Thunder Sandwich #26 - Trina Allen fiction

Bystander

Tense with prerace jitters, Amber stepped out of her car into the stifling heat of a North Carolina June morning. Walking across the parking lot of the racquet and swim club, perspiration covered her skin and her sports bra captured a tiny river of sweat that ran between her breasts. As she opened the door to the locker room, cool air whooshed in her face. She shivered as the sheen of moisture on her body evaporated. A flutter of nerves found its way to her stomach as she pulled her swimsuit onto skin clammy with perspiration.

Bright sunlight sliced her eyes, momentarily blinding her as she walked out of the air-conditioned locker room, instantly submersed in a hot bath of air. A stream of sweat ran down her back, wetting her swimsuit. As Amber threw her gym bag into the trunk of her car, memories of Mike and the weekend trips they'd taken in her Toyota flooded her. Heaving a sigh, Amber forced her thoughts to the present and the looming swim competition at the club's outdoor pool.

The participants in this friendly triathlon were all in various stages of race preparation. "Hey, Amber," Debbie yelled. She was a long-time friend from her college days. They'd spent long hours in the water on the NCSU swim team. Amber waved and turned around to shut her trunk and ran right into a man.

"Hey, watch it!" perspiration from his body mingled with hers, wet and warm.

He grinned and winked. "Well, hello Amber, it's good to see you again too." The voice was familiar. She looked into green eyes that crinkled at the corners and white-blonde hair that sparkled in the sun. Amber watched the pulse beat in his neck and breathed in the raw scent of male mixed with mild cologne. Suddenly aware that he was practically holding her in his arms, she stepped back.

"Amber, you remember my brother, Jerry," Debbie said. "He's here for the triathlon." Debbie's brother-- he had been so serious and distant, not at all like the man that just winked at her.

She shook Jerry's hand. "It's been what, ten years?" Looking away, she wondered how she could have forgotten a man like him.

Just then, a sedan pulled into the parking lot. It didn't sport a bike rack, probably not a participant. Curious, Amber watched the car park and noticed Joel Krueger sat in the passenger seat, a lopsided smile on his face. She was touched that the former swim coach had come. The driver lifted a wheelchair out of the car. Amber helped her father into it, wondering how much the driver and the car would cost him.

Joel's latest stroke had left him paralyzed on the left side, making the wheelchair a necessity. His left arm hung lifelessly from his shoulder. "Ll, ll ow emm err," (Hello swimmer). Joel Krueger winked his good eye and smiled his lopsided smile once more. Speech was almost impossible, but he kept trying and his therapist noted improvement, although Amber didn't.

"Brr, ake mmee er er per ow," (Amber, make me proud). Amber noted it took him three tries to say proud. She wiped tears from her eyes as she walked to the pool. Her father's arrival had taken her mind off her anxiety for a moment, but now standing by the pool waiting for the swim to begin, she was nervous. The participants chatted and paced awkwardly. Each seemed as tense as Amber felt. She watched her father's chauffeur help him into a lounge chair by the pool. She hoped to make Coach Krueger proud of his only daughter.

Almost too soon, the event began. Amber dived in. With each stroke, she extended her arm in front of her as far as she could and straightened it, rotating her body. She pulled her arm powerfully toward her thigh, propelling herself forward, stroke after stroke, and kick after kick. Debbie kept pace in the lane beside her. If Debbie started to pull ahead, Amber sprinted to catch her. At thirty lengths, almost halfway though the swim, Amber pulled harder. She sprinted through the water, passing Debbie.

As she took a breath, Amber couldn't resist glancing over two lanes at Jerry. Unbelievably, Jerry was swimming the backstroke like he didn't have a concern in the world! Then he did a flip turn at the end of the lane and swam the breaststroke, keeping pace with Amber while she sprinted the crawl. The breaststroke was a slower stroke, not for racing in a triathlon! She finished her sixty-five lengths feeling irritated.

