This story is written for pleasure and is not intended to infringe on any exisiting copyrights.
This story is fictional, a work of the writer's imagination. The characters and incidents used are purely fictional and are not based on any person and/or persons actual experiences. This particular story was written in 2000, and I decided to revise and re-publish.
The Marathon
by:Rosalind B
She sat at the front table. Her left hand pushing the calculator's buttons. Her right hand writing the sums in the bookkeeper's notebook. The restaurant wasn't open today. Health inspectors paraded through the kitchen, then the restrooms. The building inspector left only moments before, the new certificate hung over the bar. The health inspector cleared his throat.
"Mrs. Kelly?"
She looked up from her work. "Is there a problem?"
"No ma'am. Everything is in working order. Just need a fire inspection and that ought to do it for the year. We do reserve the right to stop in within the next six months."
"Of course. No problem." Roxy looked at the inspector over her glasses.
"Have a nice day Mrs. Kelly."
She watched the inspector's back as he walked out of the restaurant.
Mrs. Kelly,-the one thing that made her truly happy in the past year. She looked back at her sums.
That night, Chet softly snoring beside her, Roxy wrote in her journal.
December 1
I love Roz's Place. It's a part of me. Why doesn't feel like it's a part of me anymore?
Why do I feel so lost all of a sudden? I'm too young for a midlife crisis. Chet loves me. Oh does that man love me. Hershey's the sweetest cat in the world. Why do I feel like I'm spinning my wheels?
She crept out of bed and into the living room. She turned on the television, hoping the late news would put her to sleep. That's when the light came on.
The light from the television illuminated her face. Instead of
falling asleep, Roxanne Stephens-Kelly had an epiphany.
"The final sports note tonight is: Don't forget, Friday is the last
day to register for the Los Angeles Marathon," the news anchor intoned.
"Lots of people use this as a personal challenge. Only a few are
professional runners..."
Roxy didn't hear the rest.
"Honeybun?" Chet called out.
"Yes?" she replied, staring at the television screen.
"You okay?"
"Fine Dumplin. Just fine."
She went back into the bedroom, slid under the comforter and spooned
her body to her husband's.
Chet turned and looked at her. "Are you sure? You've been real quiet lately." He caressed her cheek. How does she keep that beautiful brown skin so smooth?
"I've had an epiphany. I know just how to get myself out of my blues."
Chet was fully awake now. "How?"
"I'm signing up for the LA Marathon. Good night Dumplin."
She kissed him, then curled up and went to sleep.
Chet shook his head, kissed his wife on the forehead, then went back to sleep.
They sat at the kitchen table. She played with her plate of grits. He read the sports page and sipped his coffee. Hershey lay under the table, sleeping.
"Are you sure you won't change your mind?"
"Nope. This is what I need to do."
"I don't understand. What do you have to prove? You've got the restaurant.
You've got me, and Hershey, and a bunch of friends. You're too young for a mid-life crisis."
"It's not that. It's -It's- I don't know." Roxy swirled her spoon. "I just feel like I need a challenge. Not just business.
Although our marriage has been an adventure," she smiled.
Chet didn't smile back. "You shouldn't do this. You're not the running type."
"What's that supposed to mean?" Roxy dropped her spoonful of grits back into the plate.
"Well, you're not an athlete."
"Are you saying I'm out of shape? I exercise four days a week, including a 3 mile run."
He took a bite of his toast. "There's a big difference between 3 miles and 26 miles."
Roxy looked at him over her glasses.
"You don't think I can do it, do you?"
Chet looked at his watch.
"I just don't want you to get hurt. Why don't you find some other project?"
"This is the one I want to try," she insisted.
Chet sucked his teeth, then got up from the table.
"I have to go to work. Listen, find something else ok? Something you know you can do."
She looked up at him. "So you don't think I can do this?"
"Fine! You want the truth? NO. I don't think you can do it. I don't want to have to see you drop in the street from trying either."
He walked out, slamming the front door behind him.
Roxy tapped the shoulder of the woman ahead of her.
"Excuse me. Are you on line to register-"
"For the race? Yeah you got the right line," the girl smiled. Roxy gave her the once over. The woman's arms and legs were chiseled, each muscle in textbook form. In her tights and t-shirt, Roxy was almost fooled into thinking the race was that morning. A small water bottle hung from her belt, a runner's watch on her left wrist. The woman noticed the look.
"Hi. I'm Angela," she held out her hand.
