“So,” Zoe began. “Did he call you? Text you?”
I shook my head. I didn’t expect my voicemail to suddenly make Brandon forgive me. I just hoped it would be a start. A voice came over the loudspeakers. “All runners please make your way to the starting line.”
Zoe blew me a kiss and trotted off. I stretched out my quads again and did a quick check of my heart rate. Energy was buzzing all around me. I thought again about Brandon, wondering what he was doing today. If he was thinking of me, if he’d ever forgive me. I closed my eyes and wished that he could feel the words “I’m sorry” that I silently mouthed.
A stranger, who was wearing one of the T-shirts marked for volunteers, patted me on the back and said, “Good luck,” as she walked toward the starting line. Luck had nothing to do with it, I thought. It took a long time for me to get here, for me to be able to stand here amongst all these other people, for me to allow others to know this part of me. Six point two miles would be easy enough for me to run. Running wasn’t the hard part. The hard part was over. I’d finally accepted the fact that my mother died of breast cancer, and I didn’t need to hide that anymore. Before walking to the runners corral, I took one last deep inhalation, looked up to the Heavens and whispered, “This one’s for you, Mom.”
I was stretching out my hamstrings when I heard a group of girls call my name. As I turned, I saw all the girls from my former track team jogging up to me.
“You came!” Shay squealed and hugged me.
I went through the rounds of giving hugs to everyone.
“Glad to see you here, Marissa.” Coach Moore said. “Remember to watch your footing.” She winked at me.
“I will.” A wave of familiarity washed over me. “Coach Moore, can I talk to you for a second.”
“Sure.” She walked me over to the sidelines.
“I just wanted to thank you for getting donations and stuff for this. I appreciate it.” I kicked some pebbles on the ground.
Coach Moore put her hand on my shoulder. “We do miss you on the team, Marissa. It will be nice to see you girls running together again today.”
“Oh, about that, would you mind if I kind of did this run solo?” My stomach twisted a little. “Not that I don’t want to be part of the team; I just, I don’t know, I just kind of want to do this run on my own.”
Coach Moore’s eyes looked glassy. She bent down to my ear and whispered, “She’s always with you, Marissa.” As she pulled away, I watched her wipe a tear from her eye.
I choked back my own tears and gave her a nod. Then I watched her walk back to my team, and I took my place as a solo runner. One day I’d be part of that team again, but today was about me and my mom.
I ended up somewhere in the middle of the pack, surrounded by a sea of women wearing pink. A girl next to me had put on a pair of angel wings. She noticed me staring. Her smile was bright and genuine.
“I’m running for my aunt. Are you running for someone?” she asked.
Without hesitation, I replied. “My mom.”
“Good for you.” She gently squeezed my shoulder and then started stretching out her calf muscles.
That wasn’t nearly as hard as I thought it’d be. I was running for my mom. In honor of my mom. I looked up to the sky. It was bright blue and scattered with fat, fluffy clouds. The sun beamed down on us, and I felt a bit lighter.
As the race began, I felt free and strong. Some runners passed me and others dropped behind me, but I felt comfortable with my stride. There weren’t many people on the street — until we turned a corner just before the first mile maker. The cheers from the crowd were exhilarating. I wondered if I’d see my family. Then I heard Zoe and Marc screaming for me. As I scanned the crowd, searching for their faces, I spotted them just as I crossed the first mile. Then something odd happened. Just after the marker I saw a sign that read, Go Marissa! It was written on a large poster board that had been nailed to a tree on the sidelines. Marc, maybe? But I didn’t see him with any sign earlier. Maybe it wasn’t even for me. It’s not like I’m the only Marissa in the world. But it was a pretty small group of people out running today. Whatever, it probably wasn’t for me. It was kind of cool, though.
We crossed through mile two, and I didn’t hear anyone cheering for me, and there weren’t any mystery signs being displayed for me. I assumed that my family had gone to the finish line to wait for me there.
I checked my pace — just above my average time — and I felt good. My heart felt strong, and my mind felt clear. It was comforting to be running with all these women. Mothers, daughters, friends, survivors, fighters, a diverse group of strong women, all bonded together for the cause. My eyes started to tear up, but through my hazy vision I could see the three-mile marker just up ahead. I was focusing on the number three, but then my gaze shifted to a sign someone was holding. Go, Marissa, Go!, it read. I looked from the sign to the face of the person holding it. When I saw Brandon’s face I nearly lost my breath for a moment. As I ran closer I could see he was holding the sign in one hand and his other hand was holding
