The Memory of Running (21 page)

I wasnt mad at Bethany. I figured that the damn voice was doing the terrible lying to Dr.
Glass. I wasnt mad, but I never went with her again to the doctors office. How could I?

Bethany got betterthat was the important thing. She got out of her cloud and healed
nicely, except for a narrow rip scar from the corner of her eye to her temple. But it was
a real small scar, and un- less you were looking for it, you wouldnt notice it. She cut
her thick hair short and began wearing eye makeup that made her eyes look enormous. It was
a pretty look, maybe beautifulat least thats what Jeffrey Greene of Attleboro,
Massachusetts, thought.

Jeff Greene was twenty-seven when he met my sister. His mom had to go to Bradley because
she kept having mental problems. Jeff told me mental problems. I dont know any specifics,
and, really, I dont think anybody else but loved ones should know certain things. Thats
what I think, but I dont know. Jeff would visit his mom, then go sit in the patient park
for a smoke, and one day he met Bethany.

Jeff used to visit his mom once a week, because he didnt think she knew he was there at
all, but after he got to talking to Bethany, he began coming every day. They would sit and
talk for hours and hours, and Dr. Glass told Mom and my pop that Jeff should get a lot of
the credit for Bethanys snapping out of it. He even brought Bethany home on Sunday
afternoons when she was allowed out, and finally, when she was released, he decorated his
car with signs saying bethany is going home, and he took her.

I was, I guess, a little jealous of Jeff. I was usually the one looking after her, but now
it was Jeff, and, really, he was very good at it. I had moved into my apartment in
Pawtucket, near Goddard, so it was good she had Jeff, but I worried. You know what I mean?
Im a wor- rier. Anyway, Jeff had what I thought was a great job. He was the manager of
Bennys Home and Auto Store on Newport Avenue in

Pawtucket, and lived, like I said, in Attleboro, in a nice house he had just bought. Jeff
Greene was a guy that had things falling into place. And he deserved good things. Not only
because he was in love with Bethany, but because he was one of those genuine hardworking
peo- ple my father admired, even if he was Jewish.

As long as hes good to Bethany, my father would say. I just dont know, my mother would
say. But after a while we all found we liked Jeff very much. He was tall

and heavyset and walked a little flat-footed, which was why he didnt have to get drafted,
but he had so much energy, and when he was around, which seemed like all the time, we had
energy also.

The change in Bethany was so complete, love and all, that the joy popped back into Mom and
Pops house. Pop went back to the base- ball field as a third-base coach for the Socony
Sox, and wed all go to the games when we could. It was a wonderful time, although I was
having trouble meeting people, and work was boring, and the tall lagers were filling up my
nights, and while Bethany was returning to normal, I had begun to lose my face in a storm
of food and alcohol. Still, it was great to see her so happy and herself.

Jeff now accompanied her to her visits to Dr. Glass. Bethany had started working as an
assistant librarian at Ann Ide Fuller Branch, un- der the East Providence water tower, and
whenever he could, Jeff Greene would drop in and visit. When I think of Jeff, I think of
this guy waiting to say hello to Bethany and give her a little kiss and then be happy just
to stand next to her. I understand this. It would be great to get to a place where theres
comfort all around in just being somewhere.

One Sunday afternoon, after the snow had melted and the early spring flowers and grass
were pushing up all over the place, Jeff picked Bethany up and drove to Colts Drive in
Bristol, Rhode Is- land. Its a long walk built along the ocean, and it is pretty amazing
and pretty beautiful. People from all over like to stroll around and look out to sea. Its
nice to see people like that. Looking. Thinking.

Jeff looked out to sea, too. He stuttered, tried to say something, stopped, looked out to
sea again, and stuttered.

What, honey? Bethany said, squeezing his arm. She had on a turtleneck Irish fishermans
sweater and a Red Sox baseball cap.

I was wondering. . . . What? Poor Jeff Greene. Theres this good guy not being able to
speak. You know. . . . He reached into his pocket and handed her a

small blue snap box. There was a ring inside, and inside the ring hed had a jeweler write
bethany and jeff, 1972. Bethany held the ring in her hand and stared at it with her mouth
open.

I love you, and I want to marry you, Jeff said, nice and stupidly. Oh, Jeffrey, said
Bethany, a waterfall bobbing out of her eyes. Will you? Oh, yes. Oh, I will. I love you,
too.

