The Weight of Running

The television flickered above the bar—some rodeo on channel 42, a bull bucking and spinning while the crowd roared. Marcus watched without really seeing, his third bourbon warming his chest. The cable had been cut at home two weeks ago, along with everything else.

'She took the dog,' he told the bartender, a woman with kind eyes and a name tag that read MARIA. 'Can you believe that? Seven years together, and she keeps the apartment, the furniture, the fucking dog.'

Maria didn't respond. She'd heard worse at this hour.

Marcus had been running for three weeks now—first to his brother's couch, then a motel, now this bar off the interstate. The irony wasn't lost on him. He'd spent his entire adult life running toward things: promotions, mortgages, the next milestone. Now he was just running. Full stop.

The bull on screen threw its rider into the dirt. The score flashed: 73.4. Not enough to advance.

'My father used to say you've got to grab life by the horns,' Marcus said, gesturing with his glass. 'Like a bull rider. Eight seconds of pure terror, and if you're still standing, you've won something.' He laughed bitterly. 'But I never grabbed anything. I just let it happen to me. The job. The marriage. The fucking golden retriever with the anxiety issues.'

His phone lit up on the coaster. Her name. Again.

'You gonna answer that?' Maria asked, finally speaking.

Marcus stared at the screen. The last time they'd spoken, she'd told him she was pregnant. The timing had been spectacular—his bachelor party was that weekend. He'd chosen the party.

Outside, a dog barked in the parking lot. The sound hit him like a physical thing. Buster. Buster always barked at sirens. Marcus had chosen his name because it sounded friendly, approachable, nothing like his own father's choice for him. Marcus. Warlike. The fighter.

He paid his tab and walked out into the humid night. The dog was indeed barking at nothing—just a stray, mangy and confused, circling a parked car. Marcus crouched down, held out his hand. The dog approached cautiously, then let him scratch behind its ears.

'Yeah,' he whispered. 'I know.'

He pulled out his phone, dialed her number. When she answered, he didn't apologize. He just said, 'I'm done running.'

The bull ride was over. It was time to see if he could stay on.