"Roxanne," she took it.
"First time running?"
"Yes. You?"
"No. Third time. Not a pro, but just want to say I did it. What about you?"
"Same here. I just need to say I did something other than work and marriage."
"Did your husband support it?" Angela asked. Seeing the frown on Roxy's face, she answered her own question. "Guess not."
"He doesn't think I can do it."
"Lemme ask you something. How often do you work out?"
"Four days a week, including a three mile run at least twice a week."
"I'll give you a free tip: run three times a week until the race. Get your body tuned to the extra miles. Don't overdo it, and don't go on any crash diets. You should at least be able to finish, then tell hubby to piss off."
Roxy laughed. "Thanks!"
The line moved quickly, and finally Angela and Roxy registered.
"Please step to the left and wait for the physical exam," the volunteer said before taking a bite out of a powdered sugar donut.
"Don't think she'll be running," Angela whispered.
Roxy barely stifled a giggle. Then looked around the Runner's Club. Sports paraphernalia hung on the walls. Trophies from the New York, Boston, and London Marathons shone brightly in the display cases. Photos of past winners, and newspaper headlines adorned the registration area.
"Step in please," came a very familiar voice from the exam room.
"Craig?"
"Well hello Roxanne. This is a pleasant surprise!"
Craig Brice leaned forward and gave Roxy a peck on the cheek.
"You signed up for the race? Good for you!"
"I-I wanted to try it at least once," she blushed. "What are you doing here?"
"I'm a member of the club. I volunteered today to do the preliminary exams. It's quite basic, just screening for high blood pressure, quick anemia tests, just as if you were donating blood."
"Oh, well I didn't know what to expect, so I asked Dr. Stephens to give me a letter." She handed Brice the note.
"Excellent! This will make things much easier," he smiled. "Just hop on the table."
After Craig pronounced her vital signs normal, he stapled the letter to her application, gave her a hug and sent her on her way. The registrar gave her a little pink card with her name and runner's tag number: 1748B.
Roxy stood in the lobby and stared at the card.
"Seems real now huh?" Angela's voice spooked her.
"Yes it does."
"The B stands for beginner. The repeat customers have a different designation," Angela explained. "Who was the guy in the exam room? He knew you?"
"His name's Craig Brice. He's a paramedic for LA County. He's worked at my husband's station a couple of times."
"He's cute!" Angela declared.
"Well he's single," Roxy hinted.
Chet pushed the mop across the same spot under the kitchen sink for the fifth time.
"Amigo, you're gonna clean a hole in the floor," Marco warned.
Chet stopped mopping, then leaned on the handle.
"We fought."
"Che?"
"Roxy and I had a fight."
"You left the seat up again?"
"No. She's got this stupid notion about not doing something significant. She was going to sign up for the marathon next month."
"Wow! That would be so cool! I'm running too!" Marco said.
"Whaddya mean cool? She's not a professional runner. She's not an athlete. She's..." Chet began to mop again. Marco hopped onto the table to keep his feet dry.
"She's your delicate flower that needs protecting."
"I'm not that bad. She's got her own business, me, Hershey. She's got friends."
"As I said, she's your delicate flower that needs protecting."
Chet stopped mopping and faced his friend. "Sometimes I feel that way. I can't help it. I love her. But this time I put my foot down."
"All the way down your mouth," Wayne stepped into the kitchen smiling.
"Well Mr. Smarty Pants," Chet grumbled at Wayne. "I told her I didn't think she could do it, and I would help her find something else. How you like them apples?" Mike and Cap walked in, hearing the last moments of the conversation.
Wayne studied Chet for a moment.
"You better hope she finishes the race. If she doesn't you will get no noogies for at least a month."
Chet stopped in his tracks. Wayne folded his arms. Chet stared at Wayne, his blue eyes almost green. Hank could hear the "spaghetti western" duel theme. Marco looked at his friend, then at Wayne, then back to Chet.
"What's that supposed to mean," Chet growled.
"That means it would behoove you to support that lovely wife of yours."
"What makes you a relationship expert? Your poetry?" Chet snapped.
"Consider this: I'm not the one with the angry wife, facing a cold bed."
"I know Roxy's limits," came the reply.
"Mister, no one knows their limits until they reach them."
"No wife of mine is going to run herself into the ground just on principle." Chet took a step toward Wayne.
"You know what your problem is?" Wayne stepped to Chet. The two were less than a foot apart.
"No mister wiseass, enlighten me."
