RUN, RUN, RUN

The groundskeeper for Old Rochester Regional High School rambled towards the track in what he called "the gator", a small four wheel vehicle with a three foot by four foot truck bed, like a working man's golf cart. He had been the grounds keeper at ORR for years, but the gator was new. The school had decided to make a number of updates to the school's athletic facility, due to the amount of attention the school was getting in recent years. In fact, the school decided their desired level of upkeep was too much for one man to handle, so today Bill would meet his new assistant.

‘All these changes for one girl.’ he thought to himself, shaking his head in disbelief.

His name was Bill Tilden, and he had worked as the school's groundskeeper since 1987. His duties remained shockingly similar from his first day to now, cutting grass, raking the baseball diamond, and painting over graffiti left by young men pretending they were gang members rather than future trust fund recipients. Recently he had to start making some changes.

He had to start putting out three times the trash barrels due to the influx of onlookers, which really pissed him off because no matter how many trash barrels he put out, he would always find wrappers on the ground. He also needed to set up sun covers, like tents with no sides, for the news crews that had been showing up to track meets. As Bill dragged one of the tents from the big stand alone garage that the shot puts and high jump mats and javelins were stored in, he thanked god the school finally agreed to hire him some help.

By 8AM the tents were set up, and most of the trash cans were in place. Bill was ahead of schedule and decided to have his one cigarette for the day now. He had promised his late wife, Jamie, that he would only smoke one cigarette a day, and as unsentimental as Bill was, he kept with the tradition after she died. Bill didn't keep many personal affects to remember his late wife by. Instead, he remembered her by living his life in a way that he felt she would approve of. Sometimes he felt like he was practicing a one man religion, the rules of which were passed down from Jamie to him, and only him.

Jamie told him she didn't like it when he got drunk, so after she died he limited himself to one drink a night. Jamie told him she wanted him to exercise, and after her death he would walk along the beach at sunset every night, even when there was snow covering the sand. Jamie told him she didn't want him to watch pornography, that one was hard to follow, but Bill limited himself to pornography where the two or three people engaging in sex seemed to enjoy each other's company, he thought Jamie would approve of that more.

As Bill smoked, he wiped his wrinkled brow and looked out on the track. It had changed over the years, going from cinder to a fresh rubber substance laid over a hard surface for maximum traction, but in many ways it was the same as it had always been. Bill looked down at himself, and considered that he had also changed substantially over the years. He was handsome before, in a general way. He used to have a square looking head that was accentuated by his flat top hair cut, but now with age the sharpness of his jawline had dulled, and he even felt like he was getting shorter, reckoning that he stood 5 '10 now when he used to be 6 feet. The flat top was all that remained from his youthful days. He brushed a hand through it and little flicks of sweat came off.

Another car pulled up. Bill checked his watch. The kid was five minutes late. Bill cupped his hand over his eyes instead of going to the gator and grabbing a hat. He saw the car was a blue Toyota Avalon, but the front two doors were white, and one of the back doors was black. An evil black smoke trailed from the tail pipe. Bill was sure it would take out an entire flock of seagulls if they flew above it at the wrong time. Finally, the kid got out. 'God he's built like a linebacker' Bill thought. The car puttered off and the kid, holding a gym bag, walked down towards the gate.

"Hey there!” Bill offered, walking towards the gate. "You must be Henry!"

"Ya, nice to meet you, Bill right? And you can call me Hank." Bill was opening the latch on the gate, seeing the size of the kid it felt like he was opening an enclosure to let in a wild animal. Hank wasn't absurdly tall, maybe six foot one, but it was his bulk that was notable. His shoulders were set wide and his chest was broad. The muscles of his shoulders rose and looked to reinforce his neck.

"So you're a wrestler huh?" Bill said, extending his hand and taking Hank's paw.

"Ya, uh, ya right now I'm just working on conditioning. Did you wrestle?"

"No, not me. I was a football player, always thought about it, but I could never bring myself to wear the singlet."

Bill smiled at his little joke, but Hank stared at him with grave seriousness and said. "I hate the singlet."

Bill just nodded, feeling he had somehow hit a sour spot, and changed the subject. "So you're gonna be working with me this spring, I'll be fair with you, but I believe in teaching kids hard work. I know your generation might be a little opposed to the idea, but I think it's best to show you an honest day's work for an honest day's pay."

Hank looked down at his feet, it was funny to see that a boy of his size could be bashful, but Bill supposed a 17 year old was a 17 year old. "I...uh, I guess they didn't tell you, Mr. Duval let me work for you because I've been working for the Wareham Municipal Maintenance department since I was 14."

"Fourteen?!" Bill said, shocked and a little embarrassed, that was two years before he had his first job. "How the hell could you work for the town when you were fourteen?"

"Its a work program. The city lets you have a summer job with the Department of Public Works if your family is...well if your family qualifies."

Bill was thrown off completely. He had always assumed young people lacked work ethic. The fact that a seventeen year old had a more robust work history then he had at that age made him feel disorientated, like his footing was off. He tried to move past the line of questioning.

"Alright, first order of business. While I finish setting up cones, I need you to take the throwing implements out to the far end of the track." Bill pointed to the three designated throwing areas. "Shot puts over there, discus over there, javelins over there. All of them are in the shed, I'd take three or four trips. Got it?"

Hank nodded, he walked into the garage as Bill hopped into the Gator to put up cones, when Bill turned to look over his shoulder, he stopped what he was doing completely. Hank grabbed the wooden storage box containing every shot put and discus, and had several javelins under his arm. Bill almost yelled after him to put them down because there was no way he could carry all that without hurting himself, but instead he watched in amazement as Hank slowly made his way to all three throwing areas, dropping off all the equipment in one trip. 'Jesus, that box weighed one hundred fifty pounds' Bill thought, as he made his way around with the cones. 'What the hell am I gonna be dealing with this Spring?'