Hive Ave Fall2024 - Flipbook - Page 15
Hive Avenue Literary Journal
Sweat continues to drip from his chin.
“Feeling good,” he mutters.
“Max?”
And a place to pee.
Over the bridge, we wind down a small hill and into
another tunnel, where Max takes initiative and asks for the pen.
Pu昀昀 pu昀昀.
He draws another deep lungful and tilts his head to the
heavens.
“To the Max!” he bellows.
A family of 昀椀nch 昀氀its away.
“On your left!” a voice calls out from behind us, but it
isn’t enough time and the person, a woman on a bike going
about seventy-昀椀ve-miles-per-hour, races around us, nearly
clipping Max.
“Is it always like this?” he asks, inspecting his elbow for
damage. He’s breathing hard but isn’t gasping. Satis昀椀ed he’s OK,
he yells ahead for the person to get all-the-way bent.
They wave, no doubt amused.
“At least she announced herself,” I o昀昀er, but Max is too
tired, too hungry, too invested in the walk to probably care.
“She should watch where she’s going on my trail.”
He punches at the air in front of us.
“My trail?”
I center on this statement, unsure of why it irks me, but I
know exactly why it bothers me.
“I used to run twenty-milers at three in the morning,” I
tell him. I motion to the eight-foot-wide asphalt road laid out
before us and nod knowingly. “If you think this trail is yours, I
was the one who laid the gravel bed.”
Max considers this, but instead of getting upset, as I
expect, Max’s eyes grow wide and he starts 昀椀ring o昀昀 questions.
Steam steam.
He hands it back with eyes as wide as beverage coasters
and then bursts into a coughing 昀椀t. The sound echoes in the
twenty-昀椀ve-yard tunnel.
“You’re turn,” he says, breathlessly.
“I’m ready to do my part,” I tell him, and pull steam.
Led Zeppelin reminds us there are good times and bad
times.
We go about a quarter mile until it feels like we’re back
in the middle of nowhere again. A car honks from somewhere
in the distance and we both look up as if we can see the indiscretion, but we can’t see anything but trees and the trail and
bright blue sky. A few giant houses here and there; but, nothing
motorized, as the sign said.
“This is what I love about being out here,” he says. “I had
no idea what I was missing. Especially this part of the trail. It’s
my favorite.”
Large rock faces jut out of craggy cli昀昀s and tall evergreen
reach for the ozone layer.
“I call it ‘The Crevasse’.”
“I like it,” I tell him, “I’ve always been pretty partial to
this section, too. I used to run speed work here with a old crew.
Speaking of missing things, how’s the stomach?”
Max pats his belly.
“How long did those twenty-mile runs to take you?”
“Reeeeeeeeeaallllll narse!”
“Depends on what I was trying to do.”
“Narse?”
“You didn’t run the same pace every time?”
“Nice,” he says.
“Hell no! I always shake it up; how far I’m going, what pace
I’m trying to run. There are also days you just don’t have it, and
when those days come, it’s better not to force it.”
“Oh,” I tell him. “You’ve really slimmed down.”
“But you still get it in…” he says, more leading than
asking.
“About seventy pounds.”
Max raises his watch. He’s got a 昀椀ve-mile smile.
“Halfway,” he says. “Eighteen-昀椀fty-two. Thought we
were faster this one.”
We climb a small but steep hill and cross a concrete
pedestrian bridge with high fencing situated twenty-昀椀ve feet
above Route 8., the local highway. I give my co昀昀ee a gentle
shake and hear the last few drops splash around.
Fiction
Max beams.
“How much weight have you lost since the surgery?”
“Seventy-pounds? Holy shit! You look like it!”
“I feel like it, too. No slowing down.”
Max 昀氀exes his wrists and punches at the air again.
I laugh because it’s a miracle to see Max do anything but
storm the fridge, let alone unleash a six-punch combo in the
middle of a ten-mile hike.
“Is Macie bringing water to Brandywine?” I ask. I try to
lick my lips, but my whole mouth is dry.
“How much co昀昀ee do you have left?” I ask.
“Why do we need water?”
The sun beats down on our shoulders and backs.
“Cotton mouth,” I tell him. “And you’re dripping sweat.”
“I still have half,” he says, proudly, and takes a victory
“I’m not thirsty, though.”
swig.
I, meanwhile, look for a place to throw my cup.
“The trick to staying hydrated is to drink before you’re
thirsty. If you’re thirsty, that’s your body telling you you’re
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