Shy Charlotte’s Brand New Juju (Romantic Comedy) (21 page)

Charlotte woke just before the squawk of the alarm. The
house was dark and she wanted nothing more than to roll over. But she knew, as
Leopold had been saying, that this could be the day when things would change
for her forever. This might be the moment upon which the rest of her life
hinged. A new day was dawning. A new leaf was turning. A new Charlotte was
pulling on race shorts and her Confidence Coach Brigade race jersey. She looked
like a runner. She may have even felt like one.

She wished just then, as she had on other occasions, that
there was some sort of soundtrack for her life. A musician with a score, over
in the corner, giving her some musical bridge with which to cleanly tie things
together, a series of movements to make her life feel more finished. A hush and
then a tinkling of piano when something came along that she should be paying
attention to. A crescendo just before something big was about to happen. 

She tried to imagine what the musical accompaniment would be
right now. Piano,
adagio
, as she roused herself from sleep. Then
building in intensity and pace as she stood and walked around, here in her
bedroom. And, when it was time for the race, cymbals crashing and then…
vivamente
.
She’d be off.

Her stomach rolled. Why was she so nervous? New Charlotte
would never be nervous.

Leopold would be here in fifteen minutes. That gave her time
to eat a MuscleBar or two. And she would stash one in her bag for just before
the race.

Leopold had come up with all kinds of instructions on
nutritionals. But, really, she didn’t have a fainting problem anymore. Not
since she’d met the MuscleBar.

Charlotte pulled her hair into a high ponytail and smoothed
in a few drops of the hair oil Fiona had given her. It made her head smell like
oranges. Leopold probably wouldn’t want her to drink coffee, or to sneak in a
splash of Irish Cream, but she knew that would calm her nerves. Oh well. She
didn’t have time anyway. Leopold’s car purred up the driveway and she grabbed
the pre-race tote he had prepared for her, including the precise amount of
water she should be consuming before and after the race. “Hydration is
important,” he had said. “It is a science. If you let yourself get dehydrated,
you’ll crash or bonk.”

“So no crashing or bonking,” she had said.

“It is not a joke, Miss Charlotte. This is serious
business.”  

There was, she had discovered, an entire industry devoted to
helping people exceed their natural human abilities. Caffeine gel packs, bull
hormones, amino acids, and a variety of other substances she couldn’t
pronounce, and which she suspected Leopold couldn’t either. All were entirely
legal, so said Leopold, and without them, you couldn’t even really compete.

“What about people who just want to see how fast they can
run?” Charlotte had asked.

“Sure, they can do that. But they are not going to win. Some
of these competitors…it’s about what kind of shoes they have on. What kind of
pre-race snack. And when they first hydrate.”

And, now, as Charlotte slid into Leopold’s car, he winked at
her.

“Do you have the moths?”

“You mean butterflies?”

“Yes, yes. Do you have butterflies?”

“I do have butterflies. Lots of them. They are about to make
me sick.”

“Remember, you can teach them how to give you energy. You
can imagine that they
give
you the energy.”

Why was she so nervous for this? She didn’t even know anyone
here. The girls and Fiona and her boys would be waiting for her at the finish
line. She knew that. They would drive down leisurely after breakfast. What she
wouldn’t give right now to be going with them.

“Now, you must keep in mind that some of the best runners in
the world will be here, running the marathon.” How many times had he told her
this?

“Got it.”

“I do not want you to be discouraged by people who are
running faster than you.”

“I won’t.”

“Just go at your pace. Do not speed up too much. Especially
at first.”

“Got it.”

“This is what you have been waiting for. Training for. This
is your new leaf.”

The music would soar now, and she would smile and flip her
hair back. Finally, they arrived in the racer’s parking area. Leopold put his smooth,
white arm on hers. “Charlotte,” he said. “Make me proud.”

***

There were so many racers that they had to break into packs,
each with a slightly different start time. Her official time was 9:04. Leopold,
who was running the marathon, started at 8:28. She watched him line up with his
start wave and she marveled that—though he was a man who had always and ever
defined himself as an athlete, for his country, for his career—here, he was one
of many. Hundreds. Maybe even thousands.

