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Bart is totally positive he can outrun trains.
Well, okay, right now is probably disproving that, right, but he can run so fast he can walk on water. He's sure trains can't do that. Although that probably has more to do with the weight than the speed. Or density. Like Saturn.
Although you'd need a really huge ocean to float Saturn in. And if a planet had an ocean that big, it couldn't even be a planet anymore, it'd be a star or something, but anyway, like it would matter because Saturn is made out of gas that were all crazy densities and would never actually float in actual water, also, trains are not made of gas and neither is Bart.
And the point is that Bart can run really fast. Faster than trains, definitely. Probably not faster than Saturn.
He pushes harder, but he and the train remain at equal speeds. So maybe he isn't technically, like, in a scientifically proven way, faster than a locomotive, but the best a steam train can go is 126 miles and hour (downhill, on a good day in 1938) and Bart knows, like, definitely and in a scientifically proven way, that he can run way faster than that. Easy.
Faster than a speeding bullet -- anywhere from 900 to 1500 meters per second, that's right.
Bart has a really bad dream sometimes that he just can't put one foot in front of the other to run. He can feel everything building up inside of him, something really awful like burning hot rage and despair, and it's making his feet like lead. He cries and screams and no sound comes out because he's going so slowly it's, like, negative the speed of sound. And it hurts and when he wakes up and remembers he can run, every time it's better than the best moment of his life.
This is like that, only he's not dreaming. And even if he's not outrunning the train, he's still going pretty fast, he can feel the wind whipping water from his eyes and his nostrils are full of cold, crisp Scottish air, making them burn.
But here's this stupid train. Stupid red steam engine. He can feel something holding him back, something tingling all across his shoulders and down into the tips of his fingers and toes.
It would actually feel pretty good if it weren't for the, you know, slowing him down part. Which isn't really much of a turn-on. At all.
He stretches out a hand and runs light fingers over the metal. It feels warm and alive and Bart can't help but want to be closer. Something fast and familiar, something that could give him a run for his money.
Bart laughs wildly as they round a bend, into the setting sun. He wonders how far they'll go, if they'll just keep going until they bash over the edge of the island, out onto the ocean.
One last burst of speed before he knows he'll have to get back (Jay is barbecuing, and Bart would hate to miss the rare steak night at the Garrick household) and he pulls up three windows.
There's the boy on the other side of the glass. He has messy black hair and what Kon calls emo glasses and he's laughing, turning his head just as Bart lets his speed slip away.
For one second, finally -- long enough for Bart to memorize his face, weird scar on his forehead and thick fingers pressing against the glass -- their eyes meet.
Bart grins. The boy grins back.
And then he's gone, the engine's whistle blowing merrily, the train sliding by.
Bart leans his hands on his knees and grins so hard his face hurts.
He definitely gained ground this year.
And there's always next September first.
*