Finish Line

Jack Cannon

2/5/2026

When I was young, I had a friend named Harvey who lived next door. We were the same age, going to the same school, and had the same favorite color, and in first grade, that makes you best friends. We would do everything together, from the walk to school, playtime on the playground, and we even walk home together. If one of us had something to do, we would always do it together. Harvey and I never got into too much trouble; we both had pretty strict parents growing up. My parents were more of the time-out and take away my playtime parents. Harvey never talked much about what happened to him if we stayed out too late or got into trouble at school, but now and then, I can hear his parents' voice through the walls of our homes. So we both tried to have good, clean, fun whenever the sun was out; playing in our backyards, digging with our plastic shovels until the dirt became clay.

We would venture down our street to the local baseball field, and we would race each other to see who was quicker. It was always back and forth until about the 5th grade. I had hit my growth spurt before him, and my legs grew first, so my stride felt like they doubled his. I held the title of the fastest friend for about 3 years. That never stopped Harvey from trying to beat me, though, I swear, I have NEVER seen somebody try so hard at anything in my whole life. Our races would always end with both of us out of breath, and Harvey would often collapse right at the finish line, his face red as a beet. He always thought that if he held his breath, it would help him run faster. Our interests were ever-changing as we got older, bouncing between sports and video games, outdoor hobbies of exploration and hiking, as well as activities that involved sneaking out past midnight, attempting to start a secret club that would meet in the early hours of the morning, and, now and then, ouiji boards to see if any ghosts lived in our houses. Our parents often let us have it after they eventually found out what we were doing, but they were always fun while they lasted.

Eventually, we got to high school, feeling all grown up now. Harvey had managed to grow a mustache that looked like somebody had drawn it on with a Sharpie and then tried to erase it with middling success. He called it ‘Mina Mustachio Macho’. Taking Spanish 1 revealed that his name for his mustache meant a whole lot of nothing, but I never had the heart to tell him so; I just let him keep calling it as he saw it. It would be a lie to say that Harvey and I made it through high school with no scars on our relationships. Our biggest issue came over a girl we both liked. We fought over Becca Stevenson because we both had crushes on her, and she can't date both of us at the same time. I’d like to think I got a couple of good swings in, holding my own. It’s always hard to tell what’s going on in a fight; you’re typically too busy trying to either hit the other person or not get hit yourself to be concerned with details. But I’ll tell you what, Harvey knew how to hit. He left me with a black eye, some busted braces that my parents weren’t all too thrilled about having to get redone, not to mention the taste of iron I couldn’t get out of my mouth, no matter how many times I rinsed it out in the hallway water fountain. We didn’t talk for months, shooting glares as we passed each other in the hallway to our classes. One day I wrote him a note that just said ‘Friends?’. Not even 24 hours passed, and he was knocking on my door after school that day, asking me to head to the fields that we used to frequent.

The walk was quiet at first. The sound of birds chirping in the trees across the street fills the silence. That and the clanging of chains as garages were closing as the night grew nearer, not to mention the sound of our shoes hitting the concrete of the sidewalk as we approached the field we played in as kids. The silence gave me time to examine my best friend. Part of me still saw the 7-year-old version of him somewhere in his now large silhouette. I could see him challenging me to a race, asking to throw a ball around, or just to explore our neighborhood until our little feet hurt, and the streetlight came on, a universal signal that we had stayed out too late. It’s freaky how somebody can grow up and change so much from that version of themselves. Now I look at a 16-year-old man who stands just a little under my height. Harvey was much brawnier than I was, always preferring the contact sports like wrestling and football, versus my sports that required more finesse than his, baseball and track, respectively. The sleeves on his shirt hugged his arms like they alone were a size or two too small for him, despite the rest of the shirt fitting just fine. He had let his hair get longer since we last spoke; it was shiny with grease, or pomade, it was hard to tell in the dimming light. His tan skin was fairly clear, except for the stubborn facial acne popping up around his chin and surrounding his hairline. He was slumped forward and staring at his feet, kicking large rocks in our path and attempting to keep them in his line of motion, and in the inevitable time that he kicks it too hard, he just finds a new rock to start kicking around.

