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Runner's High
Sep. 3rd, 2010 02:57 amOn my way to work today and the 83 pulls into Oakland City Station twenty minutes late, with, by some cruel miracle of physics, the bus that was directly behind mine actually pulling in ahead of us. I would literally have gotten there sooner if I had been late to my stop. So we arrive and I dive out the rear exit, hitting the ground in that unique gait of the New Yorkers of my childhood, a sort of cross between a double-time infantry march that's been bubble wrapped around the oblivious grace of a seasoned sleep-walker.
Well no sooner am I flashing my pass through the gates when I hear the intercoms echo out the arrival of a much-needed North bound.
"Next North Bound Train to Doraville, next..." and that's how far the recording got before my consciousness dissolved into this primal flight instinct and I was sprinting down the long subterranean corridor towards the escalator.
Behind me a flock of startled guffaws break out at the opening burst of my flight, they fade fast as I open my body into the velocity. Overhead, through the long tunnel's ceiling, I could hear the Northbound rumbling in off the tracks and the curved walls vibrating as the brakes banshee shrieked as she decelerated to dock starboard along the platform.
A strange confidence takes over - it's not too late - I can do this.
They're behind me. Wigger Trash, mullets and baseball bats. They got my scent and I'm running out of steam.
Had detention after class and passing by the chainlinked baseball field they spotted me. "Fuckin' freak" one of them yells. I'm 15 and living in Fort Lauderdale. I have a mohawk and a white t-shirt with the DRI logo hand drawn with magic marker because I'm too broke to buy the real shirt. This marks me as subhuman meat to the High School Cult of Same running that invisible world on the cusp of adulthood. The one perpetually only a twilight away from 'reality'.
One them bellow: 'faggot'.
I shout back something about how he would know, being as how he begged me to give it to him raw and hard whenever we passed each other in the hall. Followed this with a big flirtatious kiss and a wink.
I expected shock. I expected snickers or more banter. What I didn't expect was a collective douche-bag tidal wave surging towards the gate with the intent on kicking my ass straight into coma country.
Took off in a bolt. Half a block down and looked back to see them flowing over the link fence with ease. Their sneakers and warm-up stretches closing any distance my worn out army-navy supply boots could lay down.
But what they didn't have was the fear or the love of the chase...
A decade earlier I sit in the movie theater watching "Watership Down" and a cold shiver descends down the nervous system when the Voice of God say: "Where will you run, Prince of a 1000 enemies?"
Hit the escalator, two steps at a time...
Ten minutes 'til AWOL and we can see our ship right through the checkpoint not too far ahead. A very, young and different Jeremiah Sinn and I raced down the dock towards it. Behind us one big and very irate cab driver. We ended up stiffing the prick. It wasn't our fault. When we escaped our misadventure in the Italian porn cinema, (not-my-idea-swear-to-god), we hopped in the first cab we could grab and told the driver to take us to the port. Naturally we asked him how much the ride would be, seeing as how there was no meter on his dashboard (plenty of saints though). He quoted us a price and told us not to worry about it. He loved Americans and to prove it put on the Flashdance soundtrack on his cassette player. However, fifteen minutes after a ride that felt as if I had been strapped spread eagle across a nitrous fueled race car slumming in a demolition derby, we arrived to a very different price. A much, much larger fare. We argued. Suddenly this guy didn't love America so much and we found that our cultural currency of leg warmer fueled pop music paled in comparasion to the demands of the all mighty dollar. So we gave him what we had agreed on originally. No more... not that we did outside of a planned tip. Next thing I know the driver started cursing us out bilingually. Meanwhile we nodded. We smiled. We played the dumb american card. The driver got out... his arms had been surgically replaced with those of a gorilla's with one hirsute paw menacingly clutching a tire iron.
But there's the ship and good old Uncle Sam waiting for us and he's bought enough fire power to even the odds in our favor.
Jeremiah, laughed and shot me a look that asked if I was thinking what he was thinking.
But by that time, I was already a good twenty yards closer to the ship in full strategic retreat...
"Where will you...
Halfway up the stairs and - BING! - the doors swoosh open.
I can...
Across the midnight graveyard I fly, hopping over tombstones and swerving through a garden of stone crosses. In my arms I cradle a six-pack to my chest. I'm not as fast as my friends, who are far ahead and fading... but mannnn... I'm faster the two pigs behind me.
"... run,"
do...
Tom and I were indulging in that great Yonkers autumn tradition of egging passing school buses. Especially those belonging to the rival Catholic School across the street from PS 21. Unfortunately, one of my lobbed eggs managed to glide through an opening in the window and hit, what would turn out to be, a miniature neanderthal in a Catholic school boy uniform. The bus stopped immediately. Cave-Catholic got out, grunted and stomped over towards Tom and I. Before I can ask Tom what we should do, I notice he's half way up the hill on Lee avenue and if I was smart I'd be right behind him.
"Prince of a 1,000 Enemies?"
...it.
Hit the platform as the doors begin to swoosh close. In one last charge I manage to collapse the remaining space between me and the ready to depart Northbound, hitting the cab in time to wedge a fist between the snapping doors. There's this mechanical groan and the doors reluctantly slide open, not all the way, no more than a yawn really.
Just enough to slide in as they shut again.
The cab lurches off and I can see a couple of mohican kids running up the escalator, throwing their arms up in angry defeat and dismissively shaking their heads.
Smoker's Lung catches up and I fall into a seat gasping for air.
