I grasp the 3.37 inch by 2.13 inch rectangle of hard plastic between my clenched fingers as the stench of gasoline penetrates my nose. I move through the doorway and slowly tread towards the futuristic-looking machine covering the back wall of the expansive, well-organized store. The machine churns 8 cold, refreshing, and delicious concoctions that represent all colors of the rainbow. As the liquid oozes into my 42 ounce white styrofoam cup, I once again take note of the well-worn and scratched object I am holding in my hand. A pale blue background contrasts with a golden yellow star adorning the front, while the rear side is chock full of fine print, a useless hodgepodge of senseless words littering the surface. This ugly card, I think, is powerful enough to allow me to pour the ice-cold serum into my parched and desert-like mouth for no cost at all. As the liquid diffuses throughout my body, re-energizing it from the inside out, a broad smile appears upon my face.

“Way to hang in there for those 14 miles,” stated Coach Pearl matter-of-factly, “Let’s go home.” I shot quick glances at some of my other teammates and recognized the look in their eyes. Without uttering a single word, we knew where we were stopping along the way. I turned the key on my vehicle and shifted it into reverse, carefully backing out onto the busy road. My hands methodically turned the wheel left, then right, then left again. The tires on my van felt a particular sense of belonging on this pavement; they had felt these bumps and grooves in the concrete before. My windows were rolled down, and the heat of the day was masked by the rush of wind that created ripples in my baggy and loose-fitting shirt. Huge, scraggly weeds spurted through a plethora of cracks on the unused sidewalks on my left, and the sparkling car dealership up ahead stood in stark contrast to the once-glorious homes that lay in shambles on my right. I was comforted by the presence of the passengers in my van, and their silence not only indicated the extreme state of fatigue they were fighting with, but the feeling of eagerness that was rising inside as our destination approached. The traffic roared by, a total of four lanes of madness, as my old, rusty van slowed to make the turn I had made a thousand times before. It sputtered as I turned it into the parking lot and squeezed it in between a pickup truck held together by duct tape and a bright orange Camaro. The blacktop was faded, stained, and fractured around my vehicle, and a pool of rainbow colored liquid oozed into the small divot in the blacktop that was now occupied by my front tire. A trail of smashed cigarettes pointed towards the doorway as a decrepit old woman struggled to pull the heavy door open. A plastic Kroger bag was hung up on the propane tanks, and I noticed a wrapper from Taco Bell crumpled inside the stack of milk crates on the far outside wall. These things were just some of the pieces of abandoned refuse that littered the unkempt grounds. Across the parking lot, a man erupted into a cussing fit at the exotic and futuristic looking machine that pumped his fuel as a mother with two children struggled to protect their fragile and innocent ears from the outburst.

Two other vehicles, dated no newer than 2005, pulled into the remaining parking spots. A herd of teenage boys piled out of each of them, grasping their phones and wallets in their mud-encrusted hands; my team had arrived. The rowdy bunch chattered and guffawed loudly amongst themselves as they processed, single-file, towards the door. An appearance of energy in their voices was deceiving; in actuality, their bodies craved for the sustenance that had eluded them since they first joined the Medford High School Cross Country Team. Many of them limped or stumbled on their trek to the door, and the bags under their eyes could hold a watermelon. Each of them wore wrinkled and sweat-stained shirts with shorts that barely reached past mid-thigh. The collective smell of the group caused me to gag (although the smell emitting from my body wasn’t much better), and I noticed the regular citizens avoiding the fallout zone that had formed.

I enter the store, savoring the icy-cold slushie that awaits me. The 3.37 inch by 2.13 inch rectangle of hard plastic that occupies my wallet, my Speedy Rewards Card, serves as a symbol of not only the nourishment that seeps through my body free of charge, but also the joy of being part of an encouraging and supportive team. Just like the many cars on the road, the Cross Country team also stops to refuel. Although the crude piles of discolored milk crates on the west side of the store may seem like an eyesore to some, we see them as perfect places to perch and rest our fatigued legs. The shabby and yellowed ice freezer seems incongruous in the front of the market to some, but it makes a perfect place to mount our newly acquired treasures while we slurp our elixirs together. The world bustles by and misses the simple beauty of seeing all types of citizens, each at a different stage in their respective lives, together in one place. We see Frank O’Groll, the genius AP Biology teacher, alongside Pam, a minimum wage employee who hopes to build a decent life for her family. This assorted selection of individuals is varied further by the presence of us: the stale, sick, scraggly, and slouched members of the Bedford High School Cross Country team. Despite the obvious differences between us, every person in this moment shares the same desire: to make it through the remainder of the day unscathed. A pleasant and cordial mood is created because of this shared goal, and in spite of the rubbish that litters the parking lot, the overall scene is both aesthetically and emotionally pleasing.

As I slip my card back into my empty wallet, I am gratified by the reinvigorating taste of the blue-raspberry deliciousness. Even the infinite contentment I feel from the free slushie is outweighed by a greater sense of gladness for the people that surround me. Together, we are like a herd of elephants gathering around the watering hole to be nourished together. My Rewards Card creates a sense of belonging, a sense of brotherhood, and a sense of family that surrounds the team and binds us together. Each individual member carries their card like a badge of honor; it is an exclusive pass into the fraternity created by a shared sense of pain, suffering, and rejuvenation. For the mere 15 minutes that it takes to return our physical and mental fuel tanks to maximum capacity, we are one unit and one tribe fighting to survive the same epic struggle. As I speed away, I remember that the bond created by friendship is the greatest free reward of all.