“Light Captured” first appeared in The Petigru Review
Copyright © 2017 Bob Strother
Joss Richards studied his younger brother, Leslie, who sat opposite him at the breakfast table, vacant-eyed and slumped over a bowl of rapidly cooling Cream of Wheat. The kitchen smelled faintly of last night’s dinner: liver and onions. On the wall over the refrigerator, a yellow cat-clock ticked, its pendulum tail whisking away seconds and minutes. It was another cold December morning in 1959. Joss’s parents, both third-shift workers at the Dixie Yarns plant, snored in their bedroom as the boys breakfasted before leaving for work and school.
Joss turned on the small Zenith radio next to the sink, keeping the volume low. Clyde McPhatter’s voice floated through the room, crooning his latest hit, “A Lover’s Question,” and Joss hummed along as he rinsed his bowl and coffee cup. Finished, he turned back to his brother.
As always, facing the prospect of another day at Eastside High, Leslie wore his usual forlorn look. This morning, the younger boy’s despair evidenced itself more than normal. Worry lines etched Leslie’s shiny brow, and his already thin lips suggested a wound more than a mouth.
Joss winced just looking at him. No ninth-grader should ever have to wear such a pained expression. He snapped his fingers in front of Leslie’s face. “Earth to Leslie; what’s up, kiddo?”
Leslie looked up, blinked twice. “It’s rope day.”
Joss nodded. Enough said. Having graduated the previous year, he knew all too well. All Eastside students had to take gym class. No exceptions. Except for those visibly impaired, which pretty much meant you either came to school in a wheelchair or you took gym.
Leslie wasn’t impaired, just under-muscled and overweight.
“I’m fat and slow,” he said. “I’ve spent the last four months running back and forth across the gym basketball court and praying I’d never have to actually touch the ball. I’ve been lucky so far. The other kids barely know I’m there.”
Rope day presented a very different kind of challenge. Once a month, the gym teacher, Mr. Howell, dragged out the knotted, rough rope and secured one end to the gym’s ceiling trusses. Each kid—girls excepted, everyone knew they had no upper body strength—struggled up the rope to the topmost knot some twenty-five feet above the polished hardwoods.
According to Leslie, he had tried on three prior occasions. Each time, he failed to make it more than a few feet. It always ended with Leslie collapsed in a trembling, sweaty heap on the floor, red-faced and short of breath. Even with the blood rushing through his head, he still heard the snickers of the other kids.
Joss stood behind Leslie and massaged his shoulders. “It’s only one day. By this time tomorrow, it’ll all be over with.”
“Not the laughing. Nobody talks to me. But they all laugh at me. It never stops.”
Joss worked split-shift in the mailroom of Interstate Life Insurance, nine to two. He had a three-hour break before returning to finish out his shift from five to eight. Leslie’s gym class was last period. He could easily be there for the class and then back at work before five.
“Tell you what, kiddo. How about I come to your gym class? I’ll cheer you on, and no matter what happens, I’ll make sure nobody laughs.” He pounded his fist into the palm of his other hand for emphasis.
A smile almost made it through Leslie’s gloomy visage. He looked up at Joss with big, moist, grateful eyes. “You’d really do that?”
“Count on it,” Joss said as he grabbed his coat and headed for the door.
～
Shortly after two o’clock, Joss pushed through the door of the Corner Pocket. For the past several months, he had spent his mid-day break at the run-down bar and pool parlor a few blocks from work. Their lunch fare was mediocre but cheap, and pool was only a dime a game. Not that Joss cared much for pool. His game was as mediocre as the food. He played for one reason—Myra.
Myra was only a couple of years older than Joss, but had the confidence and poise of one much more experienced in the ways of the world. The first time he saw her, she was bent over one of the pool tables, lining up her shot. Her honey-blond hair hung down, framing her face in shadow. She wore a black t-shirt, a fringed leather vest that caressed the table’s green felt surface, and skin-tight jeans that stopped just shy of her ankles. The gold-shaded lamp over the table bathed her body in light. Even the fine hairs on her arms glowed.
As he watched, she cocked her elbow, followed through on her stroke and sank the seven and four balls in the side and corner pockets. When she rose from the table, she lit a cigarette from a pack lying on the table rail and caught Joss’s eye. “Want to play some eight-ball for a quarter a game?”
