that recognized his name, did so from what was written in the sports pages of one of the local newspapers, but few linked Terrance Brown with Moony Brown. Unlike football, and basketball, track and field wasn't widely followed, if it wasn't an Olympic year, and then, more people might look to see who made the US team.

Doctors wanted to be able to tell Terry, “There's a chance you might walk again.”

But doctors didn't like to lie to their patients. If there was a chance he could, there was a good chance he wouldn't, but they wouldn't say that either.

in high school, if you were the teams fastest man, people would know your name. Once you disappeared from their midst, what you were was part of the student body memory. The student body had a habit of moving on from high school, and the longer you were not heard from, the less you were missed, until no one remembers your name.

Terry gave thought to this reality, after being shot. A team was a little different from the entire student body. When you're the guy scoring a big hunk of the points the team scored in a track meet, you're missed in a different way.

Your team scores fewer points without you, winning fewer events. They would think of Moony and what he meant to the team, but no one wants to see a cripple, and Terry had no desire to be seen as crippled.

It worked out nice that way.

Chapter 3

Emily Brown has remained cheerful in the face of adversity. Her son Terry is withdrawn, and no longer communicates the way he once did. She worries about her son, who sits in a front window of the house most of each day. The best she can do is, keep him well fed, and be as cheerful as she's able. In time, her hope is that her son will rebound.

“Terry, do you want your lunch?” his mother asked.

“No, Mama. I'm not hungry.”

“I'll make us some tuna sandwiches. It's your favorite. You know you need to eat. The doctor said.....”

“Mama, I was there. I know what the doctor said. I'm not hungry, you badgering me isn't going to give me an appetite,” Terry said, more forcefully than he meant it to be. “I'm sorry, Mama. I know you mean well.”

Terry had lost control of everything, and now he was losing control of his mind. He'd always known he lived on mean streets, but it had never applied to him. Everyone knew him. Everyone rooted for him. Now, the entire universe had narrowed to one large window.

“Terry, do you want a piece of fruit?” she asked.

“No, ma'am. I'm not hungry, Mama,” he tried more politely.

“You going to sit in there and sulk all day?”

“Yes, ma'am,” Terry said, as his mom came to the door.

“You know what the doctor said? He knows best,” she said.

“He don't live in here, Mama. I live in here. I want them damn braces, and if you make me crawl over there to get them, I'll crawl, Mama, so you may as well let me have them.”

“You heard the doctor as well as I did,” his mom said.

“Where'd you put them, Mama? I'm going to walk again. I may as well get started.”

“I put them up. I know you, young man. If I'd left them in plain view, you'd have had them on by now, and you know as well as I do, you haven't healed yet, and until you do, no braces. That's final.”

Terry scooted as far out on the edge of his chair as he dare go. He wasn't suicidal, not yet anyway, and he wouldn't do anything that did more damage, than was already done. He knew what the doctor said. He'd been there. The doctor was taking about some damage to his spine, which could heal on its own. He called it a nick. Terry nicked himself shaving. It never stopped him from walking, or running. This nick wouldn't stop him. He'd made up his mind. He would walk again. It didn't matter what doctors said.

The doctor said, “Your paralysis might be for good, but more likely, it's temporary. Your spine needs time to heal, and we'll know more once it has healed. You need to be patient, Terrance. Give it time to heal, and with a little good luck, this time next year, you might be walking again. If we take our time now, that outcome is more likely. We just don't know for sure right now.”

He'd show the doctors. He'd show everyone. He wasn't a quitter, he'd been injured before. He healed fast, and he would heal this time too. What he needed to do was get out of his chair to begin exercising, so he could heal.

A while was a long time to a high school kid. His life hung in the balance. If he couldn't get back what he'd lost, his life would suck big fat ones, forever and a day. He couldn't wait. He wasn't going to wait.

“Mama, I want those braces. They're mine, and I want you to give them to me. I'll never walk again if I don't start walking soon.”

“I heard you the first time, Terrance. You heard what I said. You think a responsible mother is going to let her son cripple himself for life, because he's too impatient to wait for his body to heal, before he starts making impossible demands on it again? If you ever hope to go back to what you like doing, you better learn to wait. The time will come for you to exert your will over your legs.”

“Mama, it's been two months. I've been out of the hospital a month. I want my braces. I want to walk,” her son insisted.

“I know you do, Baby. It's not time yet. When the doctor says it's time, then, I'll gladly help you put those braces on. I'll walk with you. I'll hold you up. I'll carry you home, when you get too tired, but I will not give you the braces, until the doctor says you are ready for them.”

“Mama!” Terry yelled, like when he was a little boy, and he fell down, trying to walk, and he skinned his knees.

Remembering her son trying to walk as a child, once brought a smile to her face. It was a typical memory for a mother. With Terry in a wheelchair, thinking about him learning to walk all over again, wasn't going to generate many smiles this time. Learning to walk a second time wasn't how life should be,

Her son's demands subsided each day for the past week, and they subsided again. Terry went back to watching soap operas. She didn't know how he could stand watching those silly damn things, but they took his mind off of his braces, so she could return to the kitchen to caramelize onions and garlic for tonight's casserole.

If she couldn't cook, she'd have gone crazy over the last two months. Somehow, cooking took her away from the every day, the mundane, and the overwhelming sadness at the Brown house.

Emily Brown was certain things would gradually improve, but it wouldn't come soon enough for her.

* * * * *

Levi had his priorities straight. He wanted the full ride, because he'd earned it. He was a member of the honor society, the journalism staff, and he belonged to Mr. Rush's college prep club, which was by invitation only. Levi had been invited, but during track season, if they didn't schedule such events after track practice, Levi wasn't expected to attend. He had bigger fish to fry.

“Mr. Turner, how would I go about tracking down a guy from another school?” Levi asked.

“You know his name, of course,” Mr. Turner said.

“Yeah, he's a track guy. I had a need to find out what happened to him. I know his name. I know his school, but that's all I know about him. How would I go about finding him.”

His journalism teacher leaned back in his chair, forming a tent under his chin with his two index fingers and his thumbs.

“Let's back up a step or two. Ask yourself the questions that are most pertinent to your investigation,” Mr. Turner said.

“Who, what, where, why, when?” Levi said.

“Very good. Who is it you are looking for, Mr. Cordoba?”

“His name is Moony Brown. We ran against each other in the hundred, which means he's another sprinter. He goes to Southside. He is the fastest hundred man in the city. For the last six track meets, he hasn't shown up. I need to know what happened to him.”

Mr. Turner could see the angst on Levi's face. This other runner had left some kind of impression on him, and being the fastest hundred man in the city meant, Levi lost to the boy he wanted to find. Mr. Turner thought that it was very strange for Levi to go looking for his nemesis.

“Who is the city's fastest hundred man, when your competitor doesn't compete?” Mr. Turner asked.

He saw the discomfort in Levi's face, once the question was asked.

“I am,” Levi said.

This made his inquiry that much more curious. The boy who could beat Levi in the hundred, stopped coming to track meets, and so races he would have lost to that boy, he now won. A very curious inquiry indeed.

“The boy who could beat you, doesn't race any longer,” Mr. Turner said, sitting back up in his chair. “That could bode well for you, Mr. Cordoba.”

“It could, but my winning those races means something has happened to Moony Brown. He's a tough kid. He didn't decide he was tired of running, Mr. Turner. Something had to happen to him. I want to know what.”

Mr. Turner stood up, looking at Levi, and turning to look out at the teacher's parking lot. He stood silent for several minutes.”

“And going over to his school, and asking what happened to this Moony Brown, isn't the way you want to go, I suspect.”

“No, I wouldn't feel comfortable doing that. I've asked a couple of his teammates. They aren't talking. Whatever happened to him, has his teammates clamming up over it. That's why I thought you'd have some idea about it.”

Mr. Turner turned from the window, and he sat back at his desk, pulling a note pad over in front of him, and picking up his ink pen.

“I'll give you a note. This is for a guy I know at the City news. Go down there, when you have time, and ask for Sid Cleaver. Hand him the note, and he'll help you out,” Mr. Turner said, finishing the note, and handing it to Levi.

The following day, telling the track coach he had some school business to take care of, Levi took the number 9 bus that went within a block of the City News Building. He went in the main entrance, and he was directed to go to the third floor. Sid was in his office.

Levi said hello, introduced himself, and handed Sid the note.

“OK, let's start with the name,” he said.

“Moony Brown,” Levi said.

“That shouldn't be hard. If we have anything on him in our files, the computer should spit it right out. Oh, yes. It appears he is the city's speed in the hundred. I don't follow track that closely. There are mentions of him all through the sports section. Always in the spring. Always about the hundred. The races he won, and one feature on him and Southside's track program,” Sid said. “And you being Mr. Cordoba. Levi according to the small print. Are listed as the two hundred victor. Every week it seems. Here you are listed as the winner of the hundred and two hundred. That was late in March. It seems you've consistently won both races, almost every week. Ops! This doesn't look so good. Slow Field Wins hundred in 10.1. You won. I thought 10.1 and 10.0 were the gold standard. Enlighten me. When did 10.1 become a slow field?”

“Moony ran a 9.9 the last time he competed. If he didn't run 9.9, he ran ten flat. I only beat him once, I ran my best time ever, 10.0. He beat me every other time we ran against each other, until late March. He hasn't appeared at another track meet. No one is talking. Mr. Turner sent me to you. He said you'[d find out what happened to him, and why it hasn't been all over the sports pages.”

“I'm having difficulty wrapping my mind around this. You are the beneficiary of Mr. Moony's largess, and you want to know why? I'd think you'd be delighted.”

“There was anonymity in being the two-hundred champion. I'm not used to standing out, except after winning a race. It was short lived. I win both races each week, now, and no one has asked me once, 'Didn't Moony Brown use to win the hundred, like way faster than you?”

It bothers me not having any idea what happened to him. He's a real guy. I use to run against him. People just don't disappear,” Levi said.

“Everything was nice and neat. He won the hundred. You won the two-hundred. Then, everything changed in late March. I can run a check on local stories on Moony Brown, around that time. I can see you are adamant about finding out what happened to him. Once I begin running that check, I can't guarantee that you'll like what I find, Mr. Cordoba. You do understand that,” Sid said, “I'm not doing a search, if you aren't prepared to find out what actually happened to your friend. Are we clear on that?”

“Do the search. I need to know,” Levi said.

“There is no guarantee we covered a story, if there is a story connected to his withdrawal from athletics. We get a hundred stories a day about bad things happening to good people. There is only so much space in a newspaper,” he said, starting to run his search.

“How to find a misplaced sprinter,” Sid said, typing away.

Screens kept changing images faster than Levi could follow.

“All I'm getting is what's on the sports pages. I can copy articles that mention him. Do you want that? His name stops appearing in March. One might indicating he's moved. Father could be military. Kids move all the time.”

“No, I know about him winning. I run against him,” Levi said.

“Yes, you do. 'Levi Cordoba wins the hundred and two-hundred again. He'll be the favorite to win both races in the city championships. You're getting better write ups than he did, son,” Sid said, looking all of twenty-five or twenty-six. “You want to see if he'll be running in the city championships maybe?”

“No, he won't be running. He didn't qualify,” Levi said.

“I figured you wanted to make sure he wasn't going to pop up. Brown is a common name. I can go back, how long ago should I look back in our local section? Could be something newsworthy there. Give me the last date you saw him. I'll work forward from there. I'll search the name Brown, but there has to be a ton of Browns in Chicago.”

“Try six to eight weeks ago. That's when he stopped coming to track meets. His team comes to the meets, Moony isn't with them.”

“You know his proper name. Jim, Bob, George?”

“Moony is all I know,” Levi said.

“I'll go back two months, and work our way forward,” Sid said, as things kept flashing across the computer screen. “Pulled hamstring is my guess. Maybe hurt himself in practice. That wouldn't necessarily make the papers. I doubt we'd cover it. Sprinters often pull muscles. Distance men can run and run and run, and they don't pull muscles that often. Sprinters, pulled hamstring goes with the territory. It's like the elbow of a pitcher. Sooner or later, they all need that Tommy John surgery to repair their elbow. Sprinters pull hamstrings, and there might be a few lines about it in an article that isn't about this kid or his school. You'd be surprised how little is said about routine events.”

Levi sat watching the computer monitor changing screens, while looking over Sid's shoulder. Even if there was a story, How would they see it.

“Go back,” Levi yelped. No. No. Go back Back one more page. Yeah, there it is. It's the right time frame.”

“Promising city sprinter shot on his way home from track practice,” Sid read.

“How did you spot that. I would never thought to search for the word promising,” Sid said.

“Sprinter. Promising City Sprinter. I saw the word sprinter,” Levi said.

“You and no news man I know would have caught that,” Sid said. “After a while, I realized Moony would be a nickname. Your man is Terrance Brown. Gives no information on his condition. There are so many shootings in the city.”

“That's it. Nothing on his condition?”

“Here it is again. Promising sprinter goes home to 1909 2nd Street, from local hospital. There's that damn work promising again. Says he is paralyzed from the waist down. There is no guarantee that Terrance Brown will ever walk again. Couldn't ask for more. I'll print this out. It has his address in the article, but someone has put the fix in on this story. It should have run on the sports page. That's where the most interest would be, but it is just a few lines in the local section. Someone had to arrange to keep the shooting as low key as possible. His school? His parents? Parents wouldn't have that kind of sway, unless his old man's a politician. No wonder you didn't hear about this. You know now.”

“Damn!” Levi said. “Paralyzed! I'd rather be dead than paralyzed.”

“Death is greatly overrated. I'd take the paralysis,” Sid said.

“Here's another story. 'Terrance Brown, well known local sprinter, and odds on favorite in any hundred-meter race held in the city, was gunned down last night, while on his way home from track practice. He was a block from his home at 1909 2nd Street.' There's his address again. I'll print this article out too. 'Only one shot was fired, and police indicate that Terry might have been mistaken for someone else, as he had no enemies, and was a popular athlete in his neighborhood. Doctors said, 'He remains paralyzed from the waist down, and it's impossible to say if Mr. Brown will walk again.' He is in serious but stable condition, this article appeared before the article about him going home.”

“Shot. Is there a picture? His name is Moony,” Levi said. “It might not be the same guy. There are a lot of Browns in Chicago.”

