Page 78 of Nineteen Letters
“She’s in the lead, Stephen!” your mother squealed with excitement as she jumped up and down.
“Go, Jem!” I called out.
“Go, Jem-Jem! Go, you good thing!” I heard Pa scream a few seconds later.
“That’s my granddaughter,” Ma said proudly, turning to tell the people behind us.
We all hugged each other when you finally crossed the line, and I’m pretty sure he’ll never admit to this, but I swear there were tears in your father’s eyes.
You were bent over with your hands on your knees as you tried to catch your breath, and Natasha had collapsed onto the ground in a sobbing mess.
A few minutes later, I watched in awe as you approached her and offered your hand. Again she refused to take it, but this time she took it a step further by slapping your hand away. I heard a few people in the crowd gasp, including your mother and Ma.
On our drive home later that day, we stopped off at a nice restaurant for a celebratory dinner. Ma and Pa didn’t join us because they had a long drive back to the farm.
I remember watching you as we sat at a table in the small Italian restaurant you’d chosen. You’d been quiet since we left the track. Your eyes kept moving between your parents and me as you ate. The look on your face was so humbling. The three of us were beaming, still riding the high of your win. But your joy seemed to come from somewhere else—from seeing the people you loved happy. I knew you well, and it made me wonder if you were doing this more for our benefit than your own. You’d only agreed to compete because we practically begged you.
A month later, the Australian championships were held interstate. Your mother hated flying, so we left a few days earlier and drove the twelve-hour trip with your parents.
First, second and third place from each state’s championship, qualified to compete in this event, so that meant Nasty Natasha would be there.
When it was time for the race to start, I went through all the emotions I had previously. And like the previous event, we all jumped to our feet when the first runner entered the stadium for the last leg of the race. But this time it wasn’t you in the lead. It was a girl I hadn’t seen before, neck and neck with Natasha.
I didn’t see who crossed the line first. My focus was on the tunnel they had emerged from moments before. Competitor after competitor appeared, but there was still no sign of you.
“Where is she?” I heard your mother say. I couldn’t answer that, but I felt uneasy. I was about to go in search of you when you suddenly appeared. You were limping, with blood trickling down your leg and one of your running shoes clutched tightly in your hand. I had a gut feeling that Nasty Natasha was behind this.
The entire crowd stood and cheered you on as you hobbled to the line. Unlike Natasha, no tears were streaming down your face, but I could tell you were devastated, and my heart hurt for you.
After the first-aid officer cleaned you up, an official came and spoke with you. As I suspected, Natasha was behind it. Two other runners had witnessed her push you down into a small ravine.
She won the race in a photo finish, but later that day she was disqualified and stripped of her medal. She also had to face a judiciary a few weeks later, and was suspended from competing for a year.
It made me proud to learn that the officials tried to pull you from the race because of your injuries, but you refused. You wanted to finish what you started. I loved how you always fought for what you wanted, and despite the odds, you never gave up.
That night as we lay in bed at the hotel, you whispered into the darkness. “Braxton, are you awake?”
We were in single beds, and your parents were sharing a double bed just a few metres away.
“Yeah, I’m awake,” I whispered back.
I rolled onto my side to face you, and you did the same. I couldn’t see your face, but I could make out your silhouette in the moonlight that was shining through the window.
“I don’t want to do this anymore.”
“Do what?” I asked.
“Compete. I still want to run, I love it, but only for fun.”
“Don’t let Natasha’s actions turn you off doing something you love.”
“That’s just it. I love the running part, but the competing not so much.”
“In my heart, I suspected that,” I confessed.
“Because you get me, Brax. Nobody knows me like you do.”
Your words made me smile. “You can still run without competing.”