All around her, athletes were stretching and holding one
another’s legs in the air. They ran in place and pulled their knees up high.
Each of them had tight, toned legs and a tiny butt. She knew this outfit that
Leopold had picked out for her would look amazing on someone else, but she felt
ridiculous. She walked around with her hands on her hips, wishing she had
someone here to talk to and trying to look occupied and serious.

She tried to stand the way New Charlotte would stand. She
adjusted the number that was pinned to her top, and she looked out into the
crowd, wishing now that she had asked Fiona and the girls to come for the
start, and not just for the finish.

And then everything happened so fast. A man was calling her
start time with a bullhorn, and she had to run to the start, and she was out of
breath and felt like her tongue and her throat were thick and tight. Where had Leopold
told her to stand? The sun was so bright, but she hated wearing sunglasses when
she ran because they would get all steamy if she slowed down. Her eyes began to
water and she felt sick to her stomach. Had Leopold said to eat something just
before the race? She suddenly couldn’t remember, but it was too late now, and
then she got an image of herself lying face down on the asphalt while all these
skinny runners hurdled her.

A starting pistol fired and there was a bright tumble of
colors and ponytails flapping ahead of her and her legs just started moving and
these people were all running so slowly, and so she decided to try to get in
front of them. It felt so good to be able to do that. She and Leopold had
trained at a higher elevation, after all, and she allowed herself a quick
mental “ha ha!” as she took off ahead and passed them all. All but a few. She
felt her heart pounding in her face now, and she knew her complexion would be
getting red. She could feel it. “You are so uncool,” she heard Tabitha say.
This was why she had always hated gym class. Everyone thought she was going to
die all the time. Someone would ask if she needed a glass of water or if she
needed to sit down, and she didn’t know how to say, ‘It’s just my fair Scottish
heritage and all the extra damn capillaries in my face.’” Her father and her mother
suffered from it, too. Whenever they drank too much or got mad or worked
outside in the heat, their faces became red and beady and looked ready to
explode.

And then Charlotte thought about her father and her mother
and her sister and Caleb and how she was truly alone in this world, running
along a road in a mountain town she had never heard of before this summer. But
she was running, fast, fast, faster than she had ever run before. She could see
people behind her and she turned her head from time to time to look. No one
even appeared to be breathing hard. Their mouths were closed. Their faces were
relaxed, calm. Charlotte started to wheeze.

What had Leopold said about starting out too early? Starting
off too fast? Oops. Okay, she would dial it back a little. She had just gotten
carried away. Slow it down, Charlotte. Damn, she was thirsty. Already. Probably
not a good sign. But there were people behind her. So many behind her. She
would do well. She would make Leopold proud. She had come a long way, baby. She
leaned forward a bit and pumped her arms. Here, a water table. Ah. But there
were so many people here, from the previous start wave, that they were standing
in line, waiting for the water. No way. She would wait until the next water
table. Leopold said they were all over the place. She didn’t need it yet. Especially
if she slowed down a little bit.

“I am light and my legs are strong,” she repeated to
herself, over and over, just the way Leopold had instructed her to. “I am light
and my legs are strong.” Her knees were beginning to hurt, and curiously, the
areas just above her ankles. Not her ankles. Not her shins, but somewhere in
between. And her hip flexors. They ached with each foot stroke. She felt faint
and a little dizzy. She had done this wrong. God, it was so hot. How could it
be so hot? “You are so uncool,” she heard again, and it was true. She was
boiling. She saw a man ahead approach the next aid station. He took two paper
cups. One he guzzled, throwing his head back, and the other he poured over his
head.  Ahh. Yes. This, this is what she needed to do. She was so hot. She went
off to the side where there weren’t so many runners standing and she grabbed
two paper cups and she kept running as she tossed one into her mouth and the
other over her head. And that’s when the cloying scent of raspberry hit her
nose and her taste buds and she realized that now there was Blue Razzle Dazzle Powerade
dripping from the tip of her nose onto her white jersey. A group of spectators
began to point and laugh at her and she wanted then to just lie down, there on
the asphalt, but she put her nose down and she kept running, watching her feet
and counting her footfalls and recognizing that New Charlotte was just as much a
doofus as Old Charlotte. No matter how fast she ran, she couldn’t outrun who
she was, who she used to be, and who she would be forevermore.

