January 31 - The Runner

He was having the run of a lifetime, gunning it through the streets of New York City. Much faster than a jog, just less than a sprint, and not out of breath at all. He felt invincible, like he could keep this pace all day.
Some streets were crowded, and when they were he juked his way through them like a halfback caught in the backfield trying to make his way back to daylight. Weaving through pedestrians, leaping over dogs, hopping sideways between couples, jumping up and into walls to pinball himself past groups of teenagers like Jackie Chan running a marathon.
A red light.
Don't walk?
Don't worry. This wasn't walking, this was running. He jumped from the sidewalk onto the street and dodged his way though traffic, running alongside cars, running past cars, juking in and out of them. If it was even possible, he was faster on the streets than on the sidewalks. Turbocharged, unstoppable. His eyes locked onto a target in the distance and his body devoured the distance in between.
That flashing hotel sign way up there?
Mine.
The doubledecker tour bus three blocks ahead?
Mine.
That old style taxi cab?
Mine.
Way up ahead of him, a garage door opened and a black BMW pulled out onto the street. As it pulled away, the garage door started closing automatically.
Mine.
He jumped a line of garbage cans, clearing them effortlessly as if they were inches tall. A car pulled out in front of him and he took it like an Olympian hurdler. The garage door continued its descent as he turned on the afterburners and broke into a full on sprint as the door got closer and closer to being closed.
He timed his dive perfectly, landing just before the door and rolling under it Indiana Jones style just as it closed.
Made it!
He lay in the dark garage exhilerated and laughing, the sweat just now beginning to drip from his face. He took in gulps of air, sat up, propped himself on his elbows, and looked around himself, the smile slowly fading from his face.
Why did I do that?
There were no windows in the garage, but he could feel the presence of another car. He reached out in front of himself and found the garage door. Tried to open it, but there was no way. It was electronic.
Well.
Crap.
By then he had his breath, and his eyes were beginning to adjust to the darkness. He could make out a few shapes: the walls, the other car, the door.
He assessed the situation:
Locked in a stranger's garage, unsure if there was anybody else inside the house. Also, miles from his apartment. Options:
1) Wait until whoever it was who'd left comes back and then slip out when the door opens.
2) Knock on the door to the house and explain the situation as best you can.
3) Sneak into the house and scurry out the front door without anyone noticing.
There didn't seem to be any other options, but he stood around in the garage anyway, wracking his brain to come up with something better.
He saw a glowing light over by the door to the house.
Of course, the inside garage door opener button.
He approached it, careful not to run into anything and make a racket in the dark garage. He could just open the door and leave, but once the door lurched open it would make all kinds of noise and he would really have to hightail it out of there before somebody came out to see what was going on.
He stretched out a bit to get himself loose for his sprint. Then he reached out for the button with one hand while trying to do a runner's take your mark stance, but he had to keep adjusting himself so he could get closer to the button.
At last he was there, his fingers pursed on the button.
OK, here we go.
He pressed it and the door began to open loudly and slowly. Since it was going up so slowly, he couldn't just burst out running, so he hopped in place like a moron while the door took its sweet time opening up. Finally, it was high enough for him to duck under and leave, but then stopped himself and decided to shut it again.
He ran back inside and hit the button, stopping the door. Then he pressed it again and it started back down. He ran for it but misjudged his footing and went careening into the car that was parked in the garage, setting off its alarm.
Oh, fuck!
He waved his arms at the car for a split second to try to make it quiet down and that was just enough time for the garage door to close all the way, stranding him inside with car alarm shrieking and echoing all around the enclosed garage.
He panicked, crashing into the garage door trying to break it down, but it wasn't budging. He pressed the garage door button again. Nothing. His shoulder hurt like crazy and the car alarm continued to shriek.
After a couple of the longest minutes of his life it stopped. Moments later, he heard a voice through an intercom speaking a language he couldn't understand. It sounded like Russian or something from Eastern Europe.
He froze and didn't make a sound.
The voice came back again and let out a stream of language.
Finally, he offered a tentative hello
More of the voice, more insistent.
He winced from the sound of the voice. "Sorry? I don't understand."
The door opened, the lights came on and there was a large man with a handgun. He clenched his eyes shut and raised his hands.
"Please, don't shoot!"
The man yelled at him and he apologized incoherently. He winced in anticipation of the bullet that was surely just moments away from taking him out, but the only thing the man hit him with was more angry language. The runner just continued wincing and apologizing.
"OK, you shut up. Who are you?"
He tried to explain, but it was impossible. He blabbered on about his run and how excited he was and how he'd seen the garage door opening and how something had taken control of him and he stupidly, stupidly, stupidly decided to squeeze in under the door before it closed and how he just wanted to leave and on and on and on. There was too much of a language gap and even if there hadn't been, the circumstances that led him to this moment were too absurd to try to recount in one conversation. Eventually, the man lost patience.
"You wait here," he said slamming the door.
Moments later he returned with a tall skinny teenage boy in a warm-up suit. They spoke in the doorway as the big man motioned to the runner. The boy nodded.
"He wants to know who are you and what are you doing here." He spoke with an accent.
"Oh, you speak English. Thank God." He was practically in tears. "Look, there's been a big mistake. I'm just a runner. I'm nobody. You don't know me. I don't know you. My name is Terry. I was out running and I saw your garage door closing and I don't know what came over me but I dove under the door and that's how I got here."
The boy looked dubious but he translated it to the man with the gun and they spoke briefly.
"Give us your identification."
"I don't have any on me. I was just out for a run. I don't have--"
"Understand. One moment." The boy conferred with the man. "Who did send you?"
"Send? No. Nobody. I was just running and--"
"Anatoly don't send you?"
"Ana--? No. No, I--really, I don't even know where I am. I was just running and I saw the door closing and--"
"Yes, you tell us already. One moment." The boy talked with the man again.
"Where do you live?"
"Where--?"
"Where do you live. We take you home now."
"Oh, that's. Oh. No. That's. Wow. No. Don't. No, it's OK. I ran here. I can run home. It's--no, you don't have to worry about that."
"It is no offer. It is--how you say--we insist."
"No, really. I'm fine. There's no need."
"It is obligation."
"Oh, no. You don't--"
"Not our obligation, your obligation. This is--how you say--insurance policy. We are expecting special package today. But you are here instead. This is very unexpected. You say you are unrelated to what do we do, and you seem sincere. However, it is best to be sure. Therefore, we take you home. If there is problem with package we know where to find you to help straighten this out."
Terry didn't want to guess at what the contents of their package were, but the guns, the accents, the alarms, and the cars didn't reassure him. However, under the circumstances, he didn't feel like he was in a position to argue. He accepted their offer of a ride home.
For days and weeks afterwards, he kept a close watch on the papers and the daily news for anything involving the Russian mob, but he never heard anything, nor did he ever receive any visits from black BMWs, teenagers in track suits, or barrel chested men with guns.
He did, however, switch from running to squash, but he told everyone it was because the weather was getting colder.
Meanwhile, across town, later on in the afternoon of the day of Terry's run, the teenage boy in the warm-up suit and his family received the package of family heirlooms that his cousin Anatoly had carried personally all the way from Lithuania. The boy always tried to tell his uncle not to be so quick to flash the gun, but his uncle insisted that American was a dangerous place that was full of crazy people.