“Promising sprinter, who has been missing from track meets, since the date of this shooting. It's the same guy,” Sid said. “What are the odds of two promising sprinters with the same last name disappearing? It's your guy all right, but how'd they keep it out of the sports pages. An editor could have made that decision. Saw it as a local news story. Everything done in a newsroom doesn't always make sense,” Sid said. “Don't tell anyone I said that.”

“Why would I talk to anyone in the newsroom?” Levi asked.

“That's true. Here's your picture. Article from two days after he was shot. It's a good facial shot. School picture I'd guess. Terrance Brown, seventeen, was gunned down two nights ago, as he walked home from school, a half mile from his house. Doctors say that Mr. Brown is out of danger, but the young man faces the possibility of being paralyzed for the rest of his life, but it's too soon to tell.”

“Man, what a bad break for a guy who has one thing going for him. He's a fast as hell sprinter. This is your man?” Sid asked, moving back from the screen.

“That's Moony Brown,” Levi said, standing to get a good look at the picture.

“Moony is a nickname your guy earned somewhere along the line. His name is Terrance Brown, and I think my work here is done. Are you going to go see him? He'd probably be shocked to see you. I'm shocked that you came here looking for him.”

They turned to look at each other's face.

“That's it. You've got what you came for,” Sid said. “You don't look very happy about it. You're the guy who wins the hundred now.”

“Yeah, I'm the guy,” Levi said. “Look, thanks for helping me.”

“Not a problem. When you get back to school, ask Mr. Turner if anyone has put a bull frog in his desk lately,” Sid said. “He never knew it was me. He probably suspected me though. I thought that kind of thing was funny, way back when.”

“I'll do that,” Levi said, unable to hide a smile.

Sid was a prankster.

Chapter 4

Two days later, and one week before the city track and field championships.

Levi never took a transit bus before. Had he asked a friend to drive him to Southside, he'd have gotten a ride, but he didn't ask a friend to take him to Southside. This was a journey he was taking alone. He carefully planned what he was going to do, and then, he implemented his plan.

Levi could have had a car in his junior year, but he didn't want a car. He'd worked hard to get where he was, and a car might have been nice. It would have saved him a lot of time, but Levi knew, a car would be a major distraction. He wanted to keep his grades up, and work hard to be a major force on his school's track team. That way he'd get the scholarship he was after, and be able to go to the school of his choice. His parents could buy him a car, once he went to college.

No matter who he asked to drive him to Southside, there would be the inevitable question, why do you want to go there?

'Why in the world do you want to go there?'

It wasn't a question Levi was prepared to answer. He wasn't sure of the answer. Sid had asked, 'Are you going to go see him?'

He didn't answer. He knew the answer to that question, but the why question had no answer. He needed to see Moony Brown. In some crazy, unexplainable way, his life as a sprinter, had some how become entangled with Moony's life as a sprinter, and he didn't know why.

He needed to see Moony. Once he talked to him, he'd be able to answer the question why. After visiting him, if he still didn't know, that would put an end to that. He could move on without the answer, even though, having the answer seemed important to him now.

It was the first time he'd been sidetracked, for as far back as his memory went. There was an answer to every question, and life went in one continuous straight line. His life appeared to be as close to perfect as life gets. Nothing bothered Levi, up until now, and the more he thought about Moony Brown, the more unsettled he became. Levi knew he was on the road to success. There was no doubt about it, but that road had suddenly swerved to the south.

It was an accident. There was no reason for it. There was no reason for Levi to let it bother him, but it did bother him. He was most likely going to sweep the hundred and two-hundred, at the city championships, and he needed to talk to the guy who should win the hundred at the city championships.

Did there have to be a reason?

Levi admired Moony Brown's style. He needed to tell him that. All there communicating was mostly done at a distance. Levi wanted to talk to Moony, and not from across eight lanes of a track. He liked how Moony carried himself. He had the kind of confidence Levi didn't possess. If anything, Levi should have been the more confident of the two, but he wasn't, and he didn't know why.

Levi had it made. If he hadn't been born with lightning speed, his road to success might not have been paved with gold, but he was smart, handsome, and charming, which would have carried the day, if his number one asset, hadn't become the speed that had him winning most two hundred races he ran.

When all was said and done, if Levi hadn't been sought after by dozens of colleges, because of his speed, he'd have been sought after because of his grades, and if all else had failed him, his parents were prosperous enough to send him to any college he pleased, even won that didn't dangle their scholarships in front of him.

According to Moony Brown's address, his family wasn't that prosperous. He lived on the other side of the tracks, according to polite company. Moony had one thing going for him that could secure his future, until, in a moment of madness, his future dissolved on the asphalt street that ran in front of his house.

Levi assumed these things were true. He couldn't put himself in Moony's shoes. He hoped it wasn't true, but the address told him a lot. He'd heard heartbreaking stories of children who didn't make it home from school on the Southside. All children didn't get to grow up on the Southside. This was a reality he'd never given much thought to, until now.

Levi had no feeling for the guys he ran against. Once he stepped onto the track, he had only one thing on his mind. Winning whatever race he was running, and he usually did that. Levi was on the fast track to a good life. Everyone took that for granted. He never saw it any other way.

Even guys on his team struggled to make the grades that opened o clear path to some kind of a future. Things went right for Levi. The wind was at his back. It was safe where he lived, and all children made it hoe from school alive.

If he'd fallen down on his way to success, or if a faster boy moved into his school district, Levi would have been OK. If his grades hadn't been enough to make the Honor Society, and there were no scholarship offers, he'd have been OK. His future would still be the same, because his parents would see to it.

Moony Brown, the fastest sprinter in the city, had been gunned down on his way home from school. How could that be allowed to happen anywhere?

The fast track had led Levi to Southside. He was going to see the only boy who had beaten him that season. While Moony's life was in the toilet, Levi's senior year, became even better. His prospects had improve, because the fastest man in the city, couldn't even walk onto the track.

That bothered Levi.

Watching out the window, the bus slowly moving south, Levi had time to give some thought to the races he ran. Whenever his mind was considering the things that could go wrong, Levi thought of the four by two-hundred relay race.

The relay races were the most intense part of Levi's schedule, on the day of a track meet. The hand-off is what made the outcome of a relay race uncertain. If something was going to happen, if something was going to go wrong, it went wrong in the relays. Many a dream team ended up finishing last, as one of their number, stands dumbstruck, looking at the little metal baton lying on the track. Once you dropped one, there was no reason to pick it up. You'd been disqualified. Dropping the baton, every sprinter's nightmare, was only a little worse than muffing the hand-off, but not dropping it. Failure to make a good crisp hand-off, caused more than one relay team to finish out of the money. The art of the hand-off needed to be perfected, If you didn't know the moves of the guy handing off to you, or the guy you were handing off to, the results could be disastrous, even for a dream team, made up of the world's fastest men or women. The hand-off was the key in every relay race.

Running the open sprints was a piece of cake. The most difficult part, coming out of the starting block. Once you were out, you kicked it into high gear, running for all you were worth, until the race was run. If you were a sprinter running the hundred or two-hundred, it was always the same. Running the relays was never the same twice, because everyone knew how unpredictable the hand-off could be.

Levi ran the anchor leg of the team's four by two hundred relay. Because Amalgamated High had four solid two-hundred men, Levi almost always had the lead, once the baton had passed to him. Being the fastest two-hundred-meter man, meant no one was going to catch him, and if by some quirk of fate, say a bad hand-off, Levi was the man you wanted to have the baton, if you needed to make up yardage. Because his team spent hours practicing the hand-off, Levi rarely needed to make up yardage.

As Levi thought about the relay he ran, he thought about the relay Moony ran. Moony started the four by one hundred relay. His job, get as far out ahead of the competition, as he could, and hand-off the baton with his team leading. The fastest hundred man in the city, always had a lead, once the baton exchange was made. With smooth hand-offs, a really good team expanded the lead. The four by one hundred relay was electric if the exchanges were crisp and clean, and backbreaking if they weren't.

* * * * *

Today, Levi was on his way to a part of town, where he rarely went, and then, only with the track team. He didn't remember driving through Southside in a car. He'd checked teacher's addresses, and Mr. Tilton lived in Southside. Levi had Mr. Tilton in chemistry a year ago. He figured the man would remember him.

He went to see him after the last bell rang. His teacher did remember him, and he drew him a map to where he was going, listing the number of the two buses he'd need to take, and where he would need to transfer to the second bus. Mr. Tilton took the same two buses every day.

Levi told his coach that he'd be missing practice the next day. It wasn't like he was going to get in any better shape than he was in. It wasn't like he'd made a habit of missing practice. He hadn't missed practice before. It was one of those things he did after school every day, during track season. He liked practice. He liked being on the track team. It was a big part of who he was.

As Mr. Tilton handed him the map with the instructions, he'd held onto it, when Levi tried to take it from him.

“You sure you know where you're going, son? Are you sure you know what you're doing? I've lived in Southside for twenty years. I've never had a minute of trouble, and this may not come as a news flash to you, but you're white, and while Southside isn't much more dangerous than most places, there are things that will attract attention. You being white boy is one of those things.”

“I'm just going to visit a friend,” Levi said, folding the map and putting it in his pocket. “I'll be fine.”

“Uh huh!” Mr. Tilton said, shaking his head. “You want me to go with you, son? I don't leave school until after five, but I'll go with you, if you want me to.”

“No, sir,” Levi said. “I'll be OK.”

Mr. Tilton hoped he was right.

* * * * *

As the buses' brakes hissed, Levi saw the driver's eyes in the big mirror next to his seat, “This is where you want to get off, son. 2Nd Street is right at the next corner, and 2Nd Street is one block over.”

“Thanks,” Levi said, as the door of the bus opened to let him out.

Levi saw the street sign that Mr. Tilton marked on the map, and he made the right turn, going one block, and he turned right on 2nd Street. The street was nearly empty. Only one other person got off the bus when he did, but he turned the other way. Levi checked the number on each house.

He was right where he wanted to be. The first address was 1901 2nd Street. It was on the opposite side of the street, and in the middle of the block was 1909 2nd Street. He crossed over to the other side, standing in front of Moony Brown's house, according to the news articles Sid copied for him.

There were yellow flowers on either side of the sidewalk that led to the steps at the front door. Shrubs grew up across the front of the house. Levi took a step onto the walkway, stopping to look at the house. It wasn't a big house, but it looked neat, and a small patch of grass was at the right of the walk, and a fence was to the left. He hesitated, looking at the address again. It hadn't changed.

He would need to force himself forward, because his feet weren't that anxious to go. He began to wonder if this was such a good idea. Why was he here? How would he explain his presence at Moony's house?

A fine time to figure out what he was doing there. He contemplated taking a step backward, so he wasn't inside the house's property line, while he thought.

As Levi stood there, waiting to be motivated, the front door swung opened. A middle aged woman, maybe his mother's age, stood staring at him.

“You lost, boy? You look lost.”

It wasn't a particularly friendly welcome. Levi could hear what the woman wanted to say. 'What the hell you doing in my yard,' but she was more polite than Levi's subconscious was.

“I...,” was the best he could do at the moment.

“Cat got your tongue? What do you want? You're standing in my yard. I'd like to know why,” she said, becoming more aggressive, but she didn't come out to shoo him away, yet.

Levi felt out of place for a good reason. He was in-town, when he never went into town. No matter where he went, there was a friend to drive him, but he wasn't going to ask one of his friends to bring him to Southside. He envisioned a conversation with the sprinter that he'd only seen at track meets. They would talk, because of what they had in common, sprinting. How long could that take?

“Well? What you want?” she said, sounding irritated about him being there.

“I'm Levi... Levi Cordoba,” Levi said, becoming tongue tied again. “I... I....”

“Is we on Candid Camera. I bet we is,” she suddenly said, sounding overjoyed.

“What's Candid Camera,” Levi said, as the woman smiled at him.

“You aren't from Candid Camera, are you?”

“I....”

“Spit it out, honey child. I'm well fed. I don't bite, and if you is my long lost nephew, I ain't got no brothers or sisters. Are you sure you're in the right place?”

“Moony. I want to see Moony,” Levi managed to say clearly.

“Moony who? You is in the wrong spot. Ain't no Moony here?”

“Mama, cut it out, someone yelled from far away from the door. What's he want? Let him in the house if he came to see me? Who is he?”

“Levi, Levi Cordoba,” Levi yelled loud enough to be heard.

“Levi Cordoba? You sure you want Moony Brown?” the invisible voice asked.

“Track. I know you from track,” Levi yelled louder.

“That Levi Cordoba? What you want with me? Do you know where you are? Mama, let him in the house before the neighbors see him.”

“I guess you better come on in,” she said, pushing the screen open, looking both ways, as Levi scurried into the house.

It was an old house, but it was neat. The house smelled of fresh cut flowers, and there was a long entryway with most of the house on the right side of the hallway. The stairs were straight ahead of him, and the disembodied voice was coming from the left.

“Come on. Don't want you getting lost. He's back here. He can't do the stairs. His father's study is where he sleeps now, and his name is Terrance. We do not call him by that other name. I'd appreciate it if you remember that.”

“Mama, you didn't need to escort him,” Terry said. “If he found his way to Southside, I doubt he'd get lost on his way to my room.”

“I ain't letting no white boy roam around my house. No telling what they might pick up, by mistake,” she said, more cynical than she intended.

“Mama, I'll see to it he don't steal nothing. Go on and fix lunch. He ain't here to see you,” Terry said, not sounding like he was thrilled with Levi being there.

“Don't you be stealing nothing. I'd never hear the end of it,” Moony said.

“I'll try to resist the temptation, but those are nice flowers,” Levi said, playing along with his host.

“Terrance, no telling what this is going to do to our reputation. Cut it short. Let this white boy go back to where he belongs,” she said.

“Don't mind her, some gypsies left her off here, one time. on their way to somewhere else. We kept her out of kindness,” Terry said.

“I bet I make you fix your own lunch, Terry Brown,” the woman said, sticking her head back around the doorjamb. “Well sit yourself down. He ain't ete, but he don't bite.”

“Yeah! Yeah! Tuna fish ready yet, Mama?” Terry asked, ignoring Levi.

“A minute ago you wasn't hungry,” she said from farther away.

Levi felt like he'd just walked into a Three Stooges skit. He didn't know what to take seriously. He stood just inside the door, looking at Moony Brown. He didn't recognize him out of his uniform. He couldn't have picked him out of a crowd.

