The Echoes of Silence
Posted: Wed Apr 24, 2019 3:52 pm
Short breaths. In and out, keep the pace. Try not to slow down. Fight through the burn, it'll go away.
All great advice, excellent pearls of wisdom to hold onto when going for a run. Claudeson Bademosi knew them all, and yet still, he knew he had to do things his own way. On the final stretch towards his home, his legs were on fire, his lungs close behind, and rather than slowing down to walk the last bit, he sped up. Now, his lungs burned even more.
He welcomed the agony; he deserved it.
((Claudeson Bademosi continued from The Good in Everyone))
Perhaps deserved it was too strong of a word, but the constant cloud that had been following Claudeson around for the better part of the week hadn't managed to go away, and over the course of the year, the only thing that had helped him combat it had been a good, hearty run. At first, it had been difficult to go even a mile at a time - months later, he had just run eight miles, which was more than he'd ever been able to do before. He ran around streets, through parks, along main roads, and even down darkly-lit dirt paths before circling back to his own neighbourhood. As he approached his street, he picked his pace even more, hearing nothing but the pounding of his own footfalls and the panting that was coming from seemingly everywhere at once.
To the uneducated eye, it might appear as though Claudeson Bademosi were running from something, and perhaps - in a manner of speaking - he was.
Rounding the corner onto the crescent that he lived on, Claudeson grimaced, feeling his thigh muscles screaming at him as he pounded the pavement. The warm Tennessee evening proved to be a wonderful backdrop for some exercise, so the air that he took in was welcoming and the slight breeze provided relief for the sweat that was covering him, soaking his shirt and dripping down his back. Just a few more meters and he'd have made it back the entire way. A longer run than he'd ever chosen to undertake before.
It made sense, on this particular Thursday evening; he felt worse than he ever had before.
The two tended to synchronize. The longer the run, the darker the cloud.
Claudeson finally hit his front lawn, and as he did, he felt his legs finally give out from under him. Controlling his tumble down to the cool, well-maintained grass, he rolled onto his back and looked up at the night sky. The stars were out in full force this evening, with only a few clouds swirling around to obscure the moonlight that tumbled down onto the street. Between that and the streetlights that lit his neighbourhood, Claudeson's evening run had been successful and not altogether dangerous. He'd seen no shadows lurking in the paths, no potential muggers or assailants ready to pounce from a dark corner. In fact, on the particular path that he'd gone this evening, he'd barely seen anyone. A few cars, maybe a cyclist or a dog-walker at one point.
Otherwise, the run had been his and his alone.
As he lay back on the cool grass of his front lawn, he listened to the sounds of his breathing and waited for his heart rate to slow. Adrenaline had taken him far, but it was now time to cool down and hope that the rush boosted his spirits as it had so many times before. As he felt the blood running through his aching legs, he heard the thick whooshing sound of his front door being opened. Claudeson didn't have to look up to know who was standing at the door, and after a moment, the expected voice broke through the silence.
"So is that your new bed? Are you going to choose to become one with nature?"
The powerful voice could only have one owner: his mother, Ifechukwu Bademosi. A practiced public speaker, her voice boomed out overtop of him, seemingly coming from everywhere. That was, of course, one of the benefits to being a pastor - you tended to have a lot of practice projecting your voice. On this particular evening, her tone was motherly, yet almost mocking of his sprawled-out position on the front lawn. Claudeson couldn't help but smile. His relationship with his mother was a strong one; she was everything he could have wanted in a maternal figure, and he aspired to have her sense of joviality alongside such conviction in one's belief. Glancing back at her, he rolled over and slowly pulled himself to his feet, his actions answering his mother's query.
"That's what I thought. Why don't you come in and get some water in you? You will need it if you're going to sit on a bus all day tomorrow."
Nodding, he grimaced as his legs reminded him of the run, one step up the stairs to the foyer at a time. As always, his mother was correct. The big George Hunter High School trip to Washington was the following day and while he knew his thighs would be aching, any way to mitigate the bad feelings would be welcome.
That always seemed the priority, these days.
Shutting the door behind him, Claudeson slowly followed his mother into the well-lit kitchen area within their house. The Bademosi family was not exceptionally wealthy, though the one area that they had perhaps splurged on was a renovation to their kitchen. Both of Claudeson's parents enjoyed the art of cooking, and it was not uncommon for him to find his mother, swarming the various appliances while singing a hymn or a prayer out loud. The kitchen was a joyful place, decorated and cheerful, while still being meticulously cleaned with almost any implement one could think of. Dragging himself over to one of the stools that sat beside the island in the centre of the kitchen, Claudeson allowed himself to slump down, taking the strain off his legs. A glass of water seemingly materialized on the counter in front of him, his mother having expected his arrival and prepared accordingly. That was very on-brand for her; Ifechukwu was meticulous in both her personal and professional lives and she was rarely surprised by much of anything. Claudeson held his mother in high esteem, she was a role model for him in virtually every way and he often found himself seeking her council and her wisdom. It wasn't as though his father didn't offer his own pearls of wisdom, but when Ifechukwu spoke, people listened. Her natural charisma gravitated people towards her and Claudeson was no exception. Having allowed himself a few moments to catch his breath, he grasped the cool glass and wasted little time downing the liquid within, feeling the cool salvation as it gradually made its way down his throat.