Just then, a wave of loneliness descended on her, and all
she wanted to do was to stop running. From her life, from Caleb, from whatever
she was trying to escape. “No matter how much you have to slow down,” Leopold
had said, “just don’t stop. Don’t stop running.” And then spectators
everywhere, holding signs meant for other runners and shouting, “Don’t Stop!
Run! You can do it!” Everyone a cheerleader. Everyone filled with support and
praise for her slightly-below-average running ability. For her goofy, Powerade-soaked
mediocrity.

At last, she could see the finish line. Fiona and Maddox and
Maxwell and Hannah and Gracie. And then, was that Caleb behind them? In dark
sunglasses? No. He wasn’t there. Of course he wasn’t there. He probably would
have brought Rachael along anyway. And she wasn’t sure she could take that. Seeing
them together, as she dripped blue goo, with her red face and her stupid jersey
and the cellulite that she knew was on the back of her thighs.

She pulled herself tall. She felt the tears come up then and
she clenched her eyes, then blinked and put on her upbeat, positive, courageous
face.  

Maddox and Maxwell had made a banner from a white bed sheet
and sparkly fabric paint. Each child held an end and waved it back and forth:
“Go Auntie Charlotte. Go, run, go!” it said.

 “What was your time?” Fiona asked.

“I don’t know.”

“I wonder where you placed.”

“I don’t know.” The colors around her looked so vibrant, the
smells around her so acute.

“Did you run into the Kool-Aid guy?” Fiona asked.

She sniffed. The bottom of her feet ached, and she was
thirsty.

“Seriously, mom. Why are you all sticky?”

“Long story,” Charlotte said. She looked away. Old
Charlotte, New Charlotte; she was a mess.

***

Fiona wanted to take everyone out to celebrate, and so, once
Leopold had finished his race, they had stood around for a time and watched him
eat snacks and rehydrate himself. They all patted his back and smiled and shook
their head and marveled, “26.2 miles. Wow.” And Leopold picked Charlotte up in
the air and spun her. He kept telling her how proud he was of her and grabbing
for her hand, which she kept finding a way to drop.

Now they found themselves seated at a long table in a dark,
unfamiliar restaurant Fiona had discovered in
Fodor’s.
Charlotte was
pleased that Gracie and Hannah had wedged themselves on either side of her. Leopold
sat directly across, slapping at the table in a sustained drum roll, which he
continued until everyone turned to look at him. “And now we wish to present
Charlotte with a gift, for finishing her first race… One of many.” He lowered
his tone. “Races. Not gifts.”

Fiona winked at him and took a deep breath. “That’s right. Leopold
and I went in on something fifty-fifty,” she said.

“And it was not cheap,” Leopold added, “so you had better
like it.”

He and Fiona laughed at this, and Fiona wiggled her
shoulders and wrinkled her nose at him. Then Fiona handed Charlotte a crisp white
envelope.

Everyone was looking at her. Please don’t let it be another
pact, she thought, tearing at the packet with a chewed fingernail.

But inside was a thick, slick brochure. Red block letters,
spelling out “The Owning Your Power Convention” soared over an image of a rangy
man with a shiny black mullet. He was crouched deep into a fist pump and looked
to be shouting into a headset.

“Ooh, what is it? Let me see, mom.” Hannah leaned in close.

Charlotte handed over the envelope, and Hannah read the
brochure aloud in her tractor-pull-announcer voice. “The seminar that will rock
your life and change everything,” she growled. “We’re talking…total transformation.” 

Charlotte smiled in a tight-lipped way because everyone was
watching her. She blinked hard. Then she looked over Hannah’s shoulder as she
read to avoid meeting their eyes.

“No matter if you’ve lost your job, run your business into
the ground, chased off everlasting love, or become somehow paralyzed, insert
your name here cares about you…”