“Well, what you want? What the hell you doing here, Cordoba? Do you have any idea where you are? I got shot a block from here. Those boys see your white ass, they'll shoot first, and ask questions later. What are you doing here anyway?” Moony Brown asked. “Sit down, will you. My neck's getting sore.”

“I... I...,” was the best Levi could do.

“Sit down. Maybe you'll think better off your feet. You do know that my getting shot was an accident. Those boys down the block get a gander of you coming into my house, they'll be gunning for my ass,” Terry said.

Levi wasn't certain he was being put on, but it crossed his mind.

“I...,” Levi said. “How are you? I came to see how you are.”

“How am I? My ass got shot, which means, I ain't none too good at the moment, and how are you, Cordoba? What the hell's your first name?”

“Levi. Levi Cordoba. My friends call me Cord,” Levi said.

“You come down to make sure I'm out of it for good? Well, the doctors say, I'll be lucky to walk again. Run, they get hysterical when I ask if I'll ever run the hundred again?”

“I'm sorry,” Levi said, a great deal of remorse in his voice.

“Sorry for what? You didn't shoot me, or did you have something to do with it? Has worked out nice for you. If I didn't know who shot me, I'd put my money on you. What you want?” Terry asked, speaking rapidly.

“I know how good I have it. I heard about what happened. I just wanted to let you know that it bothered me a lot. I'm not the hundred man you are, Moony. I beat you once in the four times we've raced each other.”

“Everyone has a bad day now and then. I had a bad day. You beat me once out of four races.”

“I'm a two hundred-meter-dash man. That's my event. I run the hundred because it's a sprint. I'm the fastest guy on the team.”

“Excuse me for not standing up and applauding, but I been shot recently. As I recall, I only beat you by a step or two. You're pretty fast, for a white boy.”

“Your fast as greased lightning,” Levi said.

“A sprinter is a sprinter. You got nothing to be sorry about. You're good, and now that I'm out of it, you've got even better,” Terry said.

“You still follow track?” Levi asked, not being sure he would, under similar circumstances.

“I don't want to. I try not to, but I always end up turning to the sports page, looking at the results of city track meets. Even if I can't run any more, I'm still a sprinter at heart. Why are you here?”

“I had to come. I don't know why. Once I knew what happened to you, I had to come to find out how you are. Took a while to get my courage up to face you. I figured, last thing you need is a reminder of what you've lost. I mean, I can't imagine it. You're so fast, and,” Levi said.

“But you came anyway,” Moony said softly. “My guys don't even come here.”

“Really?”

“I told them not to. Last thing a guy wants to see is a cripple. I ain't saying I'll always be cripple, but, well, I am now. I got to live with that,” Terry said.

“When we raced, and they're announcing our names. I watched you, when they were announcing, Moony Brown, lane 4. You'd lock eyes with me, and give me that nod, like you respected me. The way you carried yourself. I liked that. I was sure I'd like you. Deep in those eyes, I saw a real person, and I can honestly say, everyone else on that track, doesn't even register on me. Maybe because you beat me, but even after beating me, you showed me respect. You never left the track, until you locked eyes with me. That's why I'm here. Things might have been easy for me this year, if you hadn't been there to keep me honest. You do own the hundred, Terry. You keep a lot of sprinters honest.”

“I felt invincible. Then, I let you beat me. Look at me now,” Terry said, looking Levi over, as he sat across from him.

Moony wiped moisture out of his eyes. He hadn't talked track with anyone. That part of his life had been out of his mind, until a sprinter from another school came to remind Terry who he was, and how he impacted the boys he raced.

While he was running track, he gave little thought to other sprinters. When he went to a track meet, he went to win the hundred, and hopefully to have a good four by one hundred relay race. They did well at some track meets, and they didn't do as well at others. Relays were like that.

Chapter 5

Moony's World

The boys sat silent. A car passed on the street every few minutes, and the house made sounds around them, but neither boy spoke, until Terry had a thought he wanted to share.

“The class of the city's sprinters, for the first few weeks of the season, is right here, in this room, if you can wrap your mind around that.”

“We were something to see,” Levi said, watching Moony's face.

“Now, I'm just hoping to walk again.”

“You're Terry Brown?” Levi asked. “Should I call you Terry?:

“Terrance Mann Brown. Ain't that a moniker. They began calling me Moony when I was 12,” he began to explain.

“Why Moony? That's an odd name.”

There was some clicking noise, that turned out to be coming from his braces, and before Levi knew it, Moony stood up, used one hand to pivot, until his back was turned, and Levi found himself looking at a perfectly shaped brown butt.

Levi laughed, and Moony was already hysterical over the move he made.

“Now you've been mooned by Moony Brown,” he said.

“I get it. Moony. You moon people?” Levi asked.

“Do it once, and you live with it for the rest of your life,” he said, no longer thinking it was all that funny.

“Yes, and he mooned a Southside cop, the one time he pulled that stunt. Luckily his father is a Southside cop, and after they took him into custody for indecency in public, they released him to my husband, once they realized they had his son. He had to promise to keep his pants on, before they'd release him. He's damn lucky he don't have a criminal record. I bet, if I saw him do that, I'd turn that little brown butt red,” Mrs. Brown said from the doorway.

Terry laughed.

“Lighten up, Mama. I had bad timing is all,” Terry said. “I've been Moony Brown ever since that night,” he said. “It was all over the neighborhood by the next day. The guys I was with that day, bet me a buck, I wouldn't moon the next car that drove by,” he said. “I won the bet and got hauled in by the cops. My old man was fit to be tied.”

“I bet,” Levi said.

“I don't bet any more. When I heard a car. I turned my butt to the street, and I dropped my pants onto the ground. It was a cop car of course, and they didn't see the humor in it,” he said. “Just poor timing, on my part.”

“How did you get yourself shot?” Levi asked.

He wanted to take the question back, as soon as he asked it.

Terry sat expressionless for a couple of minutes. Levi wasn't sure he'd get an answer to his impertinent question. Then he began talking.

“Mama, I can smell that tuna sandwich you were going to bring me an hour ago. What do we pay you for, anyway,” Terry said.

“You usually let it sit a half a day before you eat it. You've got company. You don't want to be eating in front of your company,” she explained.

“I'm sure he's got a mother. She'll get him a tuna sandwich, after he gets home. I am home,” Terry said, and Mrs. Brown was gone again.

“She gets upset if I talk about it in front of her. She carries me to the doctors. It's not like it's a secret, but it still upsets her,” Terry said.

“You're her son. I'm sure the thought of you being shot, would be upsetting,” Levi said. “It was a stupid question to ask you.”

“No, it wasn't. I was late getting home from track practice. I stayed late to practice my starts. How's that for poor timing? It had been raining, not hard, just a drizzle, but enough to be annoying. I generally run home. It's about a half mile, and after practice, a light jog helps me to cool down. My ears got cold. As you can see, that can be a major discomfort for guys with ears like mine. I put my hoodie up, just as I was about to turn right on 2nd Street, down at the corner. I'd left my gear at school, or the guy would have recognized me. He'd have known, just Moony coming home from practice, but I had cold ears, and I knew better than to put my hoodie up, but I wasn't thinking, as I turned onto Monroe, to go over a block to 2nd Street, I heard a single shot. I knew what it was,” Terry said.

“Next thing I know, I'm on my back, staring up at a street light, it had this neat little aura around it. I wondered what I was doing down there, looking up at a street light. It wasn't dark, but the sky was black, and I tried to get up. I couldn't get up. I couldn't move at first. I remembered hearing the shot. Didn't feel a thing. Next thing I know, I'm staring up at that light. It took a few minutes to hear the sirens,” he said, going silent for a minute.

“When you hear a random shot like that, everyone looks out to see who is doing the shooting. Someone saw me in the street. They called 9-1-1 a minute after they heard the shot. The hospitals four blocks across the main street you came in on. Otherwise, I might not be here talking to you right now, Cordoba.”

“It was that bad? At first they had to put the bag over my mouth, squeezing air into my lungs. I didn't feel anything, but the bullet is right next to my spine. I was in the ER in five minutes, and on the way to the operating room, as they scrambled to get a team together to operate on me,” Terry said.

“I didn't know any of that. You look fine, except for those braces. You don't look like you've lost that much weight,” Levi said. “I didn't know what to expect.”

It was touch and go after I came out of surgery. They couldn't say if I'd live.”

“What a waste, Terry. I can't even imagine being in your position,” Levi said.

“What made you come here? I still don't get that. Your life is good. I'm out of it now. I won't do any more racing,” he said.

“That's why I'm here. Your not racing bothers me. Winning the hundred isn't much fun, because I'm not racing the fastest guy. I'm winning the races you'd be winning, if you weren't...,” Levi's voice tailed off.

“But I am. It's an ill wind that doesn't do someone some good,” Terry said something he'd heard somewhere.

“Doesn't set right with me. I plan to win, when I get into the blocks, but my heart isn't in it. My times aren't even close to your times,” Levi said sadly. “I wanted you to know I think about it. I think about you. I didn't know what happened, until two days ago. Once I found out, I decided to come see you. Tell you that I admire you, and there is no joy in winning the hundred.”

“You are doing what sprinters do. You get in the blocks, when that gun sounds, you run your ass off, until you hit the finish line. You've got no reason to feel bad about winning, Levi. You're the fastest hundred man now,” Terry said. “And, I always knew where you were on the track. You were the one man that came close to me, and I knew where you were. I know who Levi Cordoba is. You are beautiful in the two hundred. Those long legs and powerful strides. It's easy to see how you put so much distance between you and your competition.”

“Thanks. I'm glad you knew I was there. I know you aren't there,” Levi said. “I knew when you were there, and you were totally cool about being faster than anyone else on the track. You didn't strut. You never looked down your nose at the rest of us, even knowing you were going to win, you were cool. I admired that. I am anything but cool. I acknowledge no one. I'm there for one reason.”

“You're there to win, and that's what you do,” Terry said. “Don't be thinking about me. I'm out of it now. I won't be running any more hundreds.”

“We heard the shot. I was putting dinner on the table,” Mrs. Brown said.

“His father heard it. He stood at the front door, looking out at the street. Terry was running late. That's nothing new. We knew where he was. It's a half mile between the school and here. What could happen in a half mile? His father could see the ambulance flashing lights, a few houses down. 'I'm going to walk down and see if there's anything I can do. I might need to call something in.'”

“They didn't waste any time. I guess they took my vitals, got me in the back of the emergency squad, and I was at the hospital a minute later. It's two blocks over and three blocks. I was having trouble breathing.”

“The ambulance was leaving, by the time Al got to the scene. He looked at it driving toward the hospital, and Mrs. Paul, she lives on the corner, told Al, “It's Terry, Al. Someone shot Terry. He ran back to get his car, and me, and we sat in the emergency room, waiting for someone to say something. He'd gone to the operating room by the time we got there. Surgeons were running around, trying to get a team to work on Terry,” Mrs. Brown said. “Longest night of my life. Worst night of my life. No one could tell us anything. He was in the operating room until five the next morning, and the doctor finally came to tell us that he was out of danger, for the time being, but there would be more surgery, and he wouldn't be out of the woods, until they'd done all they could do.”

“It sounds horrible. How can people do that to each other?” Levi asked, having heard of a dozen kids being shot to death in Southside.

“Nothing for them here. Some get jobs. Some go on to school, but the ones that don't get angrier and angrier that there's is nothing for them. Some join the military, which is a little better, I suppose, but others join gangs, and gangs are about turf, and anyone who comes on their turf, they feel justified in shooting. Makes no sense, but that's how it is. My husband tries to get them out of gangs, but it doesn't work for all of them, and the anger over not having a way off these streets, just builds and builds, and a kid like Terry pays for that anger. My beautiful baby has to live with being a cripple.”

“I'll walk again, Mama,” Terry said. “Don't you ever think I won't.”

“I know you will, Baby,” she said, not as certain as Terry was.

His mother listened to the doctors, but Terry listened to his heart, Levi thought, as the entire story filtered out.

“The guy didn't recognize me, Mama. It was a mistake, is all,” Terry said.

“It doesn't matter. He was going to put a bullet in somebody's kid, and this time, it was my kid, and I don't like it. I wish they'd take all the guns away. If no one had guns, there wouldn't be any more shootings. No more mothers would need to watch their kid suffer<” Mrs. Brown said. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean to interrupt. You go on and talk. I'll shut up now.”

His mother once again left the doorway of his room.

“She's more worked up over it than I am,” Terry said.

“Your her son. You had hopes and dreams, and a way to make them come true,” Levi said. “That was taken away from you. I understand why she's so angry.”

“Yeah, Yeah, it's an old story. What's done is done. I got what I got, and I'll make the most of it,” Terry said. “We live in a violent world. It would be nice if every grudge wasn't settled with a gun, but that's how it's done here. Lots of folks get shot every day in this country. Hundreds, and that's how it's done.”

“So now you've heard the whole gruesome tale,” Terry said.

“You haven't lost your muscle tone. You look as hard as a rock. You've gut buns of steal,” Levi said.

“You don't think I'd have showed you my ass, if it was all shriveled up, do you? I do have some pride.”

Levi laughed. He needed to laugh. He felt awful for Terry, and he was glad he came to see him. He seemed to want to talk, even if it meant talking to the competition.

“My legs are jello. They don't hold me up. The braces let me stand on my own. The doctors say that I'm in such peak physical condition, it might take up to a year to lose my musculature. It doesn't simply deteriorate right away. I look at my legs, and the muscles are still prominent. They just won't hold me up any longer. Some days, I just want to cry.”

Another silence set in. Levi wanted to cry.

Terry sat behind the desk in a desk chair. His wheelchair was within easy reach. He hated the wheelchair, and he refused to stay in it, unless he had to leave the study for one thing or another, but he was content to stay put. He no longer had anywhere to go.

A few minutes later, his mother was back.

“Here,” Mrs. Brown said, thrusting a plate, with a tuna sandwich on it, in front of Terry, and turning to hand Levi a similar sandwich.

“Don't want no one saying I let no white boy starve at my house,” she sang, as she went back out of the room.

Levi laughed. He was sure she was putting him on. He hadn't known what to expect, and Mrs. Brown knew what a lot of white folks expected, and she was happy to give it to them.

