Chapter 9 — The Finish Line of Years Gone By

Ten days after the accident, the doctor at the provincial hospital announced the not-so-good news: Mr. Danh needed to be transferred to an orthopedic facility with more modern rehabilitation equipment if he wanted to have the best chance of regaining the ability to walk almost normally. The provincial hospital, despite its best efforts, is still not qualified for this long-term recovery treatment period.

"In Hòa Điền town, there is a pretty good orthopedic hospital. I know a few colleagues who work there." The treating doctor spoke to the family, giving them a referral form. "In addition, the cost of living there is also lower than in big cities, making it more suitable for a long treatment period."

After hearing this, Mrs. Nhu turned to discuss it with her husband that night. Mr. Danh, although still weak, was still resolute in his decision.

"Do you remember Tu, my cousin, who is a manager at a small mechanical factory in Hòa Điền?" He spoke, his voice hoarse but clear. "I called to ask, they said they could arrange for me a job as a security guard or warehouse manager after I recovered. The job would be lighter and suitable for my future health. Going to Hòa Điền will not only cure my illness but also have support, rather than staying here not knowing where to turn."

"But there's Son, he's in the middle of his eleventh grade year, there's the track and field team, there's also the province's selection of young athletes," Mrs. Nhu said, her voice full of worry.

"I know." Mr. Danh sighed and looked up at the hospital ceiling. "But think about it, if I lie here, who will you and Son take care of? We don't have enough money for the whole family to stay in this province and wait, and we don't have any relatives to rely on. Going to Hòa Điền, at least we have something to hold on to."

The discussion lasted until late at night, and finally, the decision was made: the whole family would move to Hòa Điền as soon as Mr. Danh was strong enough to move, expected within the next five days. The small house in Bến Cá hamlet will be temporarily cared for by a distant relative. There is not much property to worry about cleaning up.

Son heard the news and stood silently in the corner of the hospital hallway, feeling like the whole world was collapsing for the second time in less than two weeks. He thought about the team, about teacher Khuong, about the text message to schedule a physical test with Uncle Lam next month, and most of all, he thought about Khue.

***

He arranged to meet Khue in the afternoon before the family left, at the familiar almond tree in front of the school gate - where he had confessed his love to her less than three months ago, when everything was still full of hope.

"Is your family really going to move?" Khue asked, her voice trembling, her eyes red before she could finish her sentence.

"Yes, tomorrow," Son replied, trying to keep his voice calm even though his heart was broken. "My father needs treatment there, and there are relatives to help him find a new job."

"What about the team? What about the province's physical fitness test? Did you give it all up?" Khue asked, her voice choked up, unable to hide her helplessness.

"I have no other choice," Son said, holding her shoulders, trying to look straight into her eyes even though he was also trying to hold back his tears. "My family needs me now more than anything else. I can't leave my mother alone to deal with my father in that situation, nor can I leave my family alone without support." Khue nodded, even though tears were rolling down her cheeks, she still tried to show understanding. "I know. I don't blame you, it's just... everything happened so fast, I didn't have time to mentally prepare anything."

"Me too," Son said, his voice cracking. "But we will keep in touch. Hòa Điền is not too far, only about four hours by car. When my father is more stable, I will find a way to come back to visit you, or you can go up there to visit me."

"Is your phone number still available?" Khue asked, trying to grasp something certain in the midst of this chaos.

"I'll try to keep this number," Son replied, even though he was a little uneasy in his heart - he knew his family's situation well, the prepaid sim card was still shared with his mother, and with a family about to move to a completely strange place to start over, nothing was certain, not even a phone number.

Khue took off the fragile silver necklace she was still wearing - a sixteenth birthday gift from her mother - and gave it to him. "You keep this as a promise. When we have a chance to meet again, I will ask for it back."