Chlorine water dripped into Amber's eyes as she pulled herself out of the water. She pushed water from her eyes and hair with both hands-- not bothering to look for a towel. The sweltering air would dry her. She noticed Jerry sat in a lounge chair next to Coach Krueger, their heads together. Joel Krueger laughed. She glanced at the pool. No other participants had finished the swim yet. Amber felt burning resentment. If Jerry hadn't come her father would have seen her win! "Your father's been talking about you, such fascinating stuff."

"Ya, I'll bet," she said, feeling angry.

Joel winked his good eye at Amber and said, "ga, gaada wi mm. Na arr im." (Good swim. Ignore him).

"Jerry, I watched you swimming leisurely along, doing the breaststroke. I bet you didn't even work up a sweat. What was your time?"

"Twenty minutes."

"Twenty minutes! That's so fast. You're a professional triathlete then. You know this triathlon is not for professionals, just amateurs." She spit the last word out.

"I train hard, but I'm no pro. I have a day job, teaching economics at East Carolina University. I average about 300 miles on the bike per week and about 70 miles of running." Joel Krueger grunted. Amber caught her father's eye, knowing they were both thinking the same thing: that's insane!

"How do you fit all that training in?" Amber asked, thinking of her fifty-plus hour weeks as an electrical engineer.

"I get up at four in the morning and train until eight. Then I take a two-hour lunch to bike. The rest of the miles I make up on the weekend."

"That's obsessive, don't you think!" Her anger made the words louder than she intended.

Debbie and another swimmer both got out of the pool. "I see you finally decided to join us." Jerry winked at Amber. She ignored him.

"Ah ma ma ss ga ga ga--," frustrated, Joel wrote in chalk on the slate he carried everywhere out of necessity. I must go. Good luck with the rest of the race. Amber knew that his jumbled speech was a sign that her father was worn-out and the tired lines around his eyes confirmed it. She pushed his wheelchair out to the sedan. His driver would carry him to the assisted living community where he lived. "I'll call you when we finish the triathlon, Dad. It means so much that you came to watch the swim."

"Owd nn ah mm mmm--," frustration showed in Joel Kruger's eyes. Wouldn't have missed it, he wrote on the slate. Amber kissed her father's cheek and then waved as he drove away, her thoughts already focused on the upcoming biking event. She got her bicycle and gear from her car and filled two water bottles, a necessity due to the oppressive heat. As Amber joined the pack of bikers leaving the racquet and tennis club, ripples of watery air rose from the black pavement in eerie waves.

Slowing to cross a railroad track, Jerry yelled "Clear," to let other riders know there was no traffic. As the bikers turned left onto Mount Sinai Road, it was obvious how appropriately named the road was. A steep ascent loomed, a mountain of a hill. Looking at that seemingly endless incline, Amber was discouraged. She was a swimmer, not a biker-- she didn't have the leg strength to pedal up that hill and then ride twenty-four miles.

One by one, the bikers passed her as she ground down to her lowest gear, the granny gear. Dejected, her head down, Amber got off her bike and stood defeated, sweating in the heat. "Come on Amber," a voice called. "You can do it. Get back on that bike." Then she heard a whistle. Thinking she must be suffering from heat-sun stroke and imagining things, Amber looked up. The black sedan carrying her father pulled up alongside her. Coach Krueger's driver yelled encouragement while her father waved her forward with his good right arm, smiling his lopsided smile. Her father had known she'd have trouble on this hill. That's why he was here instead of in the air-conditioning where he belonged, as tired as he was. That sneak!

Amber got on her bike and put her chin up. She panted in the heat, trying to get rolling up the steep incline. Her legs burned. She sucked in humid air and watched waves of heat pour off the road as she peddled slowly, steadily. Her father's sedan crawled forward accompanying her, his driver yelling words that Coach Krueger wrote on his slate, "Pedal, Amber. Move that bike. Keep up your cadence." As she cleared the top of Mount Sinai, Amber looked into her father's proud face next to her, a memory she would treasure.