“Don't mind her. She watched too many episodes of the Jeffersons,” Terry said.

“I heard that,” Mrs. Brown said. “I bet I'll let you fix your own sandwich tomorrow.”

“You really want to be cleaning up after me?” Terry asked.

“Never mind. I forget I raised a mess of a son,” she said.

“I'm having trouble swallowing this, Mama,” Terry said.

“Hold your horses. I only got two hands. I was making you lemonade. Lemons don't grow on no trees, you know,” she quipped.

Mrs. Brown handed a glass to Terry, and she turned to hand a glass to Levi.

As she turned to leave, Levi said, “I know. You don't want no white boys dehydrating at your house.”

Mrs. Brown walked toward the doorway to leave Terry's room. Just as her brightly flowered dress passed out of sight, she let go with a very big laugh. Her laughter continued as she made her way back to the kitchen.

“Mama likes you,” Terry said. “I don't think she's noticed you're a white boy.”

Levi laughed.

“You've got a nice mother,” Levi said. “I wasn't too sure, after I first got here, though.”

“She is a real put on. She doesn't take anything off of anyone, but she kid along with you, if she thinks she can get away with it. We don't get many white folks around here. Pop brings a cop home, once in a while, if he likes the guy, but believe it or not, white cops and black cops work together just fine, but they don't socialize as much as you might think, according to Pop.”

“I believe it, but I don't know why that would be true. We're all just people, when you get down to it,” Levi said.

“True, but your kind of people, and our kind of people, have never spent that much time getting acquainted. Everyone has learned to say nice things, but that's not always how the feel,” Terry said.

Levi had never given it much thought. There were black students at his school. Not many, but there were black guys on the track team. He saw them the same way he saw the rest of his team, but he knew nothing about them, where they lived, or what their lives were like.

He knew everything about his friends, but they were all white, and weren't much different than he was. Most lived in nice houses, had nice cars, and dressed according to what they could afford, and when you came right down to it, all of them were similar. Their families were similar. Their lives were similar.

“You still haven't told me what really brought you over here. I'm sure this isn't on your paper route,” Terry said.

“No one could tell me what happened to you. You just stopped coming to the track meets. It bothered me. I finally decided to find out what happened to you,” Levi said. “When I did, I didn't know what to do. I finally decided I had to come here to let you know I thought about you, and I needed to tell you how I felt about our interactions.”

“Black man shot in Southside isn't exactly breaking news,” Terry said. “How'd you figure out it was me?”

“I take journalism. My journalism teacher sent me to one of his old students, who worked at City News. I knew you as Moony Brown, but he looked for anything on a Brown, from around the time you stopped coming to track meets. He found the story about you being shot, and your address and real name was in the article.”

“You had to work to find that out. I just don't know why it matters to you. I don't know it would matter to me,” he said.

“I needed to find out how you were. I wanted to know what happened,” Levi said.

“I must admit, I haven't had a lot of visitors. Some of the guys from my team stopped by, but who wants to look at cripple guy? They know what happened to me could happen to them. Who needs a reminder like that, and they stopped coming. No one has come to see me for a month. I remember you from our races. I knew you were the man in the two-hundred. That made you somebody in my mind, but if you asked me, who'd be the last guy who would come to check on me, I'd pick you. I was the only guy standing in between you and your sweeping the sprints in every track meet. Why would you give a damn about some black kid, from the other side of town?”

“Strange how we get to where we are, isn't it,” Levi said, not sure he knew why it was so important to see Terry.

Terry looked at him, looked him in the eye. Levi looked him right back in the eye. They were birds of a feather. Not many people knew what getting into a starting block was like. Fewer people yet, knew what it was like to sprint as fast as your body could take you, for one hundred, or two hundred meters. It was exhilarating, and there was nothing like it in the world.

Almost everyone could run, but sprinting was entirely different.

“You anchor your teams four by two hundred relay?”

“Yeah, that's the other event I run,” Levi said.

“I started on our 4x100 relay. Starting is the best part of my race. I'm quick out of the blocks, you know,” Terry said.

“I know,” Levi said, sounding like a guy who knew only too well how quick he was.

That brought a broad smile to Terry's face.

“I miss it,” Terry said. “It is who I am, or was. I got a lot more worked up, before I started the four by one hundred relay. I had to get as big a lead as I could, because the other three guys weren't as dedicated as I was, and if I got them far enough out front, they'd be embarrassed if they lost. I stood at the finish line, waiting for the anchor leg to finish. I couldn't sit down until then. We didn't always win, but I gave it everything I had.”

“I remember,” Levi said. “I always went to stand across from the starter, just before the four by one hundred relay ran. I watched you start every time. Your starts are amazing, Terry. I tried to figure out how you got out of the blocks so damn fast. No one had a better start.”

“You think so?” Terry asked.

“I do. I also think you'll walk again. Once you walk, they'll play hell keeping you off the track, and you'll begin to run,” Levi said.

“I'd like to believe that, but the longer I have no feeling in my legs, the less I believe that,” he said.

“You'll walk again. You're Moony Brown, the sprinter,” Levi said.

They locked eyes again. Terry thought Levi believed what he said. He just didn't know if he believed it any longer.

“You're OK, for a white boy,” Terry said.

“I have my moments,” Levi said. “I thought the same thing about you, being black and all.”

They both laughed. neither gave much thought to race. You had one, and then you got on with your life. It wasn't complicated. It wasn't easy either.

Levi didn't know what he would become if he could no longer sprint. It was the activity that set him free. For ten or twenty seconds, depending on which race he ran in competition, he broke free of earthly constraints. He soared in a way that he wouldn't know about otherwise.

Levi had it all, and he knew it. His future was golden, and, now, there was nothing standing in the way of him, and his sprint championships that were almost assured. Without Moony Brown to lay claim to another city record in the hundred-meters, Levi was in the driver's seat.

Chapter 6

Accidental

Levi began working on the second half of his tuna sandwich. It had taken most of his willpower not to gobble it down. The lemonade was made with real lemons, a perfect blend of sweetness and sourness. He emptied the glass, place the empty glass and the dish on the front of the desk.

“That lemonade is the best I think I've ever had. The pulp sure adds flavor to it. Usually I drink instant lemonade,” Levi said.

“You get what you pay for, Cordoba. You buy fresh lemons, and you're likely to get fresh lemonade,” Terry said.

“My instincts tell me, you've walked down that street a thousand times,” Levi said. “How do you explain what happened to you that night. Have you considered that someone might have been laying for you?”

Terry sat with the empty plate in his lap. He stared at Levi. He showed no sign of thinking it over. He reached for his lemonade, and drank.

“Everyone has to know you. How'd you get shot a block from home?”

“Because that's where he shot me. I'd have been closer to home, if I'd walked farther, before he shot me. I'd have been farther away, if shot me sooner. That's where he pulled the trigger. If he knew me, we'll never know,” Terry said.

“I guess you're right,” Levi said. “Even angry guys don't shoot someone who is making something out of his life, and your father's a cop.”

“Accidental. I'm somebody down here. I don't do gangs, and the gangs know it. I can cross any line, go anywhere, and everyone knows Moony Brown. I'm a star, when there are few stars in the black sky. I'd been at practice. I left my gear at school. Too tired to carry it. I jogged two thirds of the way home. I was sweaty. I stopped to wait for the light on the main drag. I was getting cold, and after getting a cross, I put my hoodie up, as i walked toward 2nd Street. I stepped off the curb to cross 2nd. I saw motion on my left on my left. I never saw the guy, but I heard shot. That's all there was. The first person to me was a neighbor, and before I could get my senses back. Well, I was at the hospital and then I was in a hospital room the next day. They operated on me all night.”

“It's worse every time I hear it,” Levi said.

“You should be on this side of the desk,” Terry said. “It's done. This is what I have, Cordoba. This is what I've got to learn to live with,” Terry said.

“For now. You'll walk again. I don't doubt that,” Levi said.

Terry stared at Levi. He wanted to believe he'd walk again, but even if he did walked again, it was going to be a long tough road ahead of him. That's a road he'd need to go down alone.

“You've got to believe that, Terry. If you don't believe that, your life is over. The thing you have to live for is the thing that will make you do the work, so you do walk, and once you walk, no one will be able to stop you from running.”

Again, Terry looked Levi in the eyes. There was a coolness there, an acceptance of certain truths, and there didn't seem to be wiggle room in his eyes. Terry like that. He knew Levi was doing his best to be encouraging.

“The day I beat you....” Levi started, but didn't have time to finish.

“The day you beat me. I beat you four times. Why don't we talk about that,” Terry said angrily.

Why don't we talk about the times I beat you. There are more of those. You only beat me one time, Cordoba,” Terry said, sitting on the edge of the chair like he was ready to race Levi, if necessary to prove his point.

“If you'll shut up, I'll tell you why. The day I beat you, when I came out of the blocks, and took those first few steps, I knew it was the best start of my life, and no one was ahead of me. You were always ahead of me in the first five yards, Moony, but this time you weren't there, and you know the rest. As long as I live, I'll never forget what you did, once I beat you. You walked over to me, stuck out your hand, and you said, 'Nice race.' Why did you do that? I've never done that.”

“I wanted a close up look at you. It took the race of your life to beat me, and I wanted you to know, I wasn't going anywhere. I would always be there, and I'd always be faster than you.”

It took more class than I've got. I really don't think much about the guys I “race. They're just guys in the other lanes, while I am winning another race.”

“And here you are,” Terry said.

“Isn't that the truth. Here I am. I wouldn't have talked to you on the track. I don't have anything to say. I'm there for one reason, and one reason only. I don't need to talk about it,” Levi said. “And that's why I'm here.”

“You white folks sure is strange,” Terry said.

Levi laughed.

The silence came back. Both boys were deep in thought.

Levi spoke first this time.

“A guy spends his life preparing to do a thing he does better than anyone else, and in an instant, it's all taken away from him. It's a terrible waste, and I don't know what to do about it,” Levi said.

“You don't owe me anything, Cordoba. This isn't your fight. You come from a different world. In a few minutes, you'll go home, and you'll forget all about me, and I'll still be here, sitting in my window.”

“I feel like I need to do something,” Levi said. “I don't know what. This is so wrong, but I can't do anything about it,” Levi said.

“Do you know who shot you?” Levi finally asked.

“Yeah, I knew him. He knew me. He was one of my biggest fans. If I'd have been carrying my gear, he'd have recognized me. If I didn't get cold ears, I'd not have had my hoodie up. I knew better. I'd made it through the white neighborhood. I was on my own turf. I never thought that someone I knew would put an end to me,” Terry said, showing the pain it caused him, for the first time.

“Your father's a cop?”

“Yeah! He's a cop. A bit hard nosed, and unforgiving, especially when it comes to the rules. There are two kinds of people, he tells me. The ones you ain't got to worry about, and than there are the ones who need watching. He sure has kept an eye on me. It's why I'm not in a gang. I'd have probably given into the pressure, if I didn't know what would happen if my father found out I joined a gang.”

“He wouldn't have liked that,” Levi said.

“How astute? No, I was never tempted to join a gang. If you ever meet my father, you'll understand why.”

“He didn't arrest the kid who shot you?”

“Couldn't,” Terry said.

“I don't understand. If he's a cop, why couldn't he arrest the guy who put a bullet in you,” Levi asked.

“I never told him the name of the boy who shot me. I may not belong to a gang, but I know not to snitch on anyone. It's a good way to find yourself with a matching bullet hole,” Terry said, deadly serious.

Levi stared at Terry, not believing what he heard.

“That's wrong,” Levi protested.

“Walk a mile in my shoes, white boy, then you can judge me,” Terry said.

“He's still out there with a gun?” Levi asked. “You wouldn't feel responsible if he does to someone else, what he did to you?”

“He can't,” Terry said.

“If he still has a gun, he can't shoot someone else?”

“He's dead. He was shot to death in almost the same spot where he shot me. They were sending a message. I'm a shining star in Southside. Anyone who hurt me was going to pay for it,” Terry said, sounding sad.

Levi stared at him. He began to realize that he did live in a different world. He had nothing to say. The guy who shot Terry, was murdered.

“No gang was going to touch me. For one thing, my father would have them all locked up, and he'd have a dozen witnesses who'd testify to anything my father told them to say. No gang wants that kind of trouble,” Terry said.

“They killed the guy. While you were in the hospital?”

“I told you, I'm one of the shining stars in Southside. He made a mistake, and it cost him his life. I do have to live with that. He shot me. He took away what made me special. He stole my future, you might say. He knew he wouldn't live long, once it got out who it was he shot. I was too busy trying to stay alive, to worry about the guy who shot me, but had I thought of it, I would have tried to stop it. I'd have spread the word, what was done was done, I don't want anyone taking revenge on the guy who shot me, but before I was out of the woods, he was dead,” Terry said, coming up short.

“I don't know I'd be quite so generous,” Levi said, not really talking to Terry.

“You see, you white folks live such innocent lives, when you ain't whipping up on your slaves, or shaming your servants,” Mrs. Brown said, putting a glass of iced tea in front of each of the boys.

“Thank you,” Levi said, drinking half the tea down.

“You is welcome,” she said, taking the plates and empty glasses with her.

“Your mother is cool,” Levi said.

“Me, too. If they was going to drop someone off here, she'll do.”

Levi laughed. He felt comfortable. At first, he felt awkward. He wasn't sure he was doing something other people might not understand. People like Terry. He felt good about coming. He was glad he made the trip.

“You have a sense of humor. I don't know I would think anything as funny, if what happened to you, happened to me.”

“What will you do now?” Levi asked.

“Sit here. Look out the window. Count the cars that go by. Think about races run,” Terry said. “Think about races to come.”

Mrs. Brown came in the door with a pitcher full of ice tea.

“Your father is working a case. He'll have an hour in a couple of hours, and we'll be having an early dinner. Do you think you can eat,” his mother asked, filling the glasses with more ice tea.

“Sure, Mama. I can eat. I smell your fried chicken. Be a dark day when I don't want a piece of my Mama's fried chicken,” Terry said.

“Ask your friend if he'd consider taking dinner with us poor folk, but you has to tell him, we's all out of watermelon,” Mrs. Brown said.

Levi spit a mouthful of tea onto the front of his Letterman’s jacket, as his laughter filled the room.

“Sorry about that,” Mrs. Brown said. “You can clean me up, but you can't take me anywhere. I'll get a damp cloth,” she said apologetically.

