The Story Behind "Running to Stand Still"

Here’s yet another short story with a title based on a song. In this case it’s U2’s “Running to Stand Still”.

This story was inspired by a stop at a stop sign. As I drove home from class one day a green Dodge truck stopped in front of me for an inordinate amount of time. The windows were tinted so I couldn’t see the driver and my first impulse was that they were on the phone getting directions to their next destination. Being the creative type, however, the next thing to pop into my head was that the driver might be having a heart attack. I didn’t take this impulse very seriously, and when they finally decided to move I decided to craft a story around that concept.

For the first half of the story, I took a couple items from school life for inspiration. Professor Parker was inspired by a professor I had for a couple of classes who studied in England and is also a Jesuit priest. He’s a great professor, and students who get past the massive amount of material he assigns thoroughly enjoy his class. (Over one semester we read The Portrait of a Lady, Madame Bovary, Wurthering Heights, Jane Eyre, Persuasion, and Pride and Prejudice all of which we found we had to purchase after our first day of class since the professor doesn’t use technology.) He can be tough though if you don’t put in the effort.

The policy about waiting 24 hours to discuss a grade on a paper didn’t come from that professor though, it actually came from a Public Speaking class. Our instructor, a graduate student who was student teaching to work her way through grad school, had that requirement to allow students to think about the grade and come up with a reasonable argument for why they should receive a better grade. On occasion a reasonable argument would receive a better grade.

The student characters weren’t based on anyone in particular. I included a slight religious joke in the character of Saul/Paul though. If you don’t know the story, the apostle Paul was originally a Roman named Saul until he was blinded on the road to Damascus leading to his conversion to Christianity and his name change to Paul.

I do intend to revise this one, although I’m not sure if I want to extend the story and give more reason for Jenny Hollander’s brief appearance, or if I want to keep it short and omit her. I also want to give Oliver more conflict at the end of the story as well. If you have other suggestions I’d be more than happy to hear them!

Running to Stand Still, Part 2

            Oliver drove his blue ‘13 Ford F-150 down Menlo Boulevard. The speed limit was 25 MPH but he was going 40 until he came up to a green ’98 Dodge that was doing 20 at the corner of Prospect.

He punched his steering wheel. “Come on,” he shouted. “I ain’t getting any younger back here.”

The Dodge stopped at a stop sign at the Maryland intersection. It didn’t move.

Oliver punched his horn twice. “What the hell?” He hit the horn and held it for five more seconds. He considered driving around the Dodge, but a raised median prevented him. He hit the horn one more time, but when there was no movement he got out of his truck and walked up to the Dodge.

The tinting on the window of the Dodge made it nearly impossible to see into the truck, but there was a figure that seemed to be shuddering behind the tint. Oliver slowly reached up and pulled the latch on the truck door.

When the door opened, there was an old lady in her 70’s in the driver seat; her left hand on the steering wheel and her right armed gripping a man of the same age in the passenger seat. Her gray bangs covered her eyes, matted to her cheeks by the tears that dripped off her chin on to her blouse.

“Je ne,” she said. “Je ne suis...” She was stuttering through heavy sobs.

“I’m sorry,” Oliver said, “I don’t understand.”

“I don’t know,” she said. She spoke with a thick French accent. She burst into sobs. “He’s dead.”

“Do you have a...”

“The clinic...” She was almost inaudible through the sobs. “Chest pains.”

“Do you have a phone?” Oliver asked.

She shook her head.

Oliver started to move away. The woman grabbed his arm with her left hand.

“I’ll be right back, I promise.”

She released her grip, but didn’t move her hand. Slowly Oliver moved away from her hand. He ran back to his truck and pulled his cell phone from the passenger side of his Ford. He dialed 911. The operator came on the line. Before they could finish their opening sentence Oliver said, “I think someone’s had a heart attack, we’re at the corner of Maryland and Menlo.” Without turning off his phone, he threw it back into the truck and ran back to the Dodge. The woman was still sobbing. Oliver placed his hand on her shoulder and knelt down next to the truck. “Help is on the way,” he told her.