"So now that you have gone and tired yourself out, are you prepared?"
Claudeson blinked questioningly at his mother. "W-what?" What trial or tribulation was he supposed to be preparing himself for? The question seemed fairly formal and his hesitation only brought a smile out of her.
"For the trip, son. Have you made sure to pack a swimsuit and a sturdy pair of shoes for all of the walking about?"
Oh. His expression relaxed, and he allowed himself a smile. Sometimes he forgot that his mother was simply that: just a mom. She wasn't always required to be the powerful head of their church, speaking at the behest of the Lord and guiding the congregation. On rare moments, she could just simply be mom.
Those were his favourite moments.
"Yes, I'm all ready to go. Except for the shoes," he gestured to the front door, "there is nothing left to pack."
Ifechukwu leaned forward a little bit, opening her posture up and dropping the last of her matronly pretense. It was a way that Claudeson only saw his mother rarely, but it almost made her seem younger than her years - more of a peer than a mother.
"I'm a little envious, you know." Her smile was infectious. "When I was a young girl, we were unable to go on trips like this. To go off and see the sights one last time before you move on to make your way in the world," she straightened up and collected the glass from the table. "I am glad you have the opportunity."
Smiling at his mother, Claudeson knew that her upbringing had been rather different than his. Being a first-generation American himself, both of his parents had immigrated here in search of a better life for themselves and their progeny and an equal opportunity for his parents to establish and serve the Christian church. They had succeeded on both counts, and he knew that he was incredibly fortunate.
"Me too."
So much bubbled beneath the surface at that very moment, as he looked at his mother. There were so many things he felt like saying, but those things all felt as though they came from a different voice, a different mind. So many of them were hurtful, they were sour, and their origin was impossible to understand. He said none of them out loud, and he hated himself for thinking them in the first place.
"I should go and shower off now."
Ifechukwu nodded and moved to go and wash the glass in the sink. Slowly, Claudeson rose from the chair, his legs still aching, the smile having dropped away in exchange for a frown. Gaze aimed firmly inward, Claudeson started to make his way out of the kitchen, before his mother left him with one final instruction.
"Be sure to have a word with Him before you go to bed. His grace will guide you, through the bad times," she winked at him, "and the good. Good night, Claudeson."
He barely managed a nod before he made his way out of the kitchen.
All great advice, excellent pearls of wisdom to hold onto when going for a run. Claudeson Bademosi knew them all, and yet still, he knew he had to do things his own way. On the final stretch towards his home, his legs were on fire, his lungs close behind, and rather than slowing down to walk the last bit, he sped up. Now, his lungs burned even more.
He welcomed the agony; he deserved it.
((Claudeson Bademosi continued from The Good in Everyone))
Perhaps deserved it was too strong of a word, but the constant cloud that had been following Claudeson around for the better part of the week hadn't managed to go away, and over the course of the year, the only thing that had helped him combat it had been a good, hearty run. At first, it had been difficult to go even a mile at a time - months later, he had just run eight miles, which was more than he'd ever been able to do before. He ran around streets, through parks, along main roads, and even down darkly-lit dirt paths before circling back to his own neighbourhood. As he approached his street, he picked his pace even more, hearing nothing but the pounding of his own footfalls and the panting that was coming from seemingly everywhere at once.
To the uneducated eye, it might appear as though Claudeson Bademosi were running from something, and perhaps - in a manner of speaking - he was.
Rounding the corner onto the crescent that he lived on, Claudeson grimaced, feeling his thigh muscles screaming at him as he pounded the pavement. The warm Tennessee evening proved to be a wonderful backdrop for some exercise, so the air that he took in was welcoming and the slight breeze provided relief for the sweat that was covering him, soaking his shirt and dripping down his back. Just a few more meters and he'd have made it back the entire way. A longer run than he'd ever chosen to undertake before.
It made sense, on this particular Thursday evening; he felt worse than he ever had before.
The two tended to synchronize. The longer the run, the darker the cloud.
Claudeson finally hit his front lawn, and as he did, he felt his legs finally give out from under him. Controlling his tumble down to the cool, well-maintained grass, he rolled onto his back and looked up at the night sky. The stars were out in full force this evening, with only a few clouds swirling around to obscure the moonlight that tumbled down onto the street. Between that and the streetlights that lit his neighbourhood, Claudeson's evening run had been successful and not altogether dangerous. He'd seen no shadows lurking in the paths, no potential muggers or assailants ready to pounce from a dark corner. In fact, on the particular path that he'd gone this evening, he'd barely seen anyone. A few cars, maybe a cyclist or a dog-walker at one point.
Otherwise, the run had been his and his alone.