Son shook his head and gently pushed her hand back. "You won't receive such a valuable item. What if you lose it? But you have this." He took out a red cloth ribbon from his pocket, which had faded a bit after carrying it with him many times as a talisman during competitions. "You keep this for me. When I come back, or when I break a record in a new place, I will find a way to notify you, and you can bring it out so we can celebrate like last time."

Khue took the ribbon and hugged it tightly to her chest, tears falling continuously. "I'll keep it close. But you have to promise me, no matter what happens, you won't give up running. That's your dream, you can't let circumstances extinguish it."

"I promise," Son said, his voice was firm even though tears were rolling down his eyes. "No matter where I am, I will keep running."

The two hugged each other under the almond tree, not being able to say another word, only choking sobs and the sound of almond leaves rustling in the afternoon wind, like a sad farewell song for a budding, pure student love that had to face its first big challenge.

***

The next morning, at the small bus station of the district, Son's family and a few bags of belongings stood waiting for the bus to Hòa Điền. Mr. Danh sat in a wheelchair temporarily borrowed from the hospital, his face was pale but his eyes still tried to remain calm so as not to make his wife and children more worried.

Teacher Khuong, Huan and Ky were all present to see him off, each bringing a small gift - teacher Khuong gave him a pair of relatively new running shoes, saying they were left unused by a former student, but Son knew that was just an excuse so he could give him a gift without making him embarrassed.

"Going to a new place, if the school has a track and field team, remember to ask to join." Teacher Khuong advised in a choked voice that was rare for a teacher who was always serious. "You have talent, don't let it fade away just because of circumstances."

"I will remember your words," Son replied, bowing deeply to express his gratitude to the person who had guided him for the past two years.

Khue was not at the bus station — she had cried her eyes out the previous afternoon, and they both implicitly understood that a public breakup in a crowded bus station would only make things more painful. But just as the bus started rolling, Son looked through the window and saw from afar, at the end of the road leading to the bus station, a familiar bicycle parked on the sidelines, and Khue was standing there, holding up a red ribbon, waving in the morning wind.

She didn't run closer, perhaps because she was afraid that if she got closer, she wouldn't be able to help but rush into the car and want to follow. She just stood there, far away, the red ribbon fluttering in the wind like a small flag, until the bus completely disappeared behind the curve, and that girl's silhouette became the last memory Son brought with him from the land he grew up in, loved, and now had to leave without knowing when he would be able to return.

The passenger car swayed on the bumpy highway. Son sat next to the window, his head leaning against the cold glass, watching the familiar scene recede behind him: the rice fields where he still jogged past every morning, the Bến Cá slope where everything began, and in the distance, the roof of Vọng Hải school disappearing behind the trees. His mother sat in the next row, holding her husband's hand tightly as he fell asleep from fatigue and painkillers, occasionally wiping her tears so her son would not see.

Son took out a small photo of the whole team from his shirt pocket after the provincial tournament - a photo he asked teacher Khuong to print another copy of before leaving. In the photo, he stood in the middle, a red ribbon around his neck, Khue stood next to him smiling brightly, Huan and Ky stood on both sides, the whole team surrounded them with happy faces, unaware of what was about to happen just a few weeks later. He looked at the photo for a long time, trying to engrave every single detail into his memory, as if afraid that over time, everything would gradually fade away.

"Don't be so sad," Mrs. Nhu spoke softly, noticing her son's distant eyes. "I know you have to sacrifice many things for your family. I'm sorry for pulling you away from everything you were building."

"Mom, don't say that." Son grabbed his mother's hand, his voice resolute. "My family is more important than any tournament. I have no regrets." But even though he said that, when he turned his head to look out the window one last time, seeing the silhouette of his homeland receding behind a layer of dust on the road, Son still couldn't help but feel that a part of his childhood, a part of his dream, and a part of his heart was being left behind, with the red ribbon still in the hands of a girl standing quietly on the side of the road, until the distance between them became hundreds of kilometers that neither of them knew for sure when it would be able to be erased.