Okay. Be me. Youre speaking to Norma from a phone booth, and you have to tell this story.
Tell me how I tell this story. Oh, and its cold. Its got to be cold enough so that if it
starts to rain, you know it will be snow.

The story.

Kansas spoiled me. Even though I understand there was a gradual incline and the altitude
was always rising, the key word was grad- ual. Colorado, after the high-plains part, from
where I entered at Holly, still on U.S. 50, through Rocky Ford, where I got off 50 and
onto Colorado Route 10, and on into Walsenburg, was fineuntil I slipped onto Route 160 and
up into the mountains. I felt like I was just starting. If there was enough air, it surely
hadnt settled around me. I wasnt putting in twelve hours, or ten, or, after Walsenburg,
even eight. I biked and walked like a snail, six or seven hours a day, and barely had the
energy to pitch my tent, which I had to do be- cause it was now seriously cold.

The stretch between Fort Garland and Alamosa across that high valley took me two whole
days, and it probably was only forty miles. I was pretty discouraged, although I did tour
Fort Garland, where Kit Carson used to be the commander. I was the only one on the tour. A
little old guy in a cowboy hat gave the tour and spoke for maybe twenty-five straight
minutes and didnt look at me once, ex- cept when I raised my hand.

Question there? he said looking at me. Where did he get killed? Carson? Yes.

No idea.

Alamosa was a kind of old and new American town, with the new outskirts and the heavy old
main street. I liked it, but I was too cold

to enjoy it. I stopped at Wal-Mart and got ready for the Rocky Mountains. Wool socks,
longjohns, a space age alpaca sweater, good gloves, jeans with a red flannel lining, a
blue wool cap, and insulated work boots. I had to pay just over a hundred dollars. After I
stopped at the grocery store for bananas and water and oatmeal cookies, I had less than
fifty dollars left. I put my other clothes, except the shorts and sweatsuit and sneakers,
in a Goodwill bin.

I slept that night at the most beautiful rest area I had ever seen. It was in Del Norte,
and it was maybe a half mile off 160. It had a clean bathroom and a neat mowed field where
I could set my tent over soft grass. I slept great, and in the morning the sun blazed down
on that valley so bright youd have thought it was August. What a day! It had to be around
sixty degrees. I started riding in my sweats, but after an hour or so, I switched to
shorts and a T-shirt. It was that warm. Really.

Route 160 outside Del Norte takes a dip into South Fork, making the ride easy, and the
mountains, near and far, made it beautiful. I was so mesmerized by the beauty of it I took
the wrong turnoff. In- stead of staying on 160 for the climb into Durango, Colorado, I
veered right across the clear headwaters of the Rio Grande River and into Mineral County.

I followed fifteen miles of wide fly-fishing water on a narrow road that cut through rock
slides, lava flows, and cottonwoods. The road grew narrower and narrower until it came to
a small settlement called Wagon Wheel Gap, then immediately opened into a long, curving
valley of river and grass bordered by amazing mountains and foothills.

I was, I guess, reenergized. By now I had figured out that the road I was on was not
Colorado 160, but the ride was level and warm, and fishermen were throwing flies at every
other bend. At a point where the road was closest to the river, I pulled off onto a dirt
jeep trail and rode down to the riverbank.

I had seen pictures of rivers like this. You know, long, grassy banks

easing gently down into crystal-clear, pebble-bottomed water, rapid and powerful, then
settling into perfect deep holes and pools, each one holding hundreds of river trout and
rainbow trout and, just maybe, cutthroat trout. I had assumed that the pictures I had seen
had to be some sort of trick photography. But sitting on the bank of the Upper Rio Grande
eating a banana, the sun falling on me, I have to say that there are rivers like this.
True.

I spread my map on the dry grass. Here was South Fork, and here, right here, was where Id
screwed up. I went right. If I stayed on this road for about eight or nine miles, I would
come to Creede, Colo- rado. From there this new road simply disappeared into the moun-
tains. I was not discouraged. I would relax a little, have another good banana, and go
back to 160. I suppose I could have felt stupid about missing the road. Its not like Im a
bus or a car or something travel- ing so fast its understandable not to see a sign. But I
didnt feel stu- pid. Actually I felt wonderful to have spent a moment with this river. The
water over stones made a kind of hum. I lay back on the grass and closed my eyes. I fell
asleep.