As he lay back on the cool grass of his front lawn, he listened to the sounds of his breathing and waited for his heart rate to slow. Adrenaline had taken him far, but it was now time to cool down and hope that the rush boosted his spirits as it had so many times before. As he felt the blood running through his aching legs, he heard the thick whooshing sound of his front door being opened. Claudeson didn't have to look up to know who was standing at the door, and after a moment, the expected voice broke through the silence.
"So is that your new bed? Are you going to choose to become one with nature?"
The powerful voice could only have one owner: his mother, Ifechukwu Bademosi. A practiced public speaker, her voice boomed out overtop of him, seemingly coming from everywhere. That was, of course, one of the benefits to being a pastor - you tended to have a lot of practice projecting your voice. On this particular evening, her tone was motherly, yet almost mocking of his sprawled-out position on the front lawn. Claudeson couldn't help but smile. His relationship with his mother was a strong one; she was everything he could have wanted in a maternal figure, and he aspired to have her sense of joviality alongside such conviction in one's belief. Glancing back at her, he rolled over and slowly pulled himself to his feet, his actions answering his mother's query.
"That's what I thought. Why don't you come in and get some water in you? You will need it if you're going to sit on a bus all day tomorrow."
Nodding, he grimaced as his legs reminded him of the run, one step up the stairs to the foyer at a time. As always, his mother was correct. The big George Hunter High School trip to Washington was the following day and while he knew his thighs would be aching, any way to mitigate the bad feelings would be welcome.
That always seemed the priority, these days.
Shutting the door behind him, Claudeson slowly followed his mother into the well-lit kitchen area within their house. The Bademosi family was not exceptionally wealthy, though the one area that they had perhaps splurged on was a renovation to their kitchen. Both of Claudeson's parents enjoyed the art of cooking, and it was not uncommon for him to find his mother, swarming the various appliances while singing a hymn or a prayer out loud. The kitchen was a joyful place, decorated and cheerful, while still being meticulously cleaned with almost any implement one could think of. Dragging himself over to one of the stools that sat beside the island in the centre of the kitchen, Claudeson allowed himself to slump down, taking the strain off his legs. A glass of water seemingly materialized on the counter in front of him, his mother having expected his arrival and prepared accordingly. That was very on-brand for her; Ifechukwu was meticulous in both her personal and professional lives and she was rarely surprised by much of anything. Claudeson held his mother in high esteem, she was a role model for him in virtually every way and he often found himself seeking her council and her wisdom. It wasn't as though his father didn't offer his own pearls of wisdom, but when Ifechukwu spoke, people listened. Her natural charisma gravitated people towards her and Claudeson was no exception. Having allowed himself a few moments to catch his breath, he grasped the cool glass and wasted little time downing the liquid within, feeling the cool salvation as it gradually made its way down his throat.
"So now that you have gone and tired yourself out, are you prepared?"
Claudeson blinked questioningly at his mother. "W-what?" What trial or tribulation was he supposed to be preparing himself for? The question seemed fairly formal and his hesitation only brought a smile out of her.
"For the trip, son. Have you made sure to pack a swimsuit and a sturdy pair of shoes for all of the walking about?"
Oh. His expression relaxed, and he allowed himself a smile. Sometimes he forgot that his mother was simply that: just a mom. She wasn't always required to be the powerful head of their church, speaking at the behest of the Lord and guiding the congregation. On rare moments, she could just simply be mom.
Those were his favourite moments.
"Yes, I'm all ready to go. Except for the shoes," he gestured to the front door, "there is nothing left to pack."
Ifechukwu leaned forward a little bit, opening her posture up and dropping the last of her matronly pretense. It was a way that Claudeson only saw his mother rarely, but it almost made her seem younger than her years - more of a peer than a mother.
"I'm a little envious, you know." Her smile was infectious. "When I was a young girl, we were unable to go on trips like this. To go off and see the sights one last time before you move on to make your way in the world," she straightened up and collected the glass from the table. "I am glad you have the opportunity."
Smiling at his mother, Claudeson knew that her upbringing had been rather different than his. Being a first-generation American himself, both of his parents had immigrated here in search of a better life for themselves and their progeny and an equal opportunity for his parents to establish and serve the Christian church. They had succeeded on both counts, and he knew that he was incredibly fortunate.
"Me too."
So much bubbled beneath the surface at that very moment, as he looked at his mother. There were so many things he felt like saying, but those things all felt as though they came from a different voice, a different mind. So many of them were hurtful, they were sour, and their origin was impossible to understand. He said none of them out loud, and he hated himself for thinking them in the first place.
"I should go and shower off now."
Ifechukwu nodded and moved to go and wash the glass in the sink. Slowly, Claudeson rose from the chair, his legs still aching, the smile having dropped away in exchange for a frown. Gaze aimed firmly inward, Claudeson started to make his way out of the kitchen, before his mother left him with one final instruction.
"Be sure to have a word with Him before you go to bed. His grace will guide you, through the bad times," she winked at him, "and the good. Good night, Claudeson."
He barely managed a nod before he made his way out of the kitchen.