Page 39 of Grace & Henry's Holiday Movie Marathon
“Maybe you’ll run faster if you talk less!”
I don’t look back at him because that would be a bad strategy while running through the woods. That’s another reason I like this so much: straight ahead, keep going, no looking back.
“Root!” I shout as I hop over a real ankle-breaker.
“Shit!” Henry says, then thanks me.
I wasn’t drunk last night, but I was sleepy and vulnerable, which is basically what being drunk is in your late thirties. Consequently, this morning felt like waking up hungover. Henry was the first coherent thing that came to my mind. At first I regretted asking him to run and scream with me. Again, this is a me thing. But then I was excited.
I like Henry. He’s nice—funny, too, beneath all that sadness—and this thing where I watch movies and shows with him every once in a while feels like a fun side quest—something to distract me from the Great and Terrible Sadness. I don’tlike himlike him, though. Yes, I thought about him this morning right when I woke up. And yes, I also thought about him last night as I was falling asleep after we hung up. I’m chalking all that up, though, to accidentally watchingA Charlie Brown Christmasin bed with him. Well,Iwas in bed. I think he was on his couch. So, I was half in bed with him, at least virtually, which was like playing a trick on my brain.
It doesn’t matter. Even if I did like him like that, he’s moving to California.
“Ouch!” he yells.
“What?”
“I think I pulled something!”
“I told you to stretch!”
I duck under a tree branch, which means Henry has toreallyduck. Then the trail opens up ahead. This is the part where I don’t just run, I sprint. “Almost there, Henry!”
I was doing an okay job staying close to Grace, then it’s like she just vanished.
My lungs burn, and my calves are on fire. My heart is pounding, too, but I actually kind of like that. It’s been a while.
“Grace! Are you up there somewhere?”
I hear, “Keep going!” from a distance as I pass the dilapidated cement shell of an old building. There’s the sound of rushing water up ahead. And then, a minute later, there’s Grace. She’s at the base of a roaring man-made waterfall bent over with her hands on her knees breathing hard. I slow to a jog, then a trot, then a limp.
“My god, I’m out of shape,” I say.
“What’d you pull?” she asks.
“I won’t get into details, but let’s just say it’s in the groinial region.”
She stands up straight and puts her hands on her hips, laughs as she rolls her shoulders. “I have that effect on guys.”
“Very funny,” I say, and then, “Oww, Jesus. I’m injured.”
“You’ll be fine,” she says.
We stand together and look at Lake Roland, which spreads out in every direction.
“This is nice,” I say. A hundred yards ago, the view from therunning path was pure urban decay. Now there’s a big, open park with trees and picnic tables and serene water views. We’re alone out here because it’s December, but I bet this place gets packed in the spring and summer. Who knew?
“So, what now?” I ask. “Screaming?”
“Yeah. Screaming.”
“Cool. Do you want to start or…”
“Hold on a sec,” she says, breathing hard. “Still feels like I might throw up.”
Two ducks crash-land in the water, splash around, then settle. Cars honk somewhere nearby because we’re still in Baltimore. Then Grace takes a deep breath and screams violently at the waterfall.
“Wow,” I say. “That was a good one.”