Mrs. Brown brought back a dish cloth, wiping the errant tea off of Levi's jacket.

“I don't really know her,” Terry said. “She comes in and cooks sometimes. She lives under the porch at the Al Saints Church.”
“Your mother's a hoot,” Levi said, after she took his jacket, to do a better job on getting the tea off.

“We like her, Never a dull moment when Mama's around.”

Mrs. Brown brought the jacket back.

“Now that you've tried to drown him, you owe him dinner. He'll stay. He ought to be at track practice. I know he don't get home that early,” Terry said.

“We have plenty. I'm sure my husband would enjoy meeting you,” Mrs. Brown said.

“Thank you. I'd love to try your fried chicken,” Levi said. “Smells wonderful.”

“Aren't you the charmer,” Terry said. “Got to warn you, though. We black folk believe in eating our greens, but with eat them with biscuits. Kind of a trade off. Mama makes the world's best biscuits. You'll be glad you stayed. I am.”

“I can't wait. My mother knows a cook that makes her own biscuits. We buy them in a can at the grocery store,” Levi said.

“Her collards are to die for. Her biscuits would float away, if she didn't wrap them in a towel, so they stay put,” Terry said. “Your mother doesn't cook?”

“Not that I've noticed,” Levi said. “We order in a lot.”

“Sounds dangerous,” Terry said.

After only one tuna sandwich, he'd usually eat three or four, Levi was starving. The fried chicken smelled marvelous.

“You should meet my father. He's a Baptist minister. His father was a minister, and his father before him,” Terry said.

“I thought he is a cop,” Levi said.

“He is. It's his calling. He would like he think h can stand in between our people, and the justice that is dished out from squad cars. He is a peaceful man, but he'd shoot you in a minute, if you needed to get yourself shot.”

“It's not what I expected. You aren't what I expected,” Levi said.

“What were you expecting? I'd have a wife, three kids, and shanty of a house?” Terry asked.

“You might find this hard to believe, but I don't know any black people. I've never been in a black family's house before,” Levi said.

“Well!, do we pass muster?” Terry asked. “I wouldn't be able to sleep tonight, if you didn't think we was up to snuff.”

“Your mom isn't that different from mine. Mine doesn't speak in a black dialect, but I bet you guessed that. Mama was smart, went to all the right schools. She was home coming queen, and she went out with the quarterback. She was the valedictorian of her class. She got a near perfect score on the SAT, and a scholarship to Illinois U.”

“Let me guess. She married the quarterback, and they had a son they named after their favorite blue jeans. My mom and your mom are just a like, up until the part where your mom doesn't speak in a black dialect. After that, not so much,” Terry said. “And I bet you live in a house twice this size.”

“Size isn't everything,” Levi said.

“That's cause you're a white boy. Us black folk pride ourselves in our size. Now, when you say, 'Size isn't everything,' you got me wanting to whip it out. I've already showed you my ass, don't think I won't show you my dick,” Terry said.

“Not before dinner. I don't think I'd want to see it before I had at least a couple of pieces of your mama's friend chicken.”

“How big is it?” Terry asked.

“My dick. I've never had any complaints,” Levi said.

“You house,” Terry said.

“It's big. Only two floors, but we have five bedrooms six baths,” Levi said.

“You white folks sure must like to bathe,” Terry said. “We've got two bedrooms and one bathroom, except this is my father's study. We currently have three bedrooms, minus a study. I manage to stay clean with just one bathroom.”

“My house smells like Spic & Span and Pledge. Two maids come in twice a week to do the floors, dust, and clean the kitchen, make the beds, do the laundry,” Levi said.

“Our maid lives here. I call her Mama,” Terry said.

Levi laughed.

“Yours smells like flowers. And fried chicken. The only time my house smells like fried chicken, is when one of my parents brings a bucket of chicken home. I can't remember that last time my mother made me a tuna sandwich, or made lemonade. I do actually remember. She's never done that.”

“Every conversation between teenage guys, sooner of later, degenerates into some kind of sexual competition,” Terry said thoughtfully.

“You think so?” Levi asked. “I guess I don't have the right friends. Sex does come up, during our conversations, but nothing I'd call unusual.”

“Exactly. It isn't unusual, but it is always on our mind,” Terry said. “Psychologically speaking.”

“You don't take much seriously. I mean, I can see you got that from your mother. It does keep me off balance,” Levi said. “My father cooks better than my mother, but I prefer dinners we order in.

I wouldn't know home cooking if I fell over it,” Levi said.

“You'll enjoy dinner then. As you see, Mama is a housewife. Her mother was the best cook in Shreveport. Mama learned from her,” Terry said.

“If I was paralyzed, I'd be in the convalescent home,” Levi said. “My mother has too much to do to be taking care of me.”

“What does your mother do,” Terry asked.

“Whatever she pleases. She belongs to a lot of clubs. She's a member of the school board, and she heads the Ladies Aid Society.”

“What the hell is that?” Terry asked.

“Near as I can figure, they're ladies who aid someone,” Levi said.

Terry laughed.

He sensed his mother wasn't the only one who put people on.

“I guess us black folk don't have it so bad, after all,” Terry said.

“Our house might be bigger, but it doesn't look lived in. The only time my house smells like your house, is right after the man brings dinner to the door. You house smells nice, ours smells sanitized,” Levi said. “You're lucky, Terry Brown.”

“I see we are back to talking about size. Like I said, when two guys talk, every conversation degenerates into a sexual competition. Don't you think?”

“No, I don't think that way,” Levi said.

“Cause you white guys got small dicks? Less to talk about?” Terry asked “If black guys didn't talk sex, it would cut out ninety percent of our conversation, but everyone knows that us black guys have plenty to talk about.”

Levi laughed.

“You're going to make me have to stand up for my white brothers. I don't usually take my dick out in public,” Levi said. “But I will if I have to, and that would give us plenty to talk about.”

“I only take mine out in public. Did I tell you how I got the name Moony?”

Levi didn't know why it sounded funny, but it struck him as funny, and he was glad to be able to laugh. He was happy to see Terry laugh.

They both laughed at nothing in particular.

The atmosphere had grown lighter, as time passed. It wasn't like they were strangers an hour ago, but if they didn't know each other before, each knew of the other, closing any distance between them in short order.

“I haven't laughed so much in a while,” Levi said.

“I was planning on studying psychology. I wanted to know what makes people tick. For all the quibbling about who is civilized, and who isn't, men are brutal creatures, who'd rather kill you than talk to you, if you're the least different from they're particular peculiarities,” Terry said.

Levi thought Terry sounded profound. It was an astute observation, not unlike thoughts he'd had himself. The wrong people always seemed to be in power, they clung to power like they owned it. They fought to keep it, because power put you close to the wealth, and power and wealth go hand in hand, if you are clever enough to get your hands on either.

“You get good grades?” Levi asked.

“It's all relative. If I like a class, I will get an A. If I don't like a class, I'll get a B, because I feel like I need to try to like it, even when it is as boring as hell. Why we are forced to take so much crap we'll never use is beyond my ability to reason it out,” Terry said.

“Ain't that the truth,” Levi said, having had the same thought.

Chapter 7

Supper Time

The easy conversation at the Brown table was different than the all business at the Cordoba table. There were things to discuss, and dinner was the only time Levi came together with his parents during the week. They were gone all day, and he left for school before they came downstairs.

Levi's father had his own firm. He'd taken the business over from his father, when his parents retired to Florida. His father didn't make it home for dinner every night. His mother circulated in Chicago and the Northside, attending to the outside interests that kept her busy.

His mother would bring in dinner, if her schedule got her home by seven, which was the Cordoba family's dinner time. If her schedule didn't get her home by seven, she ordered in, once she was home. If no one was home by the time Levi got home from practice, he ordered pizza from one of the local restaurants where the Cordobas ate, when they ate out.

After Mr. Brown arrived home, he came to Terry's room.

“Terry, how are you feeling today,” he said from the door.

“Fine, Dad. This is Levi Cordoba. Levi, this is my father. Levi runs track for Amalgamated. He came to see how I was,” Terry said.

Mr. Brown's right eyebrow raised distinctively, when he turned his attention to Terry's company.

“Levi,” Mr. Brown said, reaching for Levi's hand.

Levi stood and shook the big paw that had been offered to him.

“Nice to meet you, sir.”

“I have a feeling your mama is putting food on the table. Why don't you help Terry into his chair and join us at the table. I trust you're staying for dinner. If you are, it'll be one of your better decisions today. It's fried chicken night. Emily's fried chicken is to die for.”

Mr. Brown closed his eyes and had a heavenly look on his face, while talking about his wife's cooking. Mr. Brown went back out of the room.

“You want to get into your chair?” Levi asked.

“I do. I sit in a regular chair at the table,”

Levi moved over to where Terry was sitting. He had him scooped up in his arms, pivoting to sit him in the wheelchair. Levi pushed the chair into the dining room. He moved Terry to the chair he indicated at the table, moving the wheelchair out of the way.

“Your a strong young man,” Mr. Brown said. “I have difficulty moving him.”

“Sit across from me,” Terry said, and Levi sat down.

Mrs. Brown brought a big fluffy bowl of mashed potatoes, before bringing a bowl of greens, chicken, and a bowl with a dish towel covering her biscuits.

After the food was on the table, she brought glasses of ice tea for each of them, before taking her place at the table. She nodded to her husband.

“Heavenly father, thank you for another beautiful day, the bounty you provide us with, and for healing Terry, as I know you will. In the Lord's name we pray, Amen.”

Blessing the food caught Levi by surprise. His family wasn't religious, and he remembered Mr. Brown was from a family of preachers. Naturally there would be a blessing. It was short and appropriate. Levi knew to say Amen, when the blessing ended.

“He's not that light,” Mr. Brown said to Levi.

“I've been doing weight training this season,” Levi said, accepting the mashed potatoes and putting some on his plate.

“Thank you,” he said, passing the bowl back to Mrs. Brown, and she filled Terry's plate, as the food was passed around.

“It's a strain when I pick him up,” Mr. Brown said. “You make it look easy.”

Levi ate, using his best manners, pausing to speak.

“He's not that heavy,” Levi said.

“He's a hundred and fifty-three pounds a the last doctor's visit. He's down nearly twenty pounds,” Mrs. Brown said.

“He's actually sitting right here at the table with you, and he can actually tell his friend those things if he wants him to know all the details.”

“Yes, you are, and please don't use that tone, Terrance,” Mr. Brown said. “Levi doesn't know what we know, and I was impressed by his strength.”

“I'm at a hundred and sixty-five pounds, give or take a pound or two. It's the first year I've maintained the same weight throughout track season. In previous seasons, before I did weight training, I'd lose five to ten pounds during track season,” Levi said, wanting to give that information for Terry's benefit.

“What is that private school like. I hear Amalgamated's GPA, and its rating among local public schools is through the roof,” Mr. Brown said.

Putting his fork down, Levi directed his words toward Terry's father.

“I was in public school, until ninth grade. My parents decided to send me to Amalgamated. A few of our neighbors go there. It was certainly different from public school. Smaller classes, better teachers. Their athletics are first class. It's a different world from public school,” Levi said, picking up his fork to eat some greens, potatoes, and he went to work on a piece of chicken.

“How are your grades?” Mr. Brown asked. “You're a good student?”

“Private school is a different atmosphere from public school,” Levi said. “We aren't rushed, like in public school. We have plenty of time between classes. There are fewer kids in a class, but when you get to class, you need to apply yourself, if you want to keep up. If you don't keep up, you'll hear about it. Each teacher knows exactly what you are doing in their class. In public school, I was a face in the crowd. My grades sucked. Excuse me. I wasn't a good student.”

“How did you become a good student?” Mr. Brown asked, working on a chicken breast as he spoke.

“I got my waked up call, halfway through the school year, when I went out for track. My coach took me aside after the first week of practice. He said, 'Mr. Cordoba, if you want to stay on the track team, you'll kindly get no grade worse than a B. I don't tolerate slackers. If a grade in one of your classes falls below a B, you'll be riding the bench for the rest of the season.”

“Harsh,” Mr. Brown said. “What do you need in the way of grades to stay on the track team, Terry.”

“Pass. As long as you pass, you're on the team. I think we're supposed to maintain a C average, but some of the guys on our team don't read well.”

“What kind of grades do you get now?” Mr. Brown asked.

“I carry a 4.0. I love all my classes, and the teachers are good. Teachers in some of my lower grades weren't as sharp as my teachers this year, but most of them know their stuff. I don't have much trouble with my classes. There is a lot of flexibility for seniors, after you take English and mathematics.”

“I'm impressed. Terry's a good student. He doesn't attend school, because of what happened, but they bring his work to him. He'll graduate on time, because he is a good student,” he said. “After that, we just don't know.”

“Don't be bashful, son. Take a couple of pieces,” Mr. Brown said. “It's good chicken. No one stops after two pieces. It's unnatural.”

Mr. Brown held the platter of chicken out, and Levi took two more pieces, adding bones to the pile of bones he was creating.

“It's great chicken,” Levi said, taking another thigh, before the platter moved. “It's tender and juicy.

Levi bit into the flavorful chicken.

“It's how my mother did hers. The secret is to dip it in buttermilk, then you roll it in seasoned breadcrumbs. Then you let it set up for a few minutes, before you put it your oil,” Mrs. Brown said.

“It's the best chicken I've ever had,” Levi said. “It's so juicy.”

“More tea, Levi?” Mrs. Brown asked.

“Yes, ma'am. Thank you,” Levi said. “It's all quite good. Your biscuits are so fluffy. I don't want to make a pig of myself.”

“Why not?” Mr. Brown said. “We do every night. Emily's meals are difficult to resist, so I don't even try.”

“Don't be bashful,” Terry said. “Eat home cooking while you can, man. Mama is the best cook around.”

“Your mother was from Shreveport, Terry?” Levi asked, knowing the answer.

“Why yes, she was,” Mrs. Brown said. “I was born in Shreveport.”

“I met her at college,” Mr. Brown said. “If she hadn't been the most beautiful girl in school, I'd have married her for her fried chicken recipe.”

“Don't be telling the boy that stuff,” Mrs. Brown said.

“It's true,” Mr. Brown said. Would I lie?”

“Does your mother fry her chicken using buttermilk?” she asked.

