One: Backhand Fist
There was this one thought I couldn’t get out of Pop’s head, and that was the strange idea he had about me and marathon running. Built like I was Doctor Namiki warned me I’d pop a lung, so I put my foot down and raised my voice at Pop about it. It was because of that clap-trap he refused to let me compete offside.
Not like I cried about it.
A lot of stuff was important to me, but… the year-end meet at Columnar Secondary took first place. This was an annual meet, and in five years Dad hadn’t missed a solitary event. Working his skin to the bone, and I noticed. Boy howdy did I notice.
I did my long jump, 100-meter dash, and was gettin’ ready for my big run when I got called over by J. Tennison, my new coach. Pretty guy, strict as law. I was crushin’ on him pretty hard. Mr. Tennison looked unsettled and sad.
He gave me his phone. It was Mom.
Pop had been killed in some kind of accident or something. Tennison was busy apologizing and explaining as if I gave a wick. I’ve never cried so hard in my life about anything.