I walked to the corner, then started to run. One step, two steps, three steps, four.
‘How long do you think you’ll run Mum? How far do you think you’ll get?’
He ran along beside me for a couple of steps, then took off, running far ahead, then running backwards until he was back level with me. He turned to the side, took scissor steps beside me.
‘Get your heart rate going Mum. What’s a heart rate? Why do you want to get it going? You’re going great, keep going Mum.’
I didn’t have a plan. I wasn’t sure whether I should keep running, push through the pain, or stop and walk for a bit then start running again.
‘You’re better than Dad, he’s usually stopped by now, but still I seem to be the fastest, am I the fastest, don’t stop Mum, keep your heart rate up.’
My legs felt heavy. I tried to think about the sun setting around us, let the beauty be more than the pain.
‘How far are you going to run? Are marathons fun? At least you can talk, Dad never answers me.’
I turned onto the road that goes down to the river. It used to be dirt this road. When the mister first brought me here, this road was dirt.
‘Oh, Mum, I never would have come if I’d known you were going to run forever. It’s nearly tea time. There’s ravioli.’
Around me the grape vines were taut along their wires, but I could not tell you whether the grape vines have sprung their leaves, if the lines run parallel to the road or perpindicular, whether the sprinklers were on.
My legs were heavier than I think they’ve ever been.
‘Come on, Mum.’
I turned and followed him home.