“No, ma'am. She doesn't use buttermilk,” Levi said.

“I can write down the recipe, if you like,” Mrs Brown offered.

“No, ma'am. It would be a waste of your time. When we have fried chicken, the colonel fries it for us. My mother brings it home in a bucket,” Levi said.

Terry spit out the biscuit he was just then biting into. He coughed, nearly choking.

“Don't gobble your food, Terrance. We don't want Mr. Levi to go away thinking we aren't civilized,” Mr. Brown said. “We aren't timing you.”

Mrs. Brown's mouth opened. She wasn't sure she heard him right

“No, sir, we wouldn't want that,” Terry said, laughing so hard he had trouble staying in his chair.

“You white folks sure know how to live, Levi,” Terry said, shaking his head.

“I don't know what time the last bus leaves that'll take me to Northside. I don't want to miss it,” Levi said. “It would be a long walk.”

“Don't worry about the bus. I'll drive you,” Mr. Brown said. “I'm going up that way, after dinner. You may not know where you are, son, but I know, and you don't want to be taking the bus down here. We belong here. You are a stranger. Some folks don't like strangers coming into our neighborhood. I won't tell you that you can't come. It's plain to see that Terry enjoys your company, but it isn't safe for you to take the bus, and walk these streets.”

“Because I'm white?” Levi asked, before he considered the question.

“Well, yes. There's a long history, and white folks haven't always treated black folks fairly. Some hold a grudge. Nine times out of ten, you can come down here, and we'll all be polite, but that tenth time, some angry young man might object to you being on his turf, and that's when you could be in trouble. There are some bad people in Southside, and I don't want you meeting one of those. So, I'm asking you, don't take the bus down here again. We'll work something out.”

Levi processed what Mr. Brown was telling him. He intended to come back. He liked Terry. He liked the Browns, and when he got off the bus, he had no idea what was going to happen, but he'd bonded with Terry, and Terry seemed happy that he came. He would find a way to come back to visit him.

“I think I understand,” Levi said, as they all looked at him.

“Because you're white,” Mrs. Brown said, mincing no words. “Because of the history. I deal with everyone fairly. I know most white folks are harmless, but there is still bad blood between some blacks and some whites. Some people down here don't want white folks coming down here. We don't feel that way, but there are people who do, and you've got to be mindful of that. Like Alvin said, nine times out of ten, you'll be received politely, but there is always that little bit of risk.”

“I told you about my Mama's biscuits, didn't I. Aren't they the best things you've ever put in your mouth,” Terry said.

“They are, Terry. I could eat a dozen of them. Our biscuits come in a can from the super market,” Levi said.

“I'll put a couple in a bag for you. You'll have some tomorrow,” Mrs. Brown said.

“I'd love that,” Levi said. “Thank you. I don't get much home cooking. You don't know how good this all tastes.”

“I want you to know, I am glad you came by. I haven't seen Terry this happy in quite a spell, as you can imagine. We can make arrangements if you decide to come back, and I hope you will. You seem like a nice young man.”

“Thank you. I plan to come back. I didn't know what I'd say to Terry, but we've had no trouble communicating, and I've enjoyed myself too,” Levi said.

“Don't I get no say in this?” Terry asked. “What will the neighbors think?”

Levi began to laugh first, and than Mrs. Brown began laughing, before Mr. Brown joined in, as Terry looked at them with a straight face..

“I can see I'm stuck with the white boy,” Terry said with a smile.

“Food is getting cold. We'll talk about it after dinner,” Mrs. Brown said, and everyone's focus was back on the most excellent meal, the talk subsided.

After two more pieces of chicken, and two more biscuits, Levi began to feel full. The food was so good, he could keep eating, but he did have some manners. Levi listened to the frankness of the table talk. He realized he gave no thought to his race. It didn't cross his mind, He never thought about being white. The Browns seemed quite aware of their race, and his. Levi would need to give it more thought, before he returned to the Brown's house.

Levi never considered Terry's race. He saw only what they had in common. That was about it. Until he showed up at Terry's house, he had few thoughts about what Terry's life was like. Only that the thing they shared in common, was taken from Terry, and what did skin color have to do with any of that.

“I've never given much thought to being white,” Levi said.

“I think about being black every time I walk out the door,” Terry said, realizing his mistake, when everyone looked at him.

He realized his mistake, but he wasn't going to correct it. He did had those thoughts, when he left his house, even if he rarely left these days.

Levi broke the silence, wanting to lighten the heavy air in the room.

“You want to study psychology?” Levi asked Terry.

“That's my doing,” Mr. Brown said.

Levi's eyes left Terry and were on Mr. Brown.

“Did you study psychology, Mr. Brown?”

“I did. It's long story,” Mr. Brown said. “You really don't want to hear it.”

“You are an interesting man. Terry told me you were a cop. He told me that you were from a family of preachers, and you studied psychology. That's quite a fistful of credits,” Levi said. “How'd you come to study psychology?”

“I'll give you the short version, son. After my father was murdered, two kids who believed all the stories they heard about Rev. Brown having a big stash of cash up in his church, went to get it,” Brown said, sipping ice tea.

“There was no money, but those boys, believing that there was money, decided they'd beat it our of Daddy. They beat him to death. After Daddy was dead, they figured they weren't going to find the stash of cash, and they walked through his blood and walked past the only money in the church, $11.13 in the poor box.”

“Daddy was an institution in Batesville. The only money he ever had, was donations. He managed to feed the poor. He paid rents of people who weren't making it. There was a good kitchen that fed the elderly. One year someone donated enough money to buy the school band new uniforms, but Daddy spent every dime. There was always a need of some kind, and Daddy did his best to take care of his flock. Those two boys cast the future of Daddy's flock on troubled waters. They stole more than anyone knew at the time. So much left undone.”

“That's awful,” Levi said. “A preacher, a cop, and a psychologist. That is quite a background for anyone. They do all seem to be related.”

“I'm a Board certified psychologist. I went to school in Louisiana. That's where I met my wife. Louisiana.” Mr. Brown said. “Daddy's church was a few miles outside of Southside. There were a few hundred residents of Batesville, when the super highway came through. It's an eight lane Interstate these days. Right on top of Daddy's church. Everyone had me pegged to take the church, once I finished school, but it wasn't to be. They knocked down Daddy's church, and the town around it. That put an end to that.”

“They caught the boys?” Levi asked.

“Yes, they left fingerprints all over the place. They walked in daddies blood. Still had blood on their shoes when the cops rounded them up. It was a pretty big deal at the time. There were few folks Daddy hadn't help at one time or another. I was curious about why those boys did what they'd did. I decided to take up psychology. Try to make sense of it. What I learned, you can't make sense of senseless violence. No matter how hard you try, there is no possible reason for doing what those two boys did. Terrible waste of three lives,” Mr. Brown said. “But people make a habit of wasting their lives on a regular basis these days.”

“Yes,” Levi said. “Were they black kids.”

“No. Two white boys from Northside. They had a friend, who had an aunt, who went to Daddy's church. She talked about how much money Daddy spent. All donations from people who supported the church. My father preached the brotherhood of man, and that evil forces get rich by keeping us divided. No time to keep an eye on the folks who are taking all the money.”

“You believe that?” Levi asked, unable to stop what he started.

“I do. I visit those boys. At first I wanted to find out why they did what they did. They laughed at me, at first. Some black man coming to see them. They had as much trouble figuring me out as I had figuring them out, but even their own people gave up on them. Neither of them had visits, except for when I showed up. They finally told me the story. They admitted what they'd done, and what gave them the idea to do it. They are sorry, mostly because they've been behind bars for a lot longer than when they were free. They don't even mind talking to a black man, because no one else will talk to them.”

“How can you stand looking at the boys who killed your father?” Levi asked.

“Which of us hasn't sinned. Jesus taught us to forgive one another. Jesus would have gone to see those boys, if they'd killed his father. Besides, they're middle aged. They've been locked up for over twenty years. They come up for parole next year. I plan to go to their hearing.”

“You want them to stay in prison,” Levi said.

“No. They've been caged for way longer than they'd been alive, at the time they killed my Daddy. Every man deserves a second chance. Kids shouldn't be locked up forever. It's a terrible waste. They might want to make up for what they did. They might get out and become perfect citizens,” Mr. Brown said.

“You really believe that?” Levi asked. “I don't think I could ever be that forgiving.”

Mr. Brown smiled at Levi's reaction to him wanting the boys out of jail.

“Man specializes in throwing away a lot of humanity. This one is too short. That one is too tall. One is too gay, and another is too straight. One is ugly, and she is just too pretty for her own good. Which one would be a novelist, a nurse,” Mr. Brown said. “Who is to say, one of those boys might get out of prison, go to school, become a doctor, and find a cure for cancer. Whose to say who has unlimited potential, but ends up begging on the street, because he's gay, and his good Christian parents threw him out of their house. Whose to say which addled minded kid, isn't an Einstein, unable to learn the way most people learn, because he's a genius, and so smart that no one is smart enough to understand him,” Mr. Brown said. “There is a cost to throwing away so many people. We'll never know the cost, because we throw away so much unlimited potential. That was not the way Jesus saw the world, or the people in it. We need to forgive one another.”

“You make a lot of sense,” Levi said. “I've never heard it put that way. We do keep a lot of people on the outside, looking in. Wisdom might be in allowing people to find their own way. Give them a structure of education, but allowing them to pick and choose their interests, incorporating that into a career. No one has asked me what I would really like to do. If they really wanted to educate me properly, shouldn't someone want to know what interests me?”

“More fits in with being a preacher. Who runs across the most people who need to consider the words of Jesus? By treating people with dignity, and acknowledging their humanity, you are giving them an opportunity to excel.”

“You two can talk in the car, when you take Levi home,” Mrs. Brown said. “I have an apple pie cooling in the kitchen. My men take their slice with a scoop of vanilla ice cream, and a glass of milk. How would you like yours?”

“Sounds perfect,” Levi said, mouth watering. “Mrs. Smith makes our apple pies for us.”

Terry laughed.

“You haven't lived, until you've had a slice of Mama's,” Terry said.

“I do have one question, Mr. Brown. Your philosophy, the things you were saying about everyone having undeveloped potential, did that come from taking psychology, or from the teachings of Jesus?”

“It's psychology, and from the words of Jesus Christ. He was a man who could harness untapped potential in the people he surrounded himself with. Common sense helps. You've got to put the pieces together, and you see a larger picture, once you do that.”

“You are a smart man,” Levi said. “You've seen a lot.”

“Being a police officer, I think I've seen most conditions the human species can endure and inflict upon one another. You learn from the people who endure incredible horrors, and somehow, they manage to pull it together and go on with their lives. Others go to pieces. That's what I find most amazing. People can fool you,” he said. “It's never a good idea to count anyone out,” Mr. Brown said. “People can do some remarkable things.”

Conversation gave way to apple pie and ice cream. The sound of forks against dishware the only sound, except for smacking lips and satisfied noises happy eaters make.

'Time to get moving,” Mr. Brown said.”They're expecting me before dark, and we need to get going if I want to drop you off before I drive there? Your parents will feel better, if you're home before dark.”

“What do you do in the evening,” Levi asked, standing and sliding his chair back against the table.

“I'll listen to a little music, jazz, sometimes I listen to the blues. I have school work they drop by a couple of times a week. I read a lot. I graduate soon. I need to do something to deserve my diploma. I could ride on my grades and still graduate, but I'd be cheating myself if I did that.”

“Are you going back to the room where you were, when I came?” Levi asked.

“Yeah, I stay in there most of the time,” Terry said. “I like eating at the table with my parents at dinner. Makes things feel a little more normal.”

“I need to get my jacket. I'll be ready in five minutes, Levi. Meet me at the front door. Wonderful meal, Emily. Wonderful,” Mr. Brown said, kissing his wife.

“Put your arm around my neck. I'll get you back into your room,” Levi said, slipping his arms under Terry's legs.

Terry looked down. The side of his head resting against Levi's cheek. Levi didn't seem to struggle with the weight. of who he carried. Terry was remembering the times he'd seen Levi looking at him across several lanes of the track. He didn't see any other competitor in the same way. Once they made eye contact, the hesitation, and a quick Levi nodded back, before they went back to the business at hand. Terry asked who Levi was. He Knew he was a threat, but the real threat Terry felt had little to do with sprinting.

“It was psychology, Cordoba. I was psyching you out,” Terry said.

“When was this?” Levi asked.

“When I waited to shake your hand, the time you won the hundred. I wanted you to look at my back, once I walked away. That was all you were going to see of me after that handshake. I was getting inside your head, Cordoba,” Terry said, looking up at Levi's face, which put one boys smooth cheek, against the other boys smooth cheek.

“That psychology stuff sure works. You're inside my head, big time, Terry Brown. “I figured I'd be here ten, maybe fifteen minutes, but once we got past the awkward stuff, I didn't want to leave. I like you Terry. I enjoy your company.”,

Terry allowed his body to melt into Levi's body, as they went into Terry's room. Levi put Terry down in the chair behind the desk, where he'd been sitting, during their visit. He stood up, putting distance between them. Levi didn't take his eyes off of Terry.

“You will walk again, Terry,” Levi said.

Mrs. Brown pushed the wheelchair into the room, going back out.

“Your just saying that, because you need to believe it. You're saying that, because if you were in my place, it's how you'd see it. It's how I see it, Cordoba.”

“You will walk again,” Levi said. “I've watched you sprint, You might say, I have a birds eye view of you running the hundred. That kind of guts and determination is still inside you. You'll get out of that chair, one day.”

“Could you put me in my chair?” Terry asked.

Levi started picking Terry up again, when Terry put his arms around Levi's neck, and their cheeks came together, Terry was holding on tight. It was more of a hug than it was anything else, and Levi froze there, in that position, until Terry spoke again.

“I think I'll stay here. Nix the wheelchair deal. Can't make up my mind, with you around. You have that effect on me.”

“Sure,” Levi said, easing himself away from Terry's arms.

They looked at each other in an ill defined way. Each was seeing something different, but they were sharing the same feeling.

“I got to go. Your father will be ready by now. I'll be back, Terry.”

“We don't feed every white boy that wanders into our house, you know?”

Levi laughed, before turning to leave. He stopped at the door to look back.

“You take care of yourself, Moony Brown.”

Chapter 8

Easy Riders

Levi walked away from Terry's room, encounter Mr. Brown as he went toward the front door.

