Who's Running?

The dog, anticipating my coming into the room, was already curled up on the floor beside the sofa. The cat slithered up onto the sofa through the gap between the armrest and the cushion, mincing close to be petted.

* * *

Walking to the school rec center after class I thought I saw one of my students coming the other way. This made me dip my head and walk faster to avoid the inevitable encounter which, I imagined, would be awkward in this context. But it was not a student of mine; only a girl with the same color hair wearing the same school t-shirt.

* * *

Turn on the TV to the still powerful, awful image of the towers coming down, the billowing gray smoke, so thick it's liquid, the slow crumbling, the sudden collapse; then people in business suits running, glancing back at solid waves of smoky debris chasing them... But I don't want to hear the testimony or the commentary, so I turn it off.

* * *

Who's running? I am running in time. I am running on time. I am running from time. I pass by the brown-haired woman on the track once, twice, three times when she stops to stretch and tie shoes and get a drink from her water bottle. Another woman begins running, and I pass her easily at the sharp turn corner of the track, we are a clock, I have till noon to run when the car needs to be back. I want to pass the brown-haired woman one more time. I gain on her on the straightaways, measure the distance when a turn puts her in profile, do some rude figuring of her stride against mine. Another lap and I'd make it. But I get to the end of the lap and stop.