"You're chickenshit that she'll finish. It'll make you less of a man. Little wifey ran 26 miles and all you can do is cheer."
Chet raised the mop handle. Hank and Marco stood between them.
"Enough! That's an order. Chet back to work. Wayne, my office please."
Once safely behind closed doors, Hank gently smacked Wayne on the back of his head.
"What was that for?"
"Starting a fight with one of my men. Do you have any idea how much paperwork is involved?"
"He was wrong Hank."
"Maybe so." Hank sat at his desk and put his feet up. "But you just have to be aware where you are. We're on duty now."
"Sorry."
A week later, Chet had the apartment to himself. There was a wedding reception booked at the restaurant, so Roxy would be home late. He flipped through the newspaper. In the "Life" section, an article caught his attention.
-Los Angeles Laces Up for Marathon-
Young and old, black and white, Americans and foreigners will descend on Los Angeles next week for the annual Marathon. While quite a few are professionals looking to add the experience to their careers, many are just ordinary folks.
82-year old Jonesie Smith will be the oldest competitor. This year's race will be her fifth. Ten-year old Stevie Richards is the youngest, and had to get permission from his pediatrician to participate. Parental consent was not a problem, since his mother will be running for the second time.
"We wanted something we can do together, as a family," Mrs. Richards said. "Dad will be cheering at the finish line. It's nice to have family support. It makes this a better experience." Mr. Richards, a firefighter/paramedic with LA County said he would have participated, "but I'll be on duty at one of the checkpoints. Hopefully the finish line. This is a great project for Bonnie and Stevie. My wife can do anything she puts her mind to."
-My wife can do anything she puts her mind to.- Chet walked over to the balcony and stared out the window.
Two days before the race, Angie called Roxanne.
"How'd you like to come to the 'pasta party' with us tomorrow night?," Angie asked.
"What's that?"
"Local restaurants donate food and some of the workers to serve dinner to the runners the night before the race. It's a nice way to see your fellow runners, and get some really cool souvenirs. Lord knows the next day, you may not be able to walk straight never mind carry on a conversation."
"It sounds like fun. I think I'll go," Roxy replied.
"Great! My friend Marsha will drive us. We'll pick you up about 5PM. Don't worry, you'll be home by 9. We all have an early day the next day."
Chet heard the bathroom door close. He stirred the pot of spaghetti on the stove.
"Dinner's ready," he called out.
"Oh Chet-didn't you remember? I'm going to the Runner's Club dinner."
Roxy walked over and touched Chet's shoulder. He stiffened.
"No, I forgot. Marco's running too, and I invited him and the guys over. Sort of a send off thing."
Roxy began to speak, but the door intercom buzz stopped her.
"Roxanne? It's Angie! We're downstairs, and there are some hunks waiting to see your husband."
Roxy turned to her husband. "The guys are here. I'll see you later."
"You're still going?"
Roxy turned around and faced him. She looked at her shoes, then took a deep breath.
"Chet, over the past few weeks I can't tell whether you're coming or going. You either sulk, or snap my head off, or do something like this. And it's guilt."
Chet opened his mouth to speak, but Roxy held up her hand.
"No! Let me finish! You said you didn't think I could do this. That cut my soul. I'm trying to give the benefit of a doubt, that maybe it's that "Chet Kelly worry syndrome", but I honestly don't know. You have to decide if you've truly changed your mind and can support me, or if this is just guilt. Guilt I don't have time for Chester."
Roxy turned and buzzed the door to let the guys in, then walked out. Marco, John, Roy, Mike and Hank found Chet sitting on the couch, apron on, with his head in his hands.
"Chet? You okay?" Roy put his hand on Chet's shoulder.
Chet looked up, tears in his eyes. "I hurt her. But I'm scared for her. Just couldn't say it right."
Hank sat down next to him. "You'll find a way, pal. She loves you. She'll forgive you."
True to her word, Angie had Roxy back home at 8:30 pm. Roxy let herself in. The apartment was dark. She looked around. The kitchen was clean and empty. She walked back into the living room. Two miniature green lights looked back at her from under the couch.
"Come here Hershey," she whispered. The cat darted out and rubbed her leg. She picked him up and stroked his back. "Where's your master?"
She noticed the light under the office door. She raised her hand to knock, then lowered it and opened the door a crack. Chet sat at his easel, his back to the window. Roxy couldn't see what he was working on. She gently closed the door and got ready for bed. An hour later, she felt his side of the bed dip. Both of them fell into a fitful sleep.
