The Flower of Scotland

            by Darcey Kurashige-Elliott

 

            Willie sat at the edge of the track, dazed, as he watched Olaf Hanevold fly past him. Seconds before, in the greatest race of his life, he had felt his legs fly out from under him, and flew headfirst into the padding surrounding the rink. Willie spotted the electronic scoreboard, and felt a sinking feeling inside of his stomach. He would lose to his greatest rival. What’s more, he would lose to Olaf Hanevold in the finals of the Speedskating World Championships.

            You could ask anyone in the stands on that fateful day, and they would all give the same answer: Willie McEachran wasn’t any ordinary 22 year old speedskater. With his talent and willpower, he had single-handedly built the Scottish speedskating team from the ground up. Willie moved like the wind, darting past his blue and white clad fans as he raced to victory. With his quads of steel and the heart of a lion, Willie had never lost a race in his young career.

            Until now.

            It was painful for Willie to watch Olaf cross the line first. Olaf raised his hands in the air, and gave a ferocious, triumphant yell. Grabbing a Norwegian flag and draping it over his shoulders, he took a victory lap, flashing a smirk at Willie as he passed by. It was just like Olaf, a reckless, self-centered competitor who would do anything for victory.

            Willie dropped his head in his hands, sweat dripping down his face and tears welling up in his eyes. He glanced at his feet, and his eyes widened in surprise. Bent from his crash, the blade of his right skate had almost completely torn off. Willie reached down and untied his skate, taking care to not further damage anything else, hobbled over to the gate, and walked back to the locker room. Walking barefoot across the cold concrete floor, he passed by Olaf’s open locker, filled with a pair of shoes, colorful unisuits, a pair of pliers and a wallet. Willie craved the hot water of a long shower– he wanted nothing else than to wash his disgust away.

            Hours later, after a lot of reflection, Willie emerged for the medal ceremony. The silver medal platform hadn’t even been so much as a thought for Willie before the World Championships, but he stood rigidly as he saw the Norwegian flag being raised in the middle, followed by the Scottish and the Dutch flags. As Olaf’s national anthem played, Willie thought of the words he would – he should – have been singing.

            Oh, Flower of Scotland
            When will we see
            Your like again…

            The recorded music blared loudly out of the speakers surrounding the stands, as Olaf sang it aloud in a cracking, monotonous voice. As the music ended, Olaf turned to face Willie.

            “That’s too bad about your fall, hmm?”

            Willie stiffened. “Yes, yes it was.”

            “Yeah, well, I think the best man won today,” Olaf replied in a typical Norwegian discretion, and walked off of the podium, the Norwegian flag dragging behind him. “Oh,” he suddenly added, turning back around. “It felt like you were missing something today. Maybe a good pair of skates?” Olaf’s laughter resonated throughout the stadium as he continued on his way.

            Willie trudged off of the stage and walked around the middle of the track. He still couldn’t believe his misfortune. Suddenly, a gleam caught his eye from across the rink. At first, Willie thought that it was just the ice. But as he came closer, he noticed a tiny piece of metal against the wall - a nut. As Willie picked it up, he started to feel suspicious. The edges were worn down by something – a wrench? Pliers? And when Willie realized that he was at the spot where he crashed, he knew. Somebody had sabotaged his chances for gold.

            Sticking the nut in his pocket, he walked back through the gate, where his mother and father were waiting for him. Although his mother had always been supportive of him, his father was a different story. Alastair McEachran had been a great soccer player until a horrible accident cut short his playing career. He frequently told Willie that he “should’ve played a real man’s sport instead of a sissy game. If you’d played football, you could’ve been a star”.

             His mother ran up to him and gave him a hug. “Oh, sweetie, it’s ok…”

            “I can’t believe it. I let everybody down.”

            “You sure did,” cut in his father. “I always knew that you’d lose someday. And just like my son to lose on the biggest stage-“

            “Alastair!”

            “Ach, I’m only saying that if he’d played football, he’d have-“

            “Father, please! I’m right here!”

            “Oh, sweetie, let’s go. You need to rest.”

            “You guys go ahead, I need some time to myself.”

            Willie’s mother sadly smiled and walked off, his father slowly limping behind her. He watched them walk away, twiddling the nut in his pocket. Willie knew that the loss wasn’t just about his legacy. Everything he did was for his beloved home of Scotland: the rolling hills, the friendly people, the delicious food. Countrymen had bonded together over watching the young speedskater crush his opponents, skating in a blue-and-white blur. Who knew what was going to happen because of his loss? Would the people of Scotland ever forgive him?

            Slouching, Willie trudged towards the exit. He saw the hoards of reporters questioning Olaf about his win.

            “What does it feel like to beat your greatest rival?”
            “How will the people in Norway react to this news?”

            “How did you prepare for the great Willie McEachran?”

            Willie paused, wanting to hear Olaf’s answer.

            “Well, I knew that I was strong…But Willie had a, how should I say it, a handicap. At the beginning of the race, I knew that I would win because I had a great advantage.”

            Willie exhaled, and quickly darted past the reporters so he wouldn’t have to answer any questions, and exited through the heavy glass doors. He knew that he would have to speak in front of the press, but he wasn’t ready yet. Not after his devastating loss. Willie called a cab and directed the cabbie to his hotel room. All he wanted to do was sleep. To disappear from his nightmare.