Despite the silence, I felt okay. Like a warm flower had bloomed in my chest, and my shoulders were lighter than they had ever been before. I finally got my best friend back, and even if he wasn’t as happy to see me, I was happy to see him again. He finally looked up from his rock kick endeavors, and his eyes found mine, examining me. I smiled and decided I would be the one to break the silence between us.

“I’m happy to see y-”

He cut me off,

“My parents are sending me away to boarding school.”

I stop dead in my tracks. There’s a moment of silence between us. Spring had finally come, and birds were chirping into the late hours of the day as the sun set over the crest of the nearby field. What? His parents are doing what now? I can’t have heard him right. That’s not right, it can’t be right. My face must have read a certain level of confusion, so he continued,

“They are sending me to McGrath's. They say I have an attitude problem that needs fixing, and our fight was the final straw. So they’re sending me away.”

“I-I wh-, have you tried talking to them?” I managed to get out.

He kicks a rock farther down the path and returns his gaze to his feet,

“Yeah. Yeah, I did. My dad didn’t like my back talk, though, and gave me this as a reminder of what happens in the academy.”

He pulled up his shirt, revealing his abdomen, covered in bruises, all in varying grades of healing, from a fresh red, some a deep purple, some almost green, and others having yellowing muscle peeking through skin. There was more marked skin than unharmed skin. I want to throw up looking at it. That feeling of warm blossoming in my heart was long gone, replaced by the chilling fingers of despair clawing at the object that beat in my chest.

“Harvey I, I’m sorry, dude.”

He shrugged, lowered his shirt, and sat down on the sidewalk we had been treading over. I dragged my feet over, feeling half-alive, and found my spot next to him. I knew he had strict parents, but I never imagined anything like this. He always seemed so… normal… so okay and happy. I pulled my legs closer to my chest, wrapped my arms around them, and threw my head down into the dark space that I had created. Part of me wanted to scream, part of me wanted to cry, and a bigger part of me wanted to go and scream at Harvey’s parents for what they’re doing to him. I began cooking up scenarios in my mind where Harvey gets to keep being friends and seeing each other like we always have. I could take my parents' car and drive it through their front door. That would do something, but I’m not totally sure what the outcome would be. I don’t really care. My wallowing and planning were interrupted by laughing. Laughing? That cannot be right. I peek from out of my fortress of solitude and see Harvey laughing. His eyes are closed, and tears are leaking out of the corners before being caught by his finger in a quick motion to wipe them onto his black shirt. His laugh was quieter than normal and was cut short by a sudden wince of pain and Harvey grasping his stomach through his shirt. Harvey took a sharp intake of air before turning to me. His brown eyes were glistening, reflecting the sunset behind me. I couldn’t tell if he was pulling one on me or what, so I said nothing.

“You know, Nick, you’ve always been like this.” Harvey leans back, putting his hands on the concrete and smiling to himself. “Anytime something doesn’t go your way, you go into your fortress of solitude and hide from the rest of the world until you think of something. Even now, you are still trying to find a way for things to work out, right? Man, you are something else.”

“Well, yeah, Harvey,” I responded, “You’re my best friend. I would do nearly anything to keep you around, man.”

He taps me with his knuckles and offers me a fist bump. I oblige. “You’re my best friend, too. I wish there were a way for us to keep what we have going.”

I perk up. An idea shot into my head and out of my lips before I could even think.

“We could write letters to each other, be pen pals, and still tell each other about our lives. I promise I won’t say anything about how Becca Stevenson and I are the hottest homecoming couple around, though.”

He punches me, easy enough to hurt, but hard enough to get me to cut it out. Message received. “Nah, our friendship won’t be the same through paper in the mail, you know? It feels like the end.”

We sit for a moment in our recurring silence once more. The birds have gone to their homes now; their lack of singing and the lack of noise emanating from nearby homes created a vacuum of silence. I envision a future where I don’t have my best friend anymore. I can’t just go and knock on next door and start some brand new adventure of getting lost in pizza and a movie for a Friday night. I missed out on my bus ride partner on the way home from school. Who would save his seat by the front of the bus so he doens’t get carsick? Who would know that you have to order the pizza gluten-free because regular pizza hurts his stomach? Who would know that scary movies are a no-go without saying, because I get nightmares after watching them? Who would let me play as player 2 in each of the fighting games every time because they know I forget to restart games in between matches? Before I could grieve what I was going to lose, my train of thought was interrupted once again.