Joel Krueger waved as his driver pulled away. Amber pulled a water bottle out off its rack and took a long drink. She peddled rapidly downhill, wind stinging her eyes, blinding her. Her bike vibrated, shaking so she could barely see the road. Then she saw the pack, feeling resentment when she noticed Jerry was in the lead. She pumped her legs in anger, keeping her cadence fast and closing the distance to the riders ahead. Even so, her anger soon dissipating and she began peddling slower. Before long, she was lagging behind. Soon the triathlon riders were completely out of site. She realized she didn't know where she was without the pack. Amber was lost and alone on an unfamiliar road.

She wondered if she'd taken a wrong turn and got off her bike, her tired legs trembling, and tears of frustration burning her eyes. She angrily pulled a plastic bag from her shirt pocket and opened the Ziploc seal that protected the map from perspiration. A whistle blew, startling her, "Get back on your bike, Amber." Joel Krueger waved from the sedan. He wrote something on his slate and his driver yelled, "You'll make it. You're not far behind. We'll lead the way."

Amber wasn't sure she could make it, but with her father cheering her on she was damn well going to try! She stretched her tired legs and got back on her bike. Pushing through exhaustion, she peddled while the black sedan drove beside her. "You can do it girl! Pump those legs, now. That's it. Keep up your cadence." She shifted up through several gears and peddled with all the strength she had remaining-- for the great man sitting in the car beside her. The black sedan pulled away only after she had turned into the racquet and tennis club.

"Goodbye dad," she whispered.

"Was that Coach Krueger's car I just saw drive off?" Jerry said as she got off her bike.

"Yes." Rippling heat rose from the dark pavement and searing sun seemed to melt her right into the ground.

"He's sure a devoted spectator."

"Yes," she said, irritated. Couldn't Jerry see she didn't want to talk to him?

"Hell of a ride by the way, quite challenging."

I'll bet it was, Amber thought angrily, but she said, "I'm sorry to keep everyone waiting."

"It gave us a chance to rest," Jerry winked. "I appreciate the break." Perspiration dripped from Amber's sweat soaked clothes, making small black spots on the dark pavement. When she opened her trunk, oven-like heat accosted her. She grabbed an ice-cold water bottle from her cooler, pouring half of it on her head.

"I found all my gears. Some I had never even used before," Debbie said. "I coasted down each hill, dreading the next incline." Debbie handed her a power bar. "Eat this, Amber, you don't look so good."

The triathlon was two-thirds complete. Amber almost expected to see Coach Krueger at the running trail and was slightly disappointed when he wasn't there. The weary triathletes began the five and a half mile run. The trail was soft mud, cushioned by last year's leaves and pine needles. The soft-spongy sound of her feet hitting the yielding ground gave her a bizarre sensation that her legs were not her own. Heat made Amber sluggish-- as if she were wading through liquid.

About a mile and a half before the trial ended a steep hill loomed, the Mount Sinai of the run. Amber walked up the hill, deliberately saving her strength. Letting triathlon participants run past her, her mind drifted. She inspected the small plates of diamond shaped bark on the giant oaks and the pieces of white gravel and rock in the trail with great interest. A song played in her head, over and over, "I don't care what you say anymore, this is my life." The singer was Billy Joel. Her father's name was Joel… Joel… Joel…

At the crest of the hill, she gathered her reserve energy and sprinted, easily passing runners. She saw Jerry in the lead. He would not beat her again! Through sheer will, she increased her pace to a six and half-minute mile. She was close enough to reach out and touch Jerry. She could see the end of the trail. She could win the run. She was aware that her scalp tingled. Her next step brought her even with Jerry. One more step and she'd sprint past him. The skin on her arms and legs broke out in goose bumps. She shivered, running in the stifling heat.

