Read Online Some Are Sicker Than Others by Andrew Seaward - Free Book Online
Authors: Andrew Seaward
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across the foyer. But, just as he reached for the front door, Cheryl grabbed him, her fingers digging into the flesh of his forearm.
“Don’t do this,” she said, basically begging him, trying a new tactic since shouting didn’t work. “You shouldn’t even be driving around in your condition. What if something happens? What if you flip that bus?”
“Nothing’s gonna happen, Cheryl. I’m fine. Everything’s fine.”
“You are not fine. Look at you. You can’t even walk straight.”
Dave whirled around, pulling his arm away from her, his fists clenched, shaking by his sides. “Of course I can’t walk straight! I’m a god damn cripple! I’ll never walk right again thanks to you.”
“It wasn’t my fault. It was an accident.”
“Yeah right. If you’d been watching Larry like you were supposed to, he never would’ve run into me with that god damn golf cart.” Dave glanced at the kid. His face was buried underneath his mother’s nightgown like a frightened ostrich hiding its head underneath the sand. “Do you realize what you took away from me, Cheryl? What I could have been? What I could have done? I could’ve gone to the Olympics. I could’ve competed in front of the world.”
“The Olympics? Please, Dave, don’t be delusional. You weren’t even fast enough to make it when you were in college. You rode the bench most of the year.”
“That’s because I was too young and inexperienced.”
“But you never even won a race.”
“What about all those records I set in the 10,000 meter?”
“You were in high school.”
“What about that half marathon I won a few years back in Denver?”
“That was for charity.”
“So?”
“So, you were the only one in your heat!”
Dave snorted and turned away from her, then grabbed the knob and pulled open the front door. He didn’t have time for this shit. He had to get down to Aurora. It was almost seven-thirty. It was time to call Juarez.
“You’re sick, Dave,” Cheryl said. “You’re delusional. You need help.”
Dave rolled his eyes and turned away from her, then stepped out onto the patio while pulling the front door closed.
Chapter 5
The Score
DAVE stood on the porch for a moment trying to regain his focus, staring out at the lawn that was covered with a fresh layer of snowfall. Jesus, what a morning. What a horrible way to start the week. All that bitching and moaning was completely unnecessary especially for a Monday morning. Rehab? Please. What the hell was Cheryl talking about? He didn’t need no god damn rehab. It wasn’t like he was some junkie living out of a shopping cart, standing by the highway, holding up a sign. He was an Olympic runner for Christ’s sake. The best god damn middle and long distance runner on this side of the Mississippi. He’d set records in everything from the two to ten thousand meter. How did she think he set all those records? It wasn’t talent. It had nothing to do with talent. In fact, he didn’t even have the right genetics to be a great runner. His legs were too short, his upper body was too bulky, but he had one thing those fuckers in Ethiopia would never have—heart. He had more will and more drive in his little pinky finger than those bulimic fuckers had in their entire undernourished bodies. If he wanted something bad enough, he’d just go out there and take it. It didn’t matter what it was. The junior’s two thousand meter Colorado record? Please. He crushed that when he was only a teenager. And what about district 3A Cross Country Championship? How did three straight, back-to-back five thousand-meter titles sound? See, he didn’t need no god damn rehab. If he wanted to quit, he’d just do it. He’d do it on sheer willpower. But why should he? Why should he quit? It felt too good. It was the best feeling he’d had in a long time. It gave him that rush, that high he hadn’t had since high school when he was winning medals, running races, and leaving
“Don’t do this,” she said, basically begging him, trying a new tactic since shouting didn’t work. “You shouldn’t even be driving around in your condition. What if something happens? What if you flip that bus?”
“Nothing’s gonna happen, Cheryl. I’m fine. Everything’s fine.”
“You are not fine. Look at you. You can’t even walk straight.”
Dave whirled around, pulling his arm away from her, his fists clenched, shaking by his sides. “Of course I can’t walk straight! I’m a god damn cripple! I’ll never walk right again thanks to you.”
“It wasn’t my fault. It was an accident.”
“Yeah right. If you’d been watching Larry like you were supposed to, he never would’ve run into me with that god damn golf cart.” Dave glanced at the kid. His face was buried underneath his mother’s nightgown like a frightened ostrich hiding its head underneath the sand. “Do you realize what you took away from me, Cheryl? What I could have been? What I could have done? I could’ve gone to the Olympics. I could’ve competed in front of the world.”
“The Olympics? Please, Dave, don’t be delusional. You weren’t even fast enough to make it when you were in college. You rode the bench most of the year.”
“That’s because I was too young and inexperienced.”
“But you never even won a race.”
“What about all those records I set in the 10,000 meter?”
“You were in high school.”
“What about that half marathon I won a few years back in Denver?”
“That was for charity.”
“So?”
“So, you were the only one in your heat!”
Dave snorted and turned away from her, then grabbed the knob and pulled open the front door. He didn’t have time for this shit. He had to get down to Aurora. It was almost seven-thirty. It was time to call Juarez.
“You’re sick, Dave,” Cheryl said. “You’re delusional. You need help.”
Dave rolled his eyes and turned away from her, then stepped out onto the patio while pulling the front door closed.
Chapter 5
The Score
DAVE stood on the porch for a moment trying to regain his focus, staring out at the lawn that was covered with a fresh layer of snowfall. Jesus, what a morning. What a horrible way to start the week. All that bitching and moaning was completely unnecessary especially for a Monday morning. Rehab? Please. What the hell was Cheryl talking about? He didn’t need no god damn rehab. It wasn’t like he was some junkie living out of a shopping cart, standing by the highway, holding up a sign. He was an Olympic runner for Christ’s sake. The best god damn middle and long distance runner on this side of the Mississippi. He’d set records in everything from the two to ten thousand meter. How did she think he set all those records? It wasn’t talent. It had nothing to do with talent. In fact, he didn’t even have the right genetics to be a great runner. His legs were too short, his upper body was too bulky, but he had one thing those fuckers in Ethiopia would never have—heart. He had more will and more drive in his little pinky finger than those bulimic fuckers had in their entire undernourished bodies. If he wanted something bad enough, he’d just go out there and take it. It didn’t matter what it was. The junior’s two thousand meter Colorado record? Please. He crushed that when he was only a teenager. And what about district 3A Cross Country Championship? How did three straight, back-to-back five thousand-meter titles sound? See, he didn’t need no god damn rehab. If he wanted to quit, he’d just do it. He’d do it on sheer willpower. But why should he? Why should he quit? It felt too good. It was the best feeling he’d had in a long time. It gave him that rush, that high he hadn’t had since high school when he was winning medals, running races, and leaving
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