 

            The room was dark, and a staleness resonated throughout. Willie sat on the king-size comforter, channel-surfing the tiny television on the particleboard dresser. Various snacks were strategically placed around him, and he nonchalantly reached for the Cheez-Its while deciding on VH-1. Willie hadn’t left the room since the loss, much less showered. His day old beard made him look less like a young talent and more like a bitter man.

            A knock on the door startled Willie, and after some thought he hopped off of the bed and opened the door. His mother walked in with a worried look on her face.

            “Sweetie, it’s been a while. Why don’t you come outside for a while? I’ll take you to lunch or something.”

            “No, Mother, I’m not in the mood.”

            His mother paused, with a sad look on her face. “Look, honey, no one’s mad at you. We all know you tried your best, and that’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

            “I know that someone tampered with my skate.” It came out loud and forcefully. Willie was surprised that he had even brought it up.

            “Wha-what?” His mother was shocked, perhaps even more than he. “Why-why would anybody do that? To you?”

            “Ma, I don’t know. I just know that I can’t go back to Scotland yet. Staying in this hotel will be enough for me. The U.S. isn’t so bad.”

            His mother rubbed his back. “Well, look, if you’d like to talk or anything, I’ll give you the key to our room. Stop by if you feel like it. But, son, you can’t run away from your problems. Staying in a hotel room for the rest of your life isn’t going to solve anything.”

            She gave him a hug and walked out, softly closing the door behind her. Willie knew that his mother was one of the greatest people in the world – she was caring, intelligent, and always found time to make someone else’s day. He had no idea how she managed to marry his father, who was almost the complete opposite. His father was a gambler, and a high risk gambler at that. Often, he came home with a smile on his face and a wad in his pocket; more often, he would come home drunk, cursing, and broke. Willie always wondered if his father would have his addiction had he became a world-famous soccer player – but his mother told him not to worry about it. “There’s only so much that you can control in this life,” she would say, “and you’ve got to learn how to live with the imperfections.”

             I’ve been blessed in my life, thought Willie. I won’t live the rest of my life this way. I’ve got to show everybody that I can still be the person I’ve always been. He sighed. I can’t blame my fall on anybody. I’ve got to take the blame. After a minute, Willie hopped out of his bed and turned the television off. He had a lot to do.

 

            Willie carefully locked his door behind him, carrying his duffel bag over his shoulder and a piece of paper in his hand, and started to search for his parents’ room. Slipping the card inside of the lock, he quietly opened the wooden door.

            “Hello? Ma? Anybody here?”

            He turned on the light and started to search around for his parents.

            “I’m ready to go. I wrote a speech for the media. Hello?”

            He turned on the bathroom light to find it empty. Turning around, he saw a note on a dresser.

            Willie – In case you’ve stopped by, we went out to lunch. Be back soon! –Ma

            He grinned slightly and put the note in his pocket. Suddenly, he frowned, noticing something unusual on the ground. A stack of papers, folded neatly and lying on the carpet, the translucent yellow draft paper revealing words written on the other side.

Willie picked up the papers and unfolded them, curious. It was a series of letters and bank transaction papers.

            To whom it may concern:

            I, Alastair McEachran, have enclosed a check for 5000 euros, for placement into my savings account. The account number is XXXX-XXX-XXXX.

            Regards,

            Alastair McEachran

            Willie wondered where he would have gotten 5000 euros. He opened another, wondering where this could all lead to.

            A,

            Have you done it? I need to know, I need to place my wager soon.

            -G.

            Willie began to get nervous. He sank to his knees, dreading what might next. And then he saw the third letter.

            A,

            I can’t believe it! You are a savior! The easiest 10k I ever mad in my entire life. We’ll split it, half and half – after all, you did you part. And the best part is, he’ll never find out. He’ll never suspect you. The Flower of Scotland has wilted. He’ll never know.

            -G.

            Willie looked up to see his father standing above him, leaning on his good leg and staring fiercely at Willie.

            “You were never going to become a footballer, were you?” said Alastair, with a hint of contempt in his voice. “You were going to ice skate in your little prissy unitard, and my son turned into a little fairy.”

            Willie’s fists clenched. He hardly knew how to react.

            “I didn’t…I didn’t want…”

            “What are you trying to say? You trying to defend yourself? Because you can’t.”

            Willie took a deep breath. “I didn’t play football,” he took another breath, “because I didn’t want to end up like YOU! Ever since your accident, you’re been a bitter, despicable man! You only care about yourself! You’ve been a horrible husband, and an even more horrible father! I HATE YOU!”

            Alastair turned and walked outside. “I had to make sure that you would never do this again. And you won’t. And you know it.” And then he was gone.

            Tears welled up in Willie’s eyes and he hurled the letter to the ground. How could he do this to me? How could he betray me? He tore the letters up and threw them in the trash, the yellow confetti standing for anything but joy. Willie sat down at the desk and uncrumpled the paper he had in his hand. He began to cross out lines. And he began to write down new ones. He wouldn’t be known as Willie McEachran, the speedskater who fell in the biggest race of his life. He would be known as Willie McEachran, the speedskater whose father destroyed his career.