Six AM: Roxy watched the sunrise from the den. Her sneakers laced, sweatshirt tied around her waist, sunglasses on the top of her head tucked into her Senegalese twists.
"Good morning." Chet stood at the door.
"Good morning," she said.
He approached her. "Listen, I'm..."
"Just wish me luck," Roxy answered.
"Good luck. I love you."
Roxy sighed. "I love you too." Marsha's car horn beeped. "I'll see you later."
She walked out. She didn't let Chet kiss her goodbye.
-Oh my god. It's a sea of people.- Runners everywhere, shaking their arms and legs, stretching wherever they could find a foot of space. She nervously checked her registration number pinned on the front of her shirt.
-What have I gotten into?-
"Don't worry chickie. It'll thin out real soon," Marco piped up next to her. He gave her a quick hug.
"Craig Brice is here too. We're in the repeat section, but we'll be looking for you along the way."
Roxy didn't realize she'd spoken aloud.
"One other thing," Marco added. "Don't stay mad at your husband." He jogged off to his starting line.
Roxy watched Marco jog away and started to think about what he said. A tap on the arm broke her thoughts.
"Was that your husband?" A willowy redhead stood before her.
"No, one of my husband's colleagues."
"What do they do?"
"They're firemen for the county."
"Wow, he's gorgeous! Oh sorry, how rude of me. I'm Rachel."
"Roxanne Kelly. Maybe you'll catch him at the finish line."
"He's worth running after that's for sure."
They laughed.
"Runners take your starting positions!"
"See you later Roxanne!"
"See you later Rachel!"
Roxy bounced on her toes one last time. Then the cannon went off. She was propelled by a surge of humanity. Her legs moved in rhythm with the crowd, her arms pumped in time. Left, right, left right.
Butterflies bounced in her stomach, but it was too late to turn back.
Roxy finally chased the butterflies away by the 10th mile. She kept a steady pace, but didn't push.
-No one to prove anything to except me. And Chet.-
She took in the city sights as she ran. The course went through parts of the county she'd never seen before. Her heart told her he wanted what was best. His words stung, but not as much as the miles went by. The other runners were just as in tune with their thoughts, trading the occasional nod or breathy hello. Roxy recognized the fraternal twins from the pasta party. Johan and Robert traveled from England for the race. Johan was blonde, with blue eyes, Robert black-haired with green eyes. They reminded her of Johnny and Roy. They finished each other's jokes, teased each other, and were modest to a fault.
"Roxanne darling!"they called out. "Go for it!" Then they were off.
Roxy smiled. Her doubts faded away.
Johnny and Bob Bellingham leaned on the squad at the finish line. Bob munched on a donut.
"Man I couldn't run this thing. It'd kill me."
"Bob, those donuts are gonna kill you if you're not careful," Johnny teased.
Bob guiltily tossed away the rest of the treat and wiped his mouth on the back of his hand.
John turned to Roy and whispered, "You talk about my eating habits?"
Roy shook his head.
"Whatcha doing in your civies DeSoto?" Mike Morton asked.
"Off duty today Doc. Just snuck to the finish line to cheer Marco, Brice and Roxy."
"Yeah. Cassandra said I better make sure she makes it in one piece, or the restaurant staff will clip my afro," the doctor joked.
The four men laughed. Then a cheer rose from the crowd. The men's champion was coming through, challenged by two others. It was stride for stride the last 100 yards. The cheering became frantic until the champion stretched his torso over the line to keep his title.
"It should start getting interesting now," Morton said.
It started at the 16th mile. A mild pain at the back of her left leg. She shook it off, grabbed some water from a volunteer and kept going. By the 18th mile, her left leg began to revolt.
-Angie warned me that this might happen. Just relax-she told herself. Her body slowed its pace.
By the 19th mile, her arms refused to swing in rhythm. She stopped and bent over for a moment.
"Come on! Don't give up! You can do it! Go Roxy!" Dixie McCall yelled from the first aid station
Roxy's head lifted. She waved, and started walking briskly.
The 20th mile went by slowly. The cheers of the crowd became tinny echoes in her ears. Her arms barely able to take the water from the volunteers felt like logs at her side. Her legs wobbled in pain.
"Do you want to stop?" An official from the race asked over the barricade.
"No," Roxy panted. "I have- to tell-my husband-to piss off."
The official laughed and said, "Okay, but there's no shame you know."