It must have been hiding just over the mountains behind me. Friendly-looking mountains
with a narrow tree line and rounded tops. Soft-looking mountains, really, but behind them
was a storm ready to get me. The temperature must have fallen quicklybut not so quickly
that it woke me. The snow, too. It must have been just a puff of snow at first, because
when I finally opened my eyes, I was lightly covered with wet snow, and a swirl was just
beginning. It came unbelievably quick. I could see nothing, and my body felt stiff and, I
suppose, like frozen food.

I felt for my bike. I reached out in every direction, not daring to stand up, because I
honestly felt that the wind, the power of the snowstorm, could have lifted me into the
river. The bike! I felt down to the saddlebags. It seemed incredibly stupid to do, a waste
of time, maybe impossible, but I pulled the tent out, felt for the metal stakes, staked
it, and pushed up the fiberglass poles until they mounded the

nylon. I unsnapped the saddlebags from the metal bike frame and pushed them into the tent.
It rocked into a right angle. It would rip out the stakes unless I added my weight. Inside
was dark and cold. I sat huddled in the center of the tent concentrating on holding it to
the earth. Thats when I heard the cry.

At first it was a small sound, like an angry crow in the distance, but as I listened, I
heard this little voice yelling Help, yelling Help me. And the squeak of tears. I knew
that frightened sound. My heart was pounding in the high, cold air. I crawled out of the
tent.

Oh, please dont blow away, I said out loud.

I am not brave. I dont have to tell you that. Not by now. I would always like to help, but
theres a lot of, I guess, unsure stuff working in me.

I stood in front of the tent and leaned into the wind for balance. I listened hard. The
wet snow pinched at my face, and then I heard it again. The cry for help. A sob.

Stand still and keep talking! I screamed. Im afraid! it screamed. Stand still and keep
talking! Im coming! My name is Kenny. My name is Kenny. My name . . . Dont stop! I
screamed. I was closer now. I wanted to go in a

pretty constant line, so I had at least a chance to get back to the tent. My . . . my name
. . . He started crying. Great, huge cries. Louder than he could talk. I sensed him
directly in front of me and grabbed at air until my fingers closed on his T-shirt. He was
small,

and I picked him up and slung him over my shoulder. My name is Kenny! My name is Kenny!
You can stop now. My name is Kenny!

I walked in what I prayed was the direction I had come in. I walked until I was at the
rivers edge. I had missed the tent. Panic started in my feet and knees. It always starts
there for me. Panic weighted me into the already calf-deep plop of snow. I moved away

from the bank and, in a side-slide sort of way, I felt in every direction with each slide
of my freezing feet. I hit something and reached down hopefully. My tent. I ran my hand
around it, feeling for the entrance. When I extended my arms, I couldnt see my hands. Snow
like that seems beyond belief. A waterfall of snow. Cold. Whipping. The tent flap.

I fell on my knees, folded Kenny inside the tent, and crawled in after him. He was
whimpering a little and shivering. I couldnt tell for sure if he was shivering because of
the cold or from fright, but he was wearing only sneakers, T-shirt, and shorts, so cold
was a good bet. It was black inside the snow-piled tent. I took my flashlight and pulled
out my sleeping bag.

Take off all your wet clothes, I told Kenny. He was nervous about taking off any clothes
in front of someone. Ill turn my back. Take off the sneaks and stuff and get in

the bag. I counted to fifty, so he had a lot of time. When I turned around,

there was a little square head with a blond crew cut, maybe ten years old, sticking out of
my bag.

I pulled my longjohns, wool socks, and lined jeans out of the pack.

Your turn to turn around, I told him.

I changed into the heavy, warm clothes and shoved the others back into my knapsack.
Outside, the wind made sounds like a lot of rockets taking off. I imagined the trees
shooting out of the ground. The tent rocked but held. Snow weighted it like a little igloo.

Youre Kenny, huh? Uh-huh. Suddenly I had an image of more Kennys out there. Were you
alone? Yes. Good. Im Smithy. I held my hand out for a shake. He took it. His teeth
chattered.

He put his hand back into the bag and lay on his side facing me. I put the saddlebags at
the end of the tent and laid my head against it. We listened to the wind.

Are you hurt anywhere? I dont think so. Good. I live in Creede. I skipped school. You
skipped school? Thats not good. I went fishing.

The wind and the snow rocked us hard for a second but subsided, and for the first time
since I woke to the snow, I could hear the rush of the river.

Catch anything?