“Come on, boy,” Mr. Brown said. “I got to get moving. They gave me an hour. I've taken nearly two, and I still need to get you home.”

Levi followed Mr. Brown to the front door, where Mrs. Brown stood with a brown paper bag in her hand.

“Here, hon,” she said, holding the bag out for Levi. “I put in some of my chicken, and a few biscuits, and a big slice of apple pie. You come back, you here?”

“Yes, ma'am. I'll do that. Thank you for everything. I'm glad Terry has such good care. Makes me feel better,” Levi said.

“Aren't you sweet,” Mrs. Brown said, kissing Levi's cheek.

“Unhand my woman. We've gots to get goin', boy.”

It was a five year old sedan that hadn't been washed in four years. There were dents in the fenders, the side windows were too dirty to see out of, but the windshield was clean, and the engine sounded powerful. No one would suspect it was a police car. Levi had a hard time believing it was.

Mr. Brown was a careful driver, but he didn't waste any time.

Levi was at a loss for something to say. Mr. Brown did have that problem.

“Want to tell me what you're doing down here, son?” Mr. Brown asked, sounding like a cop. “I can tell you are no fool, but you did a foolish thing. I want to know why you came to see Terry today. He was shot nearly two months ago.”

“I came to see Terry,” Levi said, no give in his voice. “That's all.”

“I'll say it again. He was shot two months ago. What took you so long? You just didn't think to yourself this morning, I think I be going to see that black boy who got himself shot, boy. Few white folks feel comfortable coming to Southside.”

“That's what I did. I've been thinking about it. I didn't know what happened to him. He stopped coming to track meets. My journalism teacher sent me to the City News, and they found the article about a 'Promising sprinter,' being shot on his way home from practice. Your address was in the article,” Levi said.

“I remember it,” Mr. Brown said. “They planned a larger article with pictures, and a running account of his recovery. They talked to me about it. I told the editor, he was going to stir up a passel of trouble over what happened to Terry, if he did that. He'd never thought about it, and my people talked to his people, and they killed the article.”

“What kind of trouble?” Levi asked.

“I wouldn't want anything to happen to some white boy coming to see my son, either, no matter your logic. There are some mean ass people in this world, son, and there are more than a few on the Southside. All you got to do is cross paths with one, and I won't have that on my conscience, no matter how pure your motives.”

“I told him that I'd be back. I don't feel like I can say something like that, and then not do it,” Levi said. “I like your son. He is taking what happened to him a lot better than I would.”

“Most halfway normal kids, would sing and dance, if the only guy who can beat them, is put out of commission” Mr. Brown said. “You didn't drop by to make sure he was out of your hair for good?”

“You don't believe that for a second. Besides, that would take two minutes. Maybe it was awkward at first, but Terry and I have a lot in common. I like him. I always admired how he carried himself. You can tell he's a winner. He'll beat this. He'll walk again. Wait and see.”

“Psychologically speaking, that's what he wanted you to think,” Mr. Brown said. “You aren't familiar with the basic instinct of athletes?”

“I figured that, but it didn't change anything,” Levi said. “The best hundred man is always a star, and Terry was the best,” Levi said. “I'm a sprinter. I knew what I was looking at, when I looked at Terry.”

“They don't know. He might wake up one morning, and the feeling could be back in his legs, or he may well be crippled for the rest of his life. The bullet is still in him, and there is a chance they'd make matters worse if they take it out. You didn't know what happened to him? That's the truth.”

“My journalism teacher sent me to the City News on Monday, when I asked him how I'd go about finding out what happened to Moony, Terry. That was Monday. They located the story on him being shot. It wasn't in the sports page. It was under local news. I'd never have thought to look there. Yesterday I asked my old chemistry teacher, he lives in Southside, how I'd get to where Terry lives. He drew me a map and gave me the bus numbers, and how to find 2nd Street. This morning, I told my track coach that I had business, and I wouldn't be at practice. I didn't come before, cause it took a while to realize, Terry wasn't coming back. I was winning the hundred with him out of the field, and I was jazzed about that, for a couple of weeks. Then, I began to wonder, what happened to Moony Brown? I stopped being jazzed, and started thinking about finding out what happened..”

“I'm a cop, son. I know people. I hear a lot of stories. That's got to be one of the most lame ass stories I've ever been told, but I believe you. No one could make that story up.”

“You've got to believe he'll walk again,” Levi insisted.

“It doesn't matter what I believe. The surgery to remove the bullet is dangerous, which means it's a ticking time bomb. If it stays there, one day it might move. No one knows what will happens if it does move. It's wait ad see for the time being. Once the bullet wound heals, and that's a few more months, they'll reevaluate his situation. They might want to take the bullet out then, but that's a long time for my kid to sit in that chair,” Mr. Brown said.

“We haven't decided which way we want to go. Terry will need to decide, but I can't believe he'll accept being a cripple, if he thinks there is another option. I don't want him disappointed. I don't want him thinking something is possible, when it isn't possible.”

“He's a good student?” Levi asked.

“Straight A student. He hasn't brought home anything but A(s), since he went to middle school. He's smarter than me. He may not go into psychology. It's fine if he does, but he wants to take after me, and that might change, in time.”

“I'm sure he admires his father,” Levi said, and Mr. Brown turned his head to look at Levi's face.

“I've got to say, you're a very unusual white boy,” Mr. Brown observed, glancing at Levi. “I confess, I don't know what to make of you. It's obvious Terry likes you. I haven't seen him perk up like this, since he was shot. Do you have black friends, Levi?” Mr. Brown asked.

“There are a couple of black guys on the track team with me, but I don't pay them any mind. I don't pay most of my white teammates any mind, either. I'm there for one thing,” Levi explained.

Mr. Brown laughed.

“I think most boys who are head and shoulders above other boys, feel similarly about what they're doing,” Mr. Brown said. “You don't seem a lot different from Terry. He has similar thoughts about being on a team.”

“To tell you the truth, I didn't think about where I was going, Mr. Brown. I mean it being Southside, and Southside being more black than white. Until I sat at your dinner table, and we talked about how it is for you, I still had given any though about my race. About us living in different worlds.”

“When Lincoln was reelected, he gave one of the most memorable inaugural speeches ever given. It's probably second only to the speech he gave at Gettysburg. I happen to believe the inaugural speech was more significant, at the time he gave it. The Civil War had ended, and Lincoln got reelected. He wanted the country to heal. He wanted the people to have forgiveness in their hearts. “Malice toward none, charity for all,” was the way he put it. He had a plan to bring the North and the South back together, and he had a plan to integrate black citizens into the Union that was healing, after the war,” Mr. Brown said.

“He was shot a few days later, and Andrew Johnson was a southerner from Tennessee. He had no charity for anyone, and malice for all people of color. We ended up with Jim Crow, and blacks were treated worse than farm animals in the South. They kept white people and black people segregated, for a hundred years, and that's why we have what we have. People who always seem to be in power, know that by keeping blacks and whites separate and unequal, that will so preoccupy us, we won't realize they're stealing the country blind. Politicians. Rich people buy politicians, and they ass laws to benefit the rich, making them richer. We're not supposed to notice that racism is a tool used to keep the people at bay. We have to work so hard to pay the bills, we hardly notice how rich our politicians are getting, while they're minding the store,” Mr. Brown said.

“It's nothing new. They always manage to get back into power, each time the people wise up, and throw the scoundrels out of power.”

“I've never heard it put that way. You've seen a lot more than I've seen, but I know my family started out with more money than most people ever have. It's there for me, when I finish school. Join my father in the family firm,” Levi said.

“I was prepared to join my family's firm too,” Mr. Brown said. “Then than tore down my Daddy's church, and paved over paradise.”

Levi looked at Mr. Brown. He'd heard those lines in a song, but they were appropriate in his case. Tore down paradise to build a parking lot.

“That's the way they like it. They like us to think we're completely different, because of skin pigmentation. Think about that. Think of the shades people come in. When you come right down to it, there are too many shades of skin color to count. How can only people with white skin be the only ones entitled to their full civil rights? Who makes that stuff up? How many shades do white people come in?” Mr. Brown asked. “Which of those shades of white, don't deserve their complete civil rights, and who makes this stuff up?”

“Keeping us separate, so we don't really get to know each other, probably has something to do with it. That's why there is a Northside and a Southside,” Levi said.

“Black folks want exactly what white folks want. They want to have a good job, raise their families, and send their kids off to have a better life than we have. We want our kids to be happy,” Mr. Brown said. “Exactly like most parents want.”

“You've seen a lot of grief,” Levi said. “And yet you have a positive way of looking at things. I'm not sure I could pull that one off, Mr. Brown.”

Mr. Brown looked at Levi's face again.

“A very unusual white boy. The ones I see, come into the precinct. They're up to their neck in deep shit. It does slant my opinion of white folks, but I work with white cops. We do OK. We aren't what you'd call friends. When you work with a guy all day, the last thing you want is to is spend time with him after work. Has nothing to do with race. You can only spend so much time with someone,” Mr. Brown said.

“Like with you and your teammates. That's how I see work. We're there for one thing, and no one says we should be drinking buddies, once the work is done. Some guys are like that, but not me. Once I finish work, I want to go home and be with my family,” Mr. Brown said.

Levi listened to Mr. Brown's words. He tried to imagine being a cop.

“You take what comes at you. My father's death changed my life forever. Terry, Terry wouldn't be in the shape he's in if I could have bought a house somewhere else. I looked for a house right where the Southside meets Northside. Several people had houses up for sale. None wold sell to me,” Mr. Brown said. “I wasn't right for their neighborhood, but if something happens, they find themselves in trouble, they can't wait to call my ass up to fix it for them.”

“Because you're black,” Levi said. “They wouldn't sell to a black family?”

“Because I'm black, and they won't be the ones who let a black family move onto their lily white block. The South isn't the only place where racists live.”

“What makes people act that way?” Levi asked.

“Oh, it'll happen one day, but not in time to save Terry.” Mr. Brown said, sounding bitter for the first time. “I've never told anyone about wanting that house. I don't know why I told you that. Racism is subtle these days, but I know it when I see it. People have learned not to be openly racist. It's bad form, but if I'd been able to buy that house, Terry wouldn't be in the condition he's in.”

“He's a good kid,” Levi said. “I expected hostility. He has every right to be mad at the world. What made him special, what made him somebody, was taken from him. Life shouldn't be like that, but he isn't mad. It hasn't made him mean.”

“He's angry. He won't give into his anger. My boy has worked hard, and life isn't fair, and I never told him it was. He'll find his way, in time.”

“I want to be friends with Terry,” Levi said. “I like him. I didn't know if I'd liked him. I don't know what I thought, but your family is no different than mine, except Terry's mama fixes dinner. She's there for him.”

Mr. Brown looked closely at Levi, trying to put the words with the boy.

“Don't misunderstand me, when I say this, but don't you be coming down there on a bus again, you hear me? I couldn't stop my son from being shot, but I sure as hell can stop you from doing something that is dangerous for a white boy. You get someone to drive you. I'll give you my card. When you want to see Terry, if no one will drive you, I'll try to get away. Promise me that you will not take a bus to come and see Terry again?”

“I'll promise, but I intend to visit him,” Levi said. “It's track season, and I spend a lot of time at practice. I skipped practice today. I can't do that too often,” Levi said. “City Championships are in a week. I graduate the week after that.”

“College?” Mr. Brown asked.

“I've got my share of attention. Haven't made up my mind. I want to get high school behind me, and the offers I'm considering are similar, but I'll need to see the school before I decide,” Levi said.

“Sounds intelligent. We aren't sure about college at the moment. Terry was set, until this happened. We'll take it a day at a time, and if he can't start college this year. We'll make sure he gets back to school next year.”

“I'm sorry. He was good, Mr. Brown. I never saw him run, because he was in one of the lanes beside me, but when I reached the finish line, I could see him then. He was the guy finishing a step ahead of me. He was the guy who won almost every race, he ran. I beat him one time, and believe me, it was my proudest moment as a sprinter, because I know Terry is faster than I am.”

“Everyone has a bad day,” Mr. Brown said.

Levi laughed.

“That's what he said. I beat him, and that was a good day for me,” Levi said. “That's the only time I beat him. He came over and shook my hand.”

“He was putting the hex on you,” Mr. Brown said. “That's a technical psychological term.”

Levi laughed.

“It worked. I never beat him again. He did seem to get faster. After I beat him, I couldn't even get close to him, after that.”

“Oh, you're Levi Cordoba. I know who you are now. I heard a lot about you, after you beat Terry. He was mad as a hornet. He said, he'd blown the start, and he couldn't catch up. After you beat him, he spent an extra hour working on his starts each day. If I remember correctly, it was the next race he ran a 9.9.”

“I was there. He beat me by five yards. But I finished second,” Levi said.

“You forced him to work harder,, Levi” Mr. Brown said.

Levi directed Mr. Brown, once they crossed into Northside. Mr. Brown stopped in front of Levi's house, which was a half mile from the gated entrance.

“Before you get out, I want you to understand something, son. My family isn't in any danger in Southside. What happened to Terry was accidental. The gang bangers, and much of my job is rounding them up, are angry young men that have no future. They're lucky if they have a presence. If you cross paths with one, and he's just had a fight with his girl, or someone has cut him down in some way. That boy is looking for someone to take it out on. Someone like you walks down his street, and he's going to take it out on you, make you as miserable as he is. That's why you shouldn't come down to see Terry on your own, son.”

“I get it,” Levi said. “I won't take a bus, but I'll be back, Mr. Brown.”

“It has been a pleasure meeting you, Levi. Here's my card, it has my numbers on it. You plan to come back to see Terry, call me first. I want to know when you're coming. If you don't have a ride, we'll work something out. If I'm not working something urgent, I can probably get an hour off, when I ask for it.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you. I'll be in touch,” Levi said, closing the car door behind him.

He took two steps toward the house, and Mr. Brown's tires squealed, as he accelerated back toward the entrance.

Chapter 9

Vans & Tracks

A couple of days later, a Ford van, especially equipped for the disabled, parked in front of the Brown's house, on 2md Street. In Southside.

“Mama, you didn't call these people, did you?” Terry yelped angrily.

“What people,” Mrs. Brown asked, drying her hands on her apron, as Terry pointed out the window.

Mrs. Brown bent forward to see under the blinds.

