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Road Runner thought it pertinent that nothing ever changed. As long as his talons scraped a path, Wile E. Coyote would be in crafty pursuit, hungry and determined as ever to catch his feathered meal. As far as Road Runner knew, he couldn’t push Wile E. beyond his limits as long as the canine didn’t have a limit to reach.
Unfortunately, Road Runner discovered he might have overestimated that limit.
The brief exit from his comfort zone to bring Wile E. back from that courthouse should have been a quick detour, then right back to the same old structure.
Eventually, however, it dawned on Road Runner that his friend had come back wrong.
Road Runner first noticed on a particular day wherein Wile E. had plummeted and made a coyote-shaped hole in the ground, as often tended to happen. Road Runner leaned forward to greet him, waiting for his friend to lunge forward so he could speed off in a cloud of dust, only to freeze when their eyes met.
Wile E. Coyote’s face didn’t look the way it was supposed to. Namely, whatever hunger or annoyance should have been there was completely absent. A furious leap never came, but a calm stare, and a furry cheek propped up by a leisurely paw.
If the jarring sight wasn’t unnerving enough, Wile E.’s following reach to grab at the bird was a half-hearted motion that Road Runner could side-step at a slow speed, and it inexplicably made his blood boil. His flash of anger led him to grimace at Wile E., which garnered a small recoil from the coyote.
Mind swimming with discomfort, Road Runner turned his head away and let out one “meep” before running off. His friend did not follow.
Soon after that day, there was a new pattern that Road Runner loathed in which Wile E. wouldn’t chase him at all. Road Runner would find him in his cave and provoke him, but it was hardly any fun to ask for it. Even when it worked, Road Runner could tell his heart wasn’t in it.
He eventually stopped pestering Wile E. altogether.
During an especially contemplative run, since he could do nothing but think these days, Road Runner began to dread that his dear friend Wile E. Coyote might be getting sick of him after all.
The thought scared him.
Hopelessly, he considered that while Wile E. was elsewhere for the court case, he found something (or someone) that satisfied him more than Road Runner could. It made his stomach churn, and more pressingly, it made him stop in his tracks, his feet skidding to a dusty halt (behind a set of railroad tracks no less). Without the will to go anywhere, he sat down beside those tracks, head drooping.
He let out the most somber pair of “meeps” he’d ever beeped. He hardly even noticed the train rushing past his face when it whipped his feathers about, and after the air was still again, he was too forlorn to notice a familiar pair of fluffy feet step right in front of him.
A tap on his shoulder had Road Runner jerking his head up with a startled “meep”! Looming in front of him was Wile E., with a sheepish smile and a sign behind his back. He waved weakly in greeting and slowly lifted the sign with one hand. It read, “Are you mad at me?” His forced smile faltered.
Road Runner hopped to his feet with a furrowed brow, leaning forward and beeping in protest. He pulled a sign of his own from behind and held it up in one wing. “Not at you, I think.” He flipped the sign so it said, “You’ve just been acting weird.”
There was a beat of silence. Wile E. crossed his arms and tensed his shoulders, averting his eyes for a moment.
Road Runner’s eyes fell downward to his own feet. He switched wings to produce a sign with his other wing that said, “I thought you were getting bored of me.” He glanced back up at Wile E., who had drooped a bit upon reading the sign.
Wile E. uncrossed his arms to grab thoughtfully at his snout, then rubbed the back of his neck with the same hand, avoiding eye contact.
Road Runner tilted his head to one side.
With his eyes shut, Wile E. faced Road Runner head on and took a deep breath, opening his eyes and leaning forward on the exhale. Visibly flustered, he procured another sign that said, “I cannot pursue you any longer.”
Before Road Runner could protest or question, Wile E. flipped the sign once more. “Because I would much rather court you than eat you.” There were several words crossed out behind “court”.
Road Runner’s brows shot up, and his beak tightened together.
Then Wile E. backed away to furiously produce other signage that said things like “not that I’m asking you out” or “just being friends is fine” and other such ramblings.
Road Runner smiled fondly as the coyote continued scribbling new messages to carry on his nervous ranting.
There was a clattering sound as each sign landed onto the tracks simultaneously. Wile E. had dropped everything the second Road Runner leaned in, grinning, their noses touching. Wile E. was tense and unmoving.
For a moment, both of them stared into each other’s eyes, the still silence building greater tension in Road Runner’s gut, before a train slammed Wile E. into the tracks with a clang and a loud train horn.
Although the timing was bothersome, Road Runner couldn’t help his fond, amused grin as his beloved friend was crushed repeatedly by the wheels with audible crunching, sadistic as it was of him.
Once the train had passed, Wile E. wearily propped himself onto his elbows and looked up at Road Runner, who looked back with an even more amused expression than before.
The coyote flushed brightly, then stood up to brush himself off and pressed one hand against his head. Road Runner thought he resembled a sad, wet dog.
Road Runner brought a wing to his beak to stifle a laugh that never came, as he realized Wile E.’s spirit looked nearly as broken as his bones. Road Runner frowned and lowered his wing. He drew his friend’s attention with a “meep meep” and smiled again. He delicately raised one more sign that said, “I’m interested.”
Wile E. looked slightly puzzled, then Road Runner switched to a new sign that said, “I’d love to ‘court’ you.”
Wile E. perked up, eyes wide, wringing his hands anxiously.
Road Runner’s beak curved into a bigger smile. He closed in on Wile E. so they were nose to nose again and closed his eyes.
The coyote, still somewhat tense, shut his eyes tightly... After a brief moment of silence, his eyes flew open again at the sound of familiar beeps somewhere behind him.
Befuddled, Wile E. spun around to find Road Runner presenting a sign with the words, “If you can catch me,” before taking off with a hearty “meep meep”!
…Ultimately, Wile E. Coyote and Road Runner could feel every affection or loathing under the sun for the other, but the two of them, rather warmly, thought it pertinent that nothing ever changed.
Not really, anyhow.