“I’m glad we made up before I left,” Harvey said, with a gentle tone, like he had accepted what was coming.” I don’t know if I could live with myself without at least saying goodbye to you, man.”

He was crying now. The only other time I had seen him cry was way back in our racing days. Fuck it. I can’t hold it back anymore.

. Tears rolled down my face too, and I struggled to speak. “I-I-Is th-th-this r-really goodbye for us?”

He pursed his lips together before hiding his face away in the inside of his shirt collar. “Y-Yea dude. I leave tomorrow,” He sniffed and continued, “S-So Th-Th-ank Y-You dude for being my best f-friend.”

With that, there were no more words between us. I reached over and embraced Harvey. He didn’t cry loudly, but gently. His whole body shook over and over again, and he held his hands over his eyes with his shirt still between the two, as if he was worried I could see him crying through his shirt. I couldn’t judge too much; I already stained my face with tears, and I was choking them back so that I didn’t cause too much of a scene either, making noises that could easily be mistaken for hiccups from the effort. We stayed like this for a bit. Together for one last night. For one last sunset. We both separated and sniffed up our tears after we had composed ourselves. The sun was just barely peeking over the crest now, and the streetlights had turned on. Not that it matters now, anyway. The fields were almost dark now; anybody who had been there was long gone, leaving the park blanketed in an odd sense of quiet, devoid of life and empty. It had been a while since we had raced in that park. But I remember it like it happened yesterday. The sweat dripping down my face, Harvey and I would always set a new finish line for every race. We’d always end up fighting for who got to drink from the water fountain first because we would both forget our water bottles, what I wouldn’t do to get that back.

You know what? One last time would’t hurt. I nudge Harvey with my elbow, breaking his gaze from the trees on the opposite side of the street. I threw my thumb over my shoulder, motioning towards the field. “I'll race ya, you down?”

He smiled and pushed his hands onto his knees, rising off the concrete. I was met with an extended hand and gladly accepted. “You’re going down, BUT,” He helped me to my feet and with his other hand he held up one finger extended towards the sky, “Let's make this interesting. If you win, we can be pen pals and write to each other, and maintain what we have, the best we got.”

I nodded. This sounded good to me so far,

“Or,” he continued, “If I win, you and I pack our bags and run away. Take my dad's truck and drive for the horizon and begin some new adventure together, so that we can still be friends. Whaddya say?”

The hand he was pointing with quickly extended as a handshake, waiting for my answer. Well, this is an easy choice; no matter what happens, it’s a win-win scenario for me. I grabbed his hand firmly, and we gave one good shake. We make our way over to the home plate of the baseball diamond in the field.

“What do you say that…” My voice trailed off as I squinted my eyes, trying to peer through the darkness to find a solid point to end our race, “That big rock out past second base is our finish line?”

“Ohhh, baby, you are so going down.” Harvey was bouncing up and down and stretching his neck by rotating his head in a circular motion, doing his normal warmup. “Best of one, don’t just let me beat you now, just because you feel bad for me.”

I gasped, “Who do you take me for? I would never let you win, even now.”

“That was the right answer. You ready?”

I got in my stance, “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

“On the count of three, one…” he takes his stance next to me, “two…”

How I wish time would freeze right now. Never letting go of this moment between him and me, forever engaged and ready to race like we always have. Like we did when we were young. A familiar warm feeling fills my chest, intertwined with the cold child of despair, the two intertwining into a new and unfamiliar feeling of happiness and loss, the feeling of nostalgia filling my brain, but leaving behind the knowing that nothing after this moment will be the same. Not me, not Harvey, not either of our worlds will be the same. Harvey takes a deep breath and holds the air in his cheeks. I take the note and finish the countdown for him.

“THREE!”

We both explode out from behind home plate. The dust of the baseball diamond kicks up behind us as we race. Together in this moment, as kids just having fun. Our feet pounding into the dirt, I’m left hoping, really hoping, that Harvey has gotten faster since we used to race.