Stars of Track and Field

From the top of the bleachers, you see there’s a fellow trotting around the track. The sun is newly-risen, and sits low in the sky. The jogger passes underneath it, coming around the bend in your direction. He’s got on a royal blue track suit — jacket and pants — and white running shoes. His hair hangs just above his shoulders; it’s scrunchy, and it bounces as he jogs. On the far side of the track, there’s a brick building with words in white capital letters that say: Comanche Stadium. Beyond the structure, you see a field of Texas Bluebonnets in the cool blue hue.

The jogger reaches the far side, and turns and waves. He diverts from his path around the track, and cuts across the grass in your direction. A man in a white polo shirt tucked into black track pants with red stripes down the legs and a purple baseball cap with a white logo on the front just walked into the stadium with a dark blue gym bag over his shoulder. He tosses the bag onto the grass and holds his hands in the air and does a few side-bends.

The jogger approaches and the two shake hands. The man in the polo shirt has his arms crossed, and the younger man is standing with his hands on his hips, nodding.

“Good day for a race. You keeping your grades up, son? A lot of potential. Senior year…time to pour on the coals…talent scouts…bright future….” You imagine the coach saying.

The sun’s up a little more now, and everything is a bit more golden. The bleachers on both sides of the track are speckled with people, and more are making their way into the stands.

On the field, the jogger has been joined by a fellow wearing red, and another wearing yellow. They’re on their butts with their legs spread and they’re stretching to touch their toes. The coach is reviewing something on his clipboard. Other members of the team arrive until there is a group of about ten, and on the far side of the track, the same thing is going on among the visiting team.

…

“I drank a Dr. Pepper for breakfast,” Scott, in red, said, continuing to stretch on the grass.

“Better than me,” said Dave, yellow tracksuit. “I didn’t have anything.”

“Y’all are idiots,” said Courtney, moving curly locks away from his face and tucking them behind his ears.

“What’d you have?” Asked Scott.

“Eggs, bacon, toast, coffee.” Said Courtney.

“You coming with us this weekend?” Dave asked Courtney.

“Where?”

“Where, he says! Did you space out, space cadet? Marshal Tucker, dude. Houston.

“Ground control to Major Courtney,” said Scott.

“Hell yeah, you know I’m in. I wouldn’t miss a Marshal Tucker concert for anything…well, anything other than a Blue Oyster Cult concert.”

“Loved seeing them in ’76 with you guys,” said Dave. “Seems like forever ago. Hard to believe it’s only been two years.”

“I can’t wait for the 80’s”, said Scott.

“Hell yeah!” Said Dave. We’ll all be in college, surrounded by hot chicks. And hopefully as far away from Shiner as possible.”

"McDermott! Get your ass up! 400 meter.”

“Yes, sir!” Dave hollered, springing to his feet.

BOOM! Went the gun, and there they went. Three from the Commanche team — wearing purple—and three from the visiting school, the Hallettsville Brahmas, in maroon.

…

“Kinda tripped a little out there,” Dave said, coming back to the bench. Courtney and Scott held their hands out and Dave high-fived them both and sat down. Courtney tossed him a white towel and Dave wiped his head with it.

“You’ll get ‘er next time,” Courtney said.

“Dudes, dudes, incoming…six o’clock,” Scott said.

They guys looked over their shoulders…three girls had just sat down on the bleachers behind them. They smiled and waved at the guys.

“Morgan Adams, oh my god,” Scott raved. “By far the hottest girl in the school.”

“All three of them are immaculate,” said Dave. “Morgan, Whitney, Christina.”

Whitney is blond with her hair parted down the middle. Christina’s hair is short and brown, and parted to one side, held back by a beret. Morgan is brunette with bangs and Dutch braids that reach down to the small of her back. They’re all wearing denim bell bottoms…Whitney’s have flower patches stitched onto them. Christina’s are stonewashed. And Morgan’s are dark blue denim and tight and they can hardly contain her bodacious body.

“There’s something I haven’t told you guys.” Courtney said.

“What?” Said Scott.

“Last weekend…me and Morgan.”

“No. You didn’t.”

“Scott! You’re up.”

“Not another word until I get back, asshole!” Scott jogged away backwards pointing at Courtney.

“Did you really?” Asked Dave.

Courtney watched as Scott picked up the purple javelin.

“Yeah”, he said.

Scott rocked a few times, then took off running, picking up speed, and launched the javelin. It soared across the sky like the Voyager spacecraft.

“We ate magic mushrooms.”

Scott’s back. He always comes in first place at javelin.

“Courtney and Morgan ate magic mushrooms,” Dave informed Scott.

“And you did it with her?”

“Yeah. We did it while we were tripping.”

“You really are a lucky bastard, you know that? Said Scott.

“What was it like?” Asked Dave.

“She got them from her brother. We each ate like three, they tasted terrible. Nothing really happened for like an hour, then all of a sudden everything just started to seem really funny. Morgan couldn’t stop giggling about every little thing, and soon she was unbuttoning her blouse and we started making out.”

“Lucky bastard!”

“My lips felt so tingly, and the feeling of her tongue on mine made me feel like my head was going to explode. I mean, I felt like my head was as sensitive as my dick. I felt like my head was my dick.”

“Well, you always have been a dickhead.” Said Scott, punching Courtney playfully on the shoulder.

“But here’s the weirdest part. I felt like my mouth was a pussy…and my tongue was the clit. That’s how sensitive everything was.”

“And then y’all did it…” Scott said. Dave was listening closely too.

“Yeah, we did. I came with my whole body, man. I felt like a jet engine taking off, or something. 747. I just roared, even though we were both silent. She was on top of me the whole time, just sitting there. At one point she started shaking and I think I saw a tear rolled down her face.”

“She cried, man? What?”

“It was just so intense. It was like a religious experience.”

…

From the top row of the bleachers, you see the jogger jump to his feet. He’s been on the bench chatting with the other two fellows, but you don’t know what they’ve been talking about.

He’s out in the middle of the field now, pole in hand, preparing to launch.

…

“Whitney and Christina want to try it, too.” Scott and Dave look over their shoulders again at the girls. They smile and wave, and the guys wave back.

…

He takes off running. Full sprint. Perfect pole placement. Deep, low bend. And up, up, up…

A blue and white 747 draws a contrail overhead.

Up, up, and over…you imagine the view from below…his body turns as he narrowly clears the bar, looking back down at you now. The sun is directly above him, so all you see is his silhouette against the sky, among the clouds. The jet plane moves in slow motion. He floats back to earth and lands on the crash-pad like it’s a feather-bed. The bar teeters, but it does not fall. First place.

…

“It was like a religious experience.”