Just down the aisle, some Train Crazy in a blue tie dyed skull cap and dishiki(sp?) begins singing, loudly and off key, some Jesus hymn. The other passengers look around nervously. Me? I close my eyes and drift off into the lullaby on my runner's high.
Well no sooner am I flashing my pass through the gates when I hear the intercoms echo out the arrival of a much-needed North bound.
"Next North Bound Train to Doraville, next..." and that's how far the recording got before my consciousness dissolved into this primal flight instinct and I was sprinting down the long subterranean corridor towards the escalator.
Behind me a flock of startled guffaws break out at the opening burst of my flight, they fade fast as I open my body into the velocity. Overhead, through the long tunnel's ceiling, I could hear the Northbound rumbling in off the tracks and the curved walls vibrating as the brakes banshee shrieked as she decelerated to dock starboard along the platform.
A strange confidence takes over - it's not too late - I can do this.
They're behind me. Wigger Trash, mullets and baseball bats. They got my scent and I'm running out of steam.
Had detention after class and passing by the chainlinked baseball field they spotted me. "Fuckin' freak" one of them yells. I'm 15 and living in Fort Lauderdale. I have a mohawk and a white t-shirt with the DRI logo hand drawn with magic marker because I'm too broke to buy the real shirt. This marks me as subhuman meat to the High School Cult of Same running that invisible world on the cusp of adulthood. The one perpetually only a twilight away from 'reality'.
One them bellow: 'faggot'.
I shout back something about how he would know, being as how he begged me to give it to him raw and hard whenever we passed each other in the hall. Followed this with a big flirtatious kiss and a wink.
I expected shock. I expected snickers or more banter. What I didn't expect was a collective douche-bag tidal wave surging towards the gate with the intent on kicking my ass straight into coma country.
Took off in a bolt. Half a block down and looked back to see them flowing over the link fence with ease. Their sneakers and warm-up stretches closing any distance my worn out army-navy supply boots could lay down.
But what they didn't have was the fear or the love of the chase...
A decade earlier I sit in the movie theater watching "Watership Down" and a cold shiver descends down the nervous system when the Voice of God say: "Where will you run, Prince of a 1000 enemies?"
Hit the escalator, two steps at a time...
Ten minutes 'til AWOL and we can see our ship right through the checkpoint not too far ahead. A very, young and different Jeremiah Sinn and I raced down the dock towards it. Behind us one big and very irate cab driver. We ended up stiffing the prick. It wasn't our fault. When we escaped our misadventure in the Italian porn cinema, (not-my-idea-swear-to-god), we hopped in the first cab we could grab and told the driver to take us to the port. Naturally we asked him how much the ride would be, seeing as how there was no meter on his dashboard (plenty of saints though). He quoted us a price and told us not to worry about it. He loved Americans and to prove it put on the Flashdance soundtrack on his cassette player. However, fifteen minutes after a ride that felt as if I had been strapped spread eagle across a nitrous fueled race car slumming in a demolition derby, we arrived to a very different price. A much, much larger fare. We argued. Suddenly this guy didn't love America so much and we found that our cultural currency of leg warmer fueled pop music paled in comparasion to the demands of the all mighty dollar. So we gave him what we had agreed on originally. No more... not that we did outside of a planned tip. Next thing I know the driver started cursing us out bilingually. Meanwhile we nodded. We smiled. We played the dumb american card. The driver got out... his arms had been surgically replaced with those of a gorilla's with one hirsute paw menacingly clutching a tire iron.
But there's the ship and good old Uncle Sam waiting for us and he's bought enough fire power to even the odds in our favor.
Jeremiah, laughed and shot me a look that asked if I was thinking what he was thinking.
But by that time, I was already a good twenty yards closer to the ship in full strategic retreat...
"Where will you...
Halfway up the stairs and - BING! - the doors swoosh open.
I can...
Across the midnight graveyard I fly, hopping over tombstones and swerving through a garden of stone crosses. In my arms I cradle a six-pack to my chest. I'm not as fast as my friends, who are far ahead and fading... but mannnn... I'm faster the two pigs behind me.
"... run,"
do...
Tom and I were indulging in that great Yonkers autumn tradition of egging passing school buses. Especially those belonging to the rival Catholic School across the street from PS 21. Unfortunately, one of my lobbed eggs managed to glide through an opening in the window and hit, what would turn out to be, a miniature neanderthal in a Catholic school boy uniform. The bus stopped immediately. Cave-Catholic got out, grunted and stomped over towards Tom and I. Before I can ask Tom what we should do, I notice he's half way up the hill on Lee avenue and if I was smart I'd be right behind him.
"Prince of a 1,000 Enemies?"
...it.
Hit the platform as the doors begin to swoosh close. In one last charge I manage to collapse the remaining space between me and the ready to depart Northbound, hitting the cab in time to wedge a fist between the snapping doors. There's this mechanical groan and the doors reluctantly slide open, not all the way, no more than a yawn really.
Just enough to slide in as they shut again.
The cab lurches off and I can see a couple of mohican kids running up the escalator, throwing their arms up in angry defeat and dismissively shaking their heads.
Smoker's Lung catches up and I fall into a seat gasping for air.
Just down the aisle, some Train Crazy in a blue tie dyed skull cap and dishiki(sp?) begins singing, loudly and off key, some Jesus hymn. The other passengers look around nervously. Me? I close my eyes and drift off into the lullaby on my runner's high.