Roxy kept going.
"First Aid Main, this is Official 17."
"Squad 51 here, go ahead Vince."
"Just spotted Roxy Kelly. She didn't look good, but she isn't stopping."
"10-4 Official 17."
John, Roy and Mike looked at each other.
Marco lay on the blanket at the finish line.
"Hey pal, how are you?" Hank leaned over his co-worker.
"Sore, Cap, but happy. I beat my time from last year." Marco whispered.
Hank patted the young man on his shoulder.
"Hey Cap! Roxy Kelly just passed the 20-mile mark. Vince spotted her."
"How she doing Roy?"
"Vince said she was wobbly. She may not have taken in enough water."
"Damn," Hank said. He looked at Chet Kelly's back. He leaned against the barricade, standing watch for his beloved. Fighting against his instinct to run up the route and find her, Chet bit his lip.
Roxy passed the 24th mile mark on pride. Her body hit the 'runner's wall' and would not rebound.
-I can't give up. I told him I could do this. He didn't believe me. I can't stop. I can't stop.-
Her pace had become something between a walk and a loop. What other runners came near her, managed to avoid her weaving. The crowd galvanized by her effort, and the spread of the news that she was "the lady who had to tell her husband to piss off" cheered louder and harder than ever.
"Come on! Go girl go! You're too close now!"
She stumbled at mile 25.
She struggled to stand up.
"Come on Roxy! You're too close!" Craig Brice, his finisher's medal around his neck encouraged his friend.
She took deep breaths, rising slowly. She took a minute to make certain she could stand, then to the cheer of the crowd, started walking again. The crowd's words began to sink in.
-I can do this. Body don't fail me now.-
"Chet."
"Yeah Cap?" Chet kept watching the racecourse.
"Uh, they spotted Roxy. She's about a mile back. Pal, she doesn't look good."
Chet pleaded with the air, "If she could just finish. God that's all I want. Just let her finish."
Roxy stopped hearing the crowd 200 yards from the finish line. She stumbled again, and it was taking longer to get back up.
"Honey if you don't get up by the count of five, I have to pull you off the course," the official said in her ear.
"NO!" Roxy's anger put her on her feet. Her leg muscles trembled. "I can't stop!" She took a step.
"Roxanne Stephens."
Roxy looked at the finish line. No one was there. Except her mother.
"Momma?"
"Why are you doing this?"
"I have to." She took another step.
"That's not an answer young lady," the apparition chided.
"I need to do this, for me. No more pride. No more anger." Tears ran down her face.
Her mother opened her arms. "Come on home honey."
Roxy began to trot. She wasn't traveling in a straight line, but she was moving.
The crowd went wild, including five firemen and a doctor.
But it was one other sight that made Roxane cry all the way to the finish.
Chet ducked under the barricade and stood at the finish line with a piece of poster board.
It was a sketch of Roxanne. She was in running gear, a medal around her neck. Through her tears, she read, "THE MOST BEAUTIFUL WINNER"
She wobbled across the finish line. Chet threw the poster aside and caught her in his arms.
Hank saved the poster, and watched his friend carry Roxy to the waiting arms of the paramedics.
After a day in the hospital, Roxy was allowed home, on bed rest for another few days. She slept on and off for sixteen hours, getting up only to use the bathroom. When she finally felt some strength come back, she hobbled into the den.
"Hi," she said to her husband.
"What are you doing out of bed?" Chet left his easel and wrapped his arm around her.
"I have to talk to you."
He guided her back to bed. "You can talk to me lying down."
She smiled at him. He smiled back.
He tucked her into bed.
"Dumpling." "Honeybun." They started simultaneously.
"You first," he laughed.
"I'm so sorry. I let my pride get in the way. I should've stopped when...," she began.
"No. Don't talk like that. I'm sorry. I should've found a better way to express my concern."
"That was a beautiful poster," she caressed his arm.
"I have a beautiful model," he took her hand and held it.
"I saw my mother at the finish line."
He gently moved a stray braid from her face. He nodded. "I'm not surprised."
"What 's for dinner?"
He laughed again. "The guys came by earlier and left some pizza."
"That's fine by me."
After dinner, Chet cleaned up, fed Hershey and dressed for bed.
Roxy was drifting off when she felt his side of the bed dip. Then she felt Chet's body against hers, his arm around her waist, his voice in her ear "You'll always be a winner with me darlin'".
She turned her head and kissed him. "Just run with me next year," she whispered back.
END