“Quarante-sept ans...” She shook her head through sobs. “Forty-seven years we have been together. I don’t know how to be alone.”

Oliver rubbed her shoulder as he looked down at the road beneath him.

“Don’t leave me, please,” she said.

Oliver looked up at her. “I promise I won’t leave you. You’re not alone.” The woman placed her right hand on the hand that rubbed her shoulder as the sound of sirens came up Maryland Avenue.

Running to Stand Still, Part 1

            Oliver sat in the back of the classroom staring at the paper Professor Parker had just passed back to him. It was Oliver’s last class of the day. Scrawled over the paper’s title, “Oedipus Wrecked” was a large red capital D. Oliver’s hand tightened and the paper crumpled with it. The rustle of multiple backpacks zipping closed and being picked up by their owners filled the room as students started making their way out of the room. Oliver stared at Professor Parker. Professor Parker sat at the front of the class behind a gray table. Behind him, his cane rested against the wall underneath the classroom white boards. He was reviewing his attendance book through a pair of small glasses that were pinched to the tip of his nose.

            Oliver stood up and made his way down the row of desks through the departing students to Professor Parker’s table. Professor Parker looked up at Oliver. Oliver’s jaw clenched and his cheeks bulged. He unclenched his jaw and his face went back to normal. Professor Parker removed his glasses and placed the on the table. He leaned back in his chair, scratching his withered neck through his turtleneck sweater.

            “How can I help you, Mr. Krosky?” Professor Parker asked.

            “I want to talk to you about my paper,” Oliver said.

            “As I stated at the beginning of class, Mr. Krosky, you may discuss your grade after you have had twenty four hours to review your paper. I will not discuss it a moment sooner.”

            Oliver clenched his fist, the paper crinkled. “But, sir...”

            “There are no buts, Mr. Krosky.” Professor Parker leaned forward and started reviewing his attendance book again. “The rules apply to everyone. You are not exempt; as I’ve already informed you concerning the attendance policy.”

            Oliver clenched his teeth again.

            “Is there anything else I can help you with, Mr. Krosky?”

            Oliver didn’t answer. He turned around, walked back to his desk, and picked up his backpack. He quickly threw the wrinkled paper into his bag, zipped it up and walked out of the classroom. As he rounded a corner outside the classroom he nearly ran into a soda machine. Oliver balled up his fist and punched it three times.

            “Whoa,” a guy across the hall called out to him. Oliver turned around, one of his classmates walked up to him.

            “Oh, hey,” Oliver said. “Ah, I’m sorry, I forgot your name.”

            “Saul,” he said, “but most people call me Paul. You alright, man.”

            “Parker gave me a goddamn D on the paper man. What’d you get?”

            “I got a B man.”

            “How’d you pull that off?” Oliver asked.

            “Earned it, I guess.” Saul took a pack of gum out of his pocket. He offered Oliver a piece, but Oliver declined. After shoving a stick of gum in his mouth, “I’d say I worked on that shit for at least a week. How ‘bout you?”

            “I finished it the morning it was due.”

            “Yeah?” The corners of Saul’s mouth twitched. “When did you start it?”

            “I think Parker’s got something against my dad man.”

            “Oh really?” Saul smiled. “They go to school together?”

            “Fuck you, man. My dad’s not old as sin.” Oliver turned toward the door at the end of the hall and started walking.

            “So what are you going to do about it then?” Saul called after him.

            Oliver left the building. As he walked across campus, he kept balling up his fists and muttering under his breath. “I’ll talk to the goddamn department chair, that’s what I’ll do.” “He can’t treat me like this, just ain’t right.” He didn’t look up when Jenny Hollander from his Survey of Astronomy class called out to him. He didn’t see her strawberry blond hair wave in the breeze, or notice how the wind hiked up her short skirt to reveal her unblemished thighs. As he kept walking, so did she, shrugging off his ignorance.