The Memory of Running by Ron McLarty Read Free Book Online

The wheelchair flashed under the light from the funeral home. Norma
     Mulvey sat with a look of defiance. She had grown into her eyes. They were still pale
     green but no longer domi- nated her face, which was lightly freckled. Her red hair was cut
     short and tight against her head. Norma looked young. Ever see a young person and want to
     hold your stomach in? I held it in, but it had its life to live, and would live it.
    Im Norma Mulvey, she said, both hands on her large back wheels.
    I know. Im sorry, Smithy. I know. Beas in there, Norma said, gesturing to the funeral
     home. She
    always called Bea Bea, even when she was a kid. I remembered that.
    Beas paying her respects, but I didnt want to see Mom and Pop in coffins. That okay?
    Sure. Im going to light a cigarette, okay? I wont explode, she laughed. I meant, you know,
     smoking and people, sometimes . . . I was kidding. I know.
    Norma rolled over to a blue van parked sideways across two park- ing spots.
    This is mine, she said tapping the drivers-side door. Little lever here opens the door,
     another lever sends an elevator gizmo down and sets me up to drive. Operate the gas and
     brakes manually. Manu- ally Im in good shape. I lift weights. I have good cardiovascular.
     I really do.
    Thats great, I said, the way I say almost everythingstupidly. I just wanted you to know.
     Norma looked pretty when she was talking. When she talked, she
    didnt look defiant. I guess a person whos in a wheelchair gets an at- titude. I guess the
     attitude is defiance.
    I do drafting freelance, she said, looking at her van. Got a fac- simile machine, computer
     linkups, tilt tablethe works. Do some magazine layouts, some Providence Journal, but
     mostly, because they can rely on the steadiness of my line, I work on architectural blue-
     prints. Its a skill, you know. Im very, very good.
    I . . .
    And because I never see you, I just wanted you to know how it is. I dont want you to think
     I roll around Beas house doing nothing. Mostly my days are work. I pay all the bills, I
     take care of my mother. Not the other way around. I have an exercise system set up so I
     can get a good cardiovascular workout.
    Norma still hadnt looked at me. Her arms and shoulders appeared strong, and she satits
     truetall in her chair. She had a chesty voice that sounded full and hard. I could feel the
     bourbon warming me. I started to sweat and needed to pee.
    You get my letters? Letters? I asked stupidly. I wrote you at the hospital. The hospital
     was twenty-four years ago. I wrote you every day. I sent good thoughts.
    I remember.
    Then how come you never came over to see me? How come? Stupid question. Never mind. Im
     sorry. Im so sorry about Mom and Pop. They were so good. They used to hold hands. Id look
     out the window, and they held hands. It was awfully nice. And it wasnt easy for them.
     Bethany was so beautiful and so nice. But it was hard for them. Do you know where she is
     now?
    We dont know. I mean, I dont know.
    Just gone, Norma said. She would tap on my window, and when I opened it, she would blow me
     kisses. Or shed do a pose. Sometimes shed hold the pose too long. Remember?
    I remember, I said, not so stupidly.
    She was so beautiful, but it was hard for Mom and Pop. How would a person know what to do
     when you love someone and they hurt themselves? Im clean, too. I dont know, I dont know if
     youve known people who cant move around with their legs. Sometimes you think they cant
     keep themselves clean. Ive got systems for everything. Clean. Very, very mobile. I take
     care of Bea, you know. There really isnt anything I cant do. You havent changed.
    I moved one hand to my chest. It slid unconsciously to the ridge above my stomach. Down
     below, the enormous avalanche of guts suspended over my strained belt defying gravity and
     other laws. My free hand passed unobstructed through the several strands of graying brown
     hair on my head. I was drunk, but I was