Flight Dreams Read Online Free PDF Page A

renewed burst of energy known to all runners. His shoes seem to glide at a microdistance above the pavement. His throat begins to burn. Every muscle, every tendon, works and pulls and releases and pulls again like a machine thrown into high gear, straining beneath a sheath of taut, elastic skin. He feels the muscles of his calves and thighs bulging. The light-headed euphoria of overbreathing reminds Manning that he has always found something vaguely erotic about running, about the confusion of pleasure and pain.
    Did it start in high school, with the sights and smells of the locker room, or did an unspoken fascination take root in his subconscious long before then, during those misty prepubescent years of youth? Is it possible to explain the pleasure derived from the sight of a man’s ankles, the tick of white laces slapping his shoes?
    Can those old preoccupations (preoccupations he has never knowingly pondered, for they would surely seem ludicrous, even embarrassing, if his mind would allow such questions to gel, to take on the rubbery yet distinct form of words that are actively thought) explain the indifference that has marked his sporadic intimacy with women?
    His sexual history, the history that can be recalled as actual events, did not begin until college—his sophomore year—when he knew he could no longer make the excuse, to himself or to others (particularly his mother), that he was “busy.” The pressure to lose his virginity in those days of liberation was intense, so he lost it. Mission accomplished.
    She was pretty and loving, sufficiently more experienced than he. He performed just fine—nothing traumatic befell him—and the physical release was admittedly pleasurable. But it was not the stuff of dreams, not the culminating end-all event he’d been led to expect. And it never would be. Subsequent couplings were equally ho-hum, even with Roxanne, who was easily the most feisty and energetic of his partners.
    So he never got much involved. He’s been content to be wed to his career, a commitment that has brought many rewards. Earlier, in college, he preferred to concentrate on his studies, and that, too, had its rewards. That’s how he explained things to his mother.
    Then she died before he graduated. He grieved, of course. She was too young—lung cancer. But he felt relief (and he felt no guilt because of this) that he would no longer need to make excuses to her regarding the direction of his life. At her burial, he also felt relieved that issues of intimacy were never discussed with his father, who died when Manning was three.
    An uncle, his mother’s brother from Wisconsin, a wealthy printer, was at his mother’s funeral. Manning hadn’t seen him for—how long?—at least ten years. His uncle kissed him on the lips once as a boy, then again at the funeral. Manning wondered, standing near his mother’s grave, if the man was gay.
    The sun has inched higher into the sky. Traffic on the Outer Drive is brisker now, and the path along the beach is filling in with bicycles, dog-walkers, and many more runners.
    Far ahead through the crowd, Manning glimpses a couple running toward him. The guy is a few years younger than Manning; his girlfriend, younger still. Even at a distance, they exude an air of vitality and playfulness that sets them apart from the others trudging by. The guy has tousled blond hair, teeth that flash white as he laughs at something. He’s well muscled everywhere, as is the girl; their spandex running togs are both skimpy and flattering.
    Handsome couple, Manning tells himself. I’ll bet they work out together.
    “Morning!” says the girl as the couple draws near.
    Manning returns the greeting as they whisk by. Glancing over his shoulder for another look, he realizes with dismay that his gaze has been fixed squarely on the guy.

Sunday, October 4
89 days till deadline
    M ANY MILES AWAY, AT six in the morning, the heat is already oppressive. Incense fills the air. The pungency of