Pietro's story
Disclaimer: If you recognize it as someone else's, then it's not mine.
Run the Race
I'll never forget that day. To borrow a phrase from the book, The Seven Habits of Highly Successful Teens, I had a paradigm shift.
"You, Pietro!" you might be exclaiming incredulously.
"Yes, me," is my simple reply.
The day that changed my life was the day of the mutant challenge in college. In high school, we mutants were hated and feared, but after a few years, some humans actually got a handle on the issue. While overall, the public didn't like us, a few colleges opened their doors to openly mutant students. The college I went to, in fact, was approximately 62% mutant. Not surprising considering how few colleges accepted our applications, we usually flocked together for our education.
In the college's efforts to promote not only mutant tolerance, but also acceptance and recognition, it began hosting an annual mutant challenge, in which mutant college students were invited to compete in a number of physical and mental challenges in which they either would or would not need their powers. I signed up for the 5K, knowing for certain I'd win…
"Name," said the administrator in a monotone voice.
"Pietro Maximoff."
"Power?"
"Super speed," Pietro smirked.
The administrator raised his eyebrows and made a note on his clip board.
"Proof of mutation."
Pietro showed him a copy of his school medical form, clearly labeling him a mutant.
"Number thirty-one. Line up starts at nine forty-five. Don't be late." Said the administrator handing him a number to pin to his shirt.
"Next," he called as Pietro began to move away.
A young woman stepped up to the table.
"Name?"
"Sandy Moore."
"Power?"
"None, sir." Pietro stopped and perked up his ears.
The man looked up at the girl. "I don't have time for jokes, Missy."
"This isn't a joke, I am simply a powerless mutant."
The administrator sighed, "Fine, proof of mutation."
Sandy handed the man a small handful of papers.
"What are these," the administrator asked icily.
"My proof of mutation."
"This is your medical record, not a school health form. No where does it say you are an actual mutant."
"Oh yes it does," said the girl with fire.
"It says I have ovarian cancer, cancer by definition is a mutation, and a mutant, by definition, is one who has a mutation; therefore, I am a mutant."
"Miss, listen, the line is very long; we do not have time for this."
"No, you listen, the sign says all mutants welcome, and by definition, I am a mutant."
"You know, the woman has a point," butted in Pietro.
"What seems to be the trouble?" asked the challenge coordinator coming up behind them.
"I request to be entered into the 5K race."
"Well, all mutants are welcome to sign up."
"She's not a mutant, sir," stated the administrator.
"Yes, I am," said Sandy through gritted teeth, handing the medical paper to the coordinator.
After skimming the papers' contents, the coordinator smiled sadly, "Miss, these say you have cancer, not that you're a mutant. I'm sorry for your illness, but rules are rules. No humans allowed."
"You know," said Pietro, who had annoyingly stood there listening to the whole conversation, "The girl has a point. Cancer is a mutation, and a mutant is defined by his mutation. Technically, she's a mutant."
"And who might you be?" queried the coordinator with a forced smile.
"Pietro Lensherr Maximoff."
"Did you just say Lensherr, as in Eric Lensherr's son??"
"Why yes, do you know him?"
"Of course, um, well," mumbled the coordinator, loosening his tie nervously.
"So, can the lady run?"
"Why, of course," said the coordinator hastily backing away.
"You heard the man, chop, chop. Sign her up."
"Whatever," the administrator rolled his eyes, "Number 32, 9:45, don't be late. NEXT!"
Pietro turned to leave.
"Wait!" called the girl.
"Um, thanks," she said as he turned around.
"Yeah, whatever. The guy was a jerk. Now, mutant jerks I can handle, but I can't stand human jerks. Got to put them in their place, you know," Pietro sneered. "You are going to get creamed in the race. A human running with mutants, hmph. What are you trying to prove anyway?"
At that remark, Sandy looked Quiksilver straight in the eyes and said, "That I am stronger than my mutation."
At nine forty-five the racers lined up at the starting line and began some light warm-ups and stretching. By ten, all were ready.
"You are so going down," said Pietro for anyone who could hear.
ON YOUR MARK! GET SET!...BANG! The gun rang out.
Pietro darted off and was at the finish before the starting shot had even reverberated. In another minute, another speedster flew past, followed by a third half a minute later.
Pietro kept running, lapping all the runners many times over in prideful bliss. The crowd adored him, they shouted and applauded, chanting his name over and over again. But, as he began to listen to their cheers gloatingly, he realized the name they were chanting was not his.
"SANDY, SANDY, SANDY!!" the crowd chanted with cries of "keep going!" and "you can do it!" thrown in for good measure. Pietro halted to a complete stop. What were they doing?? He was the winner, he was victorious. Why was the huffing, puffing human getting all the glory? Pietro fumed as the aforementioned girl passed by him muttering "I can do all things, through Christ which strengtheneth me" over and over and over again. Pietro cursed under his breath. He cursed the girl, the race, and his ever helping her get into this stupid challenge.
When Sandy crossed the finish line, she had a crowd of family and friends awaiting her all giving her hugs and congratulations and eventually succeeding in hoisting her over their shoulders and carrying her off the track.
As Sandy came out of the locker room, Pietro confronted her.
"Look, I don't know who you think you are, Sandy," he sneered, "But running is what I do, this was my race, and I won it. Not you. You understand that."
Sandy looked at him with a puzzled look, "No one's attesting your win, you know."
Pietro paused. "Yeah, well. It's not fair. I won, and you got all the glory," he said completely deflated.
"I wasn't running for glory; I wasn't even running to win the top prize. You know that, right."
"Well, what were you running for then?"
"To finish. To show that I am stronger than my mutation because my Jesus is stronger than my disease."
"But, it's not fair…"
"Neither is a diagnosis of ovarian cancer when you're only twenty," said Sandy with a gentle smile, calmly walking away to meet her friends for a celebration.
It took me a long time to digest what Sandy said that day, and even longer to figure out what it was she accomplished that morning on mutant challenge day. I never saw her again; she dropped out of school shortly after the race due to medical complications, about a year later I read her name in the obituaries. I'll never forget her, though, she planted a seed in my heart that day, something about her calm spirit behind that demanding demeanor captured my attention. I began to do research on this Jesus of hers that was stronger than her disease and discovered the "peace which passeth all understanding."
The day I met Sandy, my paradigm shifted. That day, I may have come in first, but Sandy Moore won the race.