"Slow down, Amber! Let Jerry win," she heard Coach Krueger say in her head. She stopped as Jerry rounded the final bend in the trail. As if looking at the world through a veil of gauze, she walked to the gravel parking lot in slow motion. Tingling almost numb fingers fumbled the car key out of the pocket of her shorts. Sweat was no longer stinging her eyes or running off her forehead in rivers. She struggled to remember the last time she'd wiped perspiration from her head. It took forever to locate the cooler in the roasting interior of her car. Amber grabbed a water bottle and dumped it straight onto her head. The icy cold liquid ran into her eyes and soaked her shirt. Jerry walked over and said, "... run ... hard ... last hill."

He wasn't making sense. She moved her mouth to tell him, but no sound came out. She tried again. Frustrated, she stared blankly into Jerry's green eyes with her mouth open, wondering if this is how her father felt when he tried to speak. Feeling woozy, she sat in black mud, white gravel and water she'd just poured on herself.

"Amber, you're too hot. Your face is beet red."

"I, I fafafeel cacacold," Amber struggled to say, shivering.

"Take off your shirt, Amber." She stared, not comprehending, a lifeless doll. Jerry pulled her shirt over her head. She was cold, her sports bra saturated with clammy perspiration. Jerry dipped a towel into the ice water in her cooler and then wiped her arms, legs and torso with the frigid cloth. Her skin stung everywhere the towel swiped.

"Sto, sto, stop," Amber said through chattering teeth. "Tooo ca, ca, cold." Jerry ignored her and continued rubbing her with the icy towel, cold biting her skin.

Other runners came in. Amber was aware of a slight buzz of conversation around her-- she didn't recognize faces. They faded in and out, like gauzy silhouettes. "Amber, you have to drink." Debbie handed her a water bottle, "Drink." Amber took a sip, but it made her nauseous. Then beads of perspiration broke out on her forehead.

"Her skin feels cooler now. I think she's perspiring again," Jerry said. "She'll be okay if we can get her to drink something."

"Drink," Debbie said again. Amber managed a few sips, fighting nausea, started to heave once, but sat back down in the gravel and the sick feeling passed. The water stayed down and the strange sensation in her scalp began to fade. Then she realized all of the triathlon participants were staring at her, clustered around her-- their faces full of concern. She was sitting in the mud, for Christ's sake!

Embarrassed she said, "Whew, that was really weird. It felt like I was drugged, but I think I'm all right now."

"There's no way you can drive, Amber," Debbie said. "Jerry, why don't you drive Amber home."

"No problem," Jerry said.

"I know where she lives. I'll drive to her house. You can follow me." Amber was asleep almost before she got into the passenger seat of her car. When Jerry pulled into her driveway next to Debbie's car, her cell phone jangled, waking her up.

"Go ahead and pull into the garage," Amber said and pushed the button on her remote garage door opener. She answered her cell phone.

"Brr, err ew thh eere?" (Amber, are you there?) Bending, scraping metal drowned out her father.

"Oh, God, my bike is on the car, just a minute, Dad."

Amber looked at Jerry and then looked at the phone in her hand. She suddenly realized how important the man on the other side of the phone was. "I forgot to tell you that I usually take my bike off the car before I pull in the garage, Jerry." Her eyes flashed mischievously. "Dad, how are you? Jerry was just parking the car."

"Hell iif ew ook iik off" (Help if you took your bike off), she grinned.

"I know. Hold on again, Dad, let me see how bad it is."

She opened her car door to, "Amber, omigod, Amber, your car." The car took the brunt of the damage. The bike rack was destroyed and the top of her car dented as if from a demolition. Incredibly, her bike still stood upright, seemingly unharmed, and the garage was fine. Only one tiny mark even gave evidence of the clash with her bike.

"Dad, I discovered today that biking is not only my worst event, it tends to be the most costly." She winked at Jerry, who just shook his head.

"Ow wawa sss rr rr unn?" (How was run)?

"I came in second. Jerry finished first, no surprise. Dad, I couldn't have done it without you. Thanks for cheering me on." Amber hung up realizing how petty she'd been. Gone was the resentment she'd felt toward Jerry because there'd be other races. Joel Krueger's bystander days were not finished, of that she was sure.

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