There was a white van with disabled decals all over it, sitting in front of the house.

“Honey, I don't know who they are.”

“Get rid of them. There are no cripples here,” Terry ordered.

Levi Cordoba walked in front of the van. He was wearing shorts, a tank top, and his running shoes. He hadn't told anyone he was coming, because he wasn't sure Terry would agree to go with him. He'd show up and take his chances.

“What do you think you're doing?” Mrs. Brown asked, as Levi was ready to knock. “He's already pitching a fit. He isn't going into that van, if that's what you're thinking, Levi.”

“I'm prescribing medicine, without a license, Mrs. Brown. I'm taking Terry with me to track practice. He can't spend his life sitting in that window.”

“I hope you know what you're doing. He won't go for this. There are things he just won't do. I can hardly get him to go to the doctors.”

“He'll go. I got the idea last night. My coach isn't too keen on me skipping practice to visit Terry. So, I'll take Terry to practice with me.”

“You know he isn't going to go for this,” she said. “He hardly leaves the house. He doesn't want anyone to see him.”

“Exactly. He needs to get out, Mrs. Brown. I see no reason why he can't go with me. I know how to secure him properly. I got a lesson from the guy who usually drives this thing, before he left for the day. I'm officially checked out, and I'm qualified to drive Terry to practice. Just what the doctor ordered.”

“What do you want, white boy,” Terry yelled from the other room. “I know you didn't come over here to see my mother.”

“No, I didn't,” Levi said, having been admitted to the house, and he was on his way to picking up Terry.

“We're going to track practice,” Levi said happily.

“Yeah, and the gimp can spend all afternoon being stared at. Not on your life, white boy. You get out of here,” Terry said in no uncertain terms.

Levi scooped Terry up in his arms, heading for the door, with Mrs. Brown rolling the wheelchair behind them.

“You're gaining weight. We need to put you on a diet, if I'm going to keep carrying you around,” Levi said.

“Uh huh!” Terry said, relaxing in Levi's arms.

“There's only one question I need answered. Your practice, or my practice?” Levi asked, as he sat Terry on the front seat.

Once the wheelchair was properly secured, Levi took Terry back, putting him in his chair, and fastening his seat belt.

“That feels fine. It was a little better when you were holding me,” Terry said. “You know, if I could walk, I'd get the hell up and walk back in the house, but this is your gig, I'll go along for the ride. At the moment, I see no alternative.”

“Which practice. You didn't answer me,” Levi said.

“Yours. I can't stand my guys looking at me like their dog just died. Having a bunch of white boys stare at me won't bother me.

“You really ain't all that good looking,” Levi said. “A little cute, maybe.”

“Are you going to get this think out from in front of my house? Everyone's going to think I'm a cripple now,” Terry grumbled.

“See you Mrs. Brown. I'll have him back by dinner time?” Levi said.

“If he don't make you bring him home before dinner, keep doing what ever it is you have in mind to do. I can warm his dinner up.”

Levi put the van in gear and headed back to Northside.

“Where's you get this thing?” Terry asked, facing the back window.

“I got the idea last night. I'm well-known at school, and that entitles me to certain perks. I asked to borrow the disabled van, after the driver finished for the day. We only have one kid who has trouble getting around, so he brought the van back early. He showed me how to secure a chair, and he went home. He said I had to have it back by seven in the morning. The van was easy. I don't know what my coaches reaction might be.”

“I've got to admit, I was getting a bit tired of looking out that window,” Terry said.

“I figured as much. Besides, you'll like seeing the track, and watching the guys go through their events for the city championships next week.”

Terry didn't have much else to say. He hadn't liked the idea, until they were on the way, and then, he didn't hate the idea. Going to his school was a nonstarter. He couldn't go through seeing the faces of his teammates, and he didn't want them seeing him in a wheelchair.

Levi pulled the van up beside the gate nearest the football field, and the Amalgamated track, behind the school. There was a bevy of activity going on around the track, as his team prepared for the City Championships Thursday. He unfastened Terry, carried him around to the passenger seat, going back for the wheelchair, putting Terry in it, he pushed him through the open gate.

Neither boy said anything, but Terry watched the activity around the track. It excited him in a way nothing had, since he was shot. He didn't think he ever wanted to see a track again, but seeing one did give him a feeling of belonging. He'd spent a lot of time on a track just like this one,

Levi kept to the outside of the back stretch, as runners ran past at a jog. The season would end on Thursday, and if they weren't in shape by now, it was too late to get in shape, but they were all preparing for the end of the season. The only thing they needed to do, was go through the motions.

Someone said, “Levi,” as an acknowledgment, as distance runners ran by.

Levi replied, “Hey, Marshall.”

“Someone just cut the grass. I can smell the balm on those guys. Funny what you forget you know, once you're away from it for a while.”

“Your dad says that you might get the feeling back in your legs any day,” Levi said, refusing to be negative on such a beautiful May day.

“You got yourself a boyfriend, Cord,” a runner asked, as he passed Levi, as he pushed the chair along in the far outside lane.

“Jealous, Barnett,” Levi said.

The boy laughed as he went around the track.

“Who's Cord?” Terry asked.

“Cordoba. Cord. Some of my friends call me Cord.”

“He's your friend?” Terry asked.

“Mike Barnett. He's cool, as jocks go. I've known him since I started coming to Amalgamated.

“Why do they always go for the queer deal,” Terry said. “If you think about it. Guys are as skittish about the queer deal, as anything else, and yet it's the first place they go, if they see guys who are obviously good friends.”

“Boys are masters of contradiction. Everyone checks everyone else out in the showers. I suppose it has something to do with animal instincts. Nothing is as cut and dried as they pretend it is,” Levi said.

“You thinking of becoming a shrink, Cord?” Terry asked.

“Which of us hasn't had some ideas in that direction? My best friend in public school told me once, we all think about it. It natural. Something to do, when you have nothing to do.”

“And what did he want to do??” Terry asked.

“Kid stuff. We were too young to do much. He wanted to see what I had. He was cool. Scott Masterson. I knew him forever, until I came to Amalgamated.”

“What happened to Scott?” Terry asked.

“What happened to all my old friends. I came here, and I guess they're still in public school. We travel in different circles now,” Levi said. “I've never had friends like those, since I left. I'm not close to anyone here. Didn't you have friends like that, Terry?”

“You're the guy driving the van. I just came along for the ride,” Terry said, passing on the hot potato.

“Said like a man wanting to dodge the subject. Some things are obvious. We all have our secrets, and no one is talking.”

“You aren't pure of thought, Cordoba?” Terry asked.

“Me, I've got a mind that could use a good dry cleaning, but it'll only get dirty again.”

Terry laughed.

“That's funny. A guy thinks about sex every seven seconds,” Terry said.

“What does he do with the rest of his time?” Levi asked.

Terry laughed.

“Jacks off. I do anyway. Seems like the thing to do, while I'm doing it.”

“Ain't that the truth. You know it's a sin,” Levi said.

“All the good stuff is,” Terry said. “That's how you know what to try.”

“That makes sense. Never thought of it that way,” Levi said.

“Thanks, Levi? I'm glad I came. I'm glad you brought me here.”

“Your welcome. What a beautiful day,” Levi said. “I didn't do it for you.”

“Spring is in the air, and I'm glad I'm alive,” Terry said. “You just wanted to get me into your arms again. I am irresistible.”

“You found me out,” Levi said. “How do you do it, Terry.”

“You need instructions?” Terry asked. “Your seven seconds are up.”

“You've lost everything. You're still a regular guy. I'd be a basket case. How do you pull it off?” Levi asked. “You amaze me.”

“Sometimes, I amaze myself. It is what it is, Levi. I can't do a damn thing about it. I'm not gone to make my parents miserable. I put on a happy face, and pretend it's just another day. Then, when no one is looking, I cry a lot.”

Levi pushed the chair toward the third turn, at the bottom of the track.

“My father likes you,” Terry said. “You're easy to like, Levi.”

“Your father is cool,” Levi said. “Your mother is cool. You, you aren't bad.”

“Your father isn't cool?” Terry asked.

“My father's OK. He hasn't lived. Not the way your father has lived.”

“We each have a road to go down, Levi. My road and your road aren't that different. Are roads were identical, until I stepped in front of that bullet. Now, we're going in opposite directions. I'm slowing down, and you're on your way to winning championships.”

That was the same thing Levi knew, and he knew how wrong that was. How he'd love going back to winning the two hundred, and Terry would win the one hundred. That was how it should be, but wasn't.

As they reached the third turn, no one had passed them for a while. Then, most of Levi's team came to stand in between the third and fourth turns.

Practice had come to a stand still, and Levi couldn't be sure why.

“Hey, Moony,” a boy said, coming over to shake Terry's hand. “Sorry, about...”

Boys moved onto the surface of the track.

Levi looked for the coach. When he found him, he was standing at the end of the bleachers, hands on hips, glaring at his runway track team. No one was doing anything they were supposed to be doing.

“Your Moony Brown,” one of the sprinters said. “What happened?”

“I tripped,” Terry said.

There was laughter, but it was an uncomfortable laughter. The kind of laugh you heard, when things weren't right, and you tried not to notice.

The boy who spoke, sopped in front of the chair, putting out his hand.

“I hope your back soon,” he said, as they shook on it.

Terry swallowed hard, looking back at Levi, for help.

Other boys stepped on the track to shake the hand of Moony Brown. You could have knocked Levi over with a feather. He'd been waiting for his coach to come over and give him hell. This was unreal. It was unexpected.

Each boy wanted to shake Terry's hand. They knew who he was. They knew that he was the only one who could beat their sprinting hero.

A big black boy pushed through the throng, as Terry spoke to his admirers. He was caught flatfooted by the attention, coming from Levi's team. It's not what he expected.

He thought he'd be anonymous at Levi's school, but he wasn't anonymous at all. Everyone knew his name, and then Amos Morris moved up to the wheelchair, sticking out his huge shot putters paw.

“Amos,” Terry said. “How you been?”

“I'm fine, Moony. I should have been over to see you, but I couldn't. I didn't want to see this. I'm sorry, Moony. I just went to pieces when I heard. I cried for two days. Now, I didn't want to face you. I”m sorry, Moony.”

Amos Morris was six foot five inches tall and he weighed three hundred and twenty-five pounds. He was a mountain of muscle, and he stood in front of his team with tears streaming down his face.

It takes a real man to be able to cry in front of your teammates.

“Amos, it's cool. You didn't do nothing wrong. I wouldn't want to see you if it happened to you. It happened, that's all,” Terry said. “I don't expect anyone to come by and hold my hand. I got to do this on my own.”

“If anyone can come back, you can, Moony,” Amos sobbed.

That's when the whistle blew. Coach Becker blew it a second time, and guys moved out of his way. The coach was coming fast.

“Amos, move. Go pick up your shot. Ain't you boys got something to be doing? All you boys got plenty to do. City Championship. Don't be standing around,” he barked.

“Why didn't you tell me this was what you were up to, Cordoba? I have a good mind to toss you off the team. What, you think I'm running a picnic?”

“I didn't think you'd care, one way or another. It's just about over for me coach. You can't teach me much in the time we have left. If I can't find the finish line by now, there's not much hope for me,” Levi said.

The coach had moved on, before Levi finished. He held out his hand, and Terry looked at the man's face, before accepting the man's handshake.

“Coach,” Terry said respectfully.

“Mr. Brown, I can't tell you how sorry I was to hear of your plight. You don't know what an honor it has been to see a master at work. You were something to see, Moony Brown. I've been around for a good while, and I can honestly say, you're one of the best hundred men I've ever seen. I wish you well,” Coach Becker said. “As for you, Cordoba. Get this damn thing off my track. You don't want to be making me mad.”

“No, sir. I don't want to be doing that,” Levi said, smiling at his coach.

Coach Becker turned to leave the track, but instead he did an about face.

“Thank you, Coach. I don't know what to say,” Terry said.

“You beat the finest sprinter I've had the privilege to coach. You did your talking with your speed, son. You don't have to say a word. I'm glad I got to see you run. Cordoba, if you're going to push a wheelchair at practice, I expect you to do it double-time,” Coach Becker, growled, smiling as he walked away.

“What are you crying about?” Terry asked.

“I didn't plan that, I really didn't care what my team thought. Then, they go pull a stunt like that. Makes me thing the world might not be so bad. They knew who you were, and they felt bad for you. I'm glad I saw that, Terry.”

“Stop crying. A man comes to take me on a date, and he cries, makes me think I'm not up to his standards. So, quit crying,” Terry said.

“Is that what this is, a date,” Levi said.

“When I show a guy my ass five minutes after we meet, the next time he comes over, it's a date,” Terry declared.

Levi laughed, wiping his tears away with the palm of his hands.

“Time to get to pushing. Track season will be over before we reach the finish line at this rate,” Terry said.

“Yes, sir. I'll gets to pushin',” Levi said in his best black dialect.

“And for your information, I like my men nicely tanned,” Terry said.

“Me, too,” Levi said.

As they moved up the front stretch, Levi began picking up speed, pushing the wheelchair faster and faster. By the time the crossed the finish line, they were at a breakneck speed.

Both boys began to laugh, as if they'd just won the race, as some of Levi's teammates cheered them on.

“That was fantastic. Absolutely fantastic, Levi. I loved it. It was almost like being able to sprint again,” Terry said.

“That will take a little longer, Terry, but we'll work on it,” Levi said, as boys surrounded them, patting both Terry and Levi on the back.

The sky was a clear baby blue. The temperature was perfect for any boy involved in track and field.

Epilogue:

When Levi first stood in front of Moony Brown's house, he'd thought he might stay for fifteen or twenty minutes, if they let him into the house at all. He didn't know he had a thing in common with Moony, once you got beyond the race they'd run against each other, but never would again.

Levi didn't have any close friends. His buds from school were just that, buds. They shared the private school experience, without wanting to discuss their feelings, or anything to do with a deeper meaning to life. Athletes weren't supposed to have feelings about anything but athletics.

On the first day he visited Terry, in the second or third hour they were together, Levi felt like he was getting to know Terry. They might have been from different worlds, but they were a lot a like inside. Levi felt a connection.

By the time Levi was pushing Terry across the finish line, being cheered on by his teammates, both boys felt like this was the beginning of a real good friendship.

The End

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Sea Of Tranquility, A Rick Beck Story

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