“I would, but I haven’t played a lot.” Joss thought she looked as good as or maybe even better than September’s Playmate of the Month. He gave her his best smile, the one usually reserved for majorettes and cheerleaders. “Plus, I don’t have a bunch of quarters.”
She sauntered over to him, bounced the end of the cue off the cracked tile floor, and cocked her head to the side. “How about we play for kisses, then? You win and you get a kiss from me. I win, I might kiss you. Then again, I might not.”
“Hell,” Joss said, “I’d be a fool not to.”
The pool hall stayed mostly deserted during the day—people didn’t come for the food. Regular players usually gathered later in the evening, which meant Joss and Myra often had the place to themselves during the afternoons. He hadn’t kept track of how many games they’d played over the weeks and months.
With Myra’s help, he’d improved his game, but not so much that he’d bested her, even once. Not that it mattered to him at all. Almost every day, they’d move away from the light and engage in some serious kissing. Never as much as he liked, but enough to leave them both breathless. It kept him coming back.
Joss would have asked her out, but she made sure he knew she had a boyfriend. Doug worked first shift at the Colonial Bread Company plant and picked her up at the Corner Pocket after he got off. They were going to Nashville, she told him, as soon as her game was good enough to play for real money.
“Did you know Minnesota Fats lives there in one of the hotels?” Myra once asked him.
He’d shaken his head.
“That’s the big time. Maybe someday you can watch me play pool on television.
～
He hadn’t wanted to think about her leaving all those months ago any more than he did today. Joss hung his coat on a wall peg and, smiling, turned toward the lighted table.
Myra sat with one lovely hip resting atop the rail, balls racked and waiting. A couple of cheap, cardboard suitcases sat side by side under the wall-mounted cue holders.
“Big news, Joss. Doug and I are headed for Nashville this afternoon.”
The soft glow of the low-hanging table lamp—the room’s primary source of light—seemed to fade to black. No more Myra. He’d known it would happen sometime, just not so soon. Then she was standing in front of him with a cue stick in her hand. “Best two out of three?”
He took the stick and broke, the impact sounding as loud as a rifle shot, balls clacking, spinning, and ricocheting off the rails, the four-ball finally dropping into the far-left corner pocket. His shot again. He lined up on the two-ball—a long shot, lots of green—then poked at the cue ball and it slewed off to nowhere.
“Sorry,” he said. “I guess my heart isn’t in it now.”
She came around the table, lifted his chin with her forefinger, and kissed him lightly on the mouth. “I’ll miss you. You’re a lot better kisser than Doug, but …” She shrugged, left the thought incomplete, and checked her wristwatch. “Just a couple more games, for old times’ sake. I’ll play you double or nothing.”
The afternoon wore on. Some kissing ensued, although—much to Joss’s disappointment—the double or nothing didn’t meet his wistful expectations. It was after four when he followed Myra to the front door, carrying her suitcases. He hoped for one last kiss, but she took the suitcases from him, used her hip to push open the door, and was gone.
Joss stepped outside in time to see the taillights of Doug’s car disappear into the gathering mid-winter darkness. He’d need to hurry now if he wanted to get back to work on time. Then he paused as the light clicked on in his head.
“Oh shit, shit, shit.” He hurried down the sidewalk. “It’s rope day.”
～
Leslie stood on tiptoe, hoping to see his brother’s face outside the circle of kids gathered around the knotted rope that dangled like some kind of malevolent serpent from the ceiling. Where is Joss? He promised. Leslie had lingered at the back of the crowd for as long as he could, but time was up. The last kid hopped off the rope and held it out to Leslie.
Adding to the pressure, the gym teacher clapped his hands. “C’mon, Richards, you’re next. Let’s get this over with.”
Leslie’s heart drummed in his chest and his palms oozed sweat. He felt moisture building behind his eyes. You promised me, Joss. You promised. His feet moved him forward toward the rope, and he saw his hand reaching out to grab it. You were always the perfect one—the good-looking, athletic one. The son our parents could be proud of. Leslie looked up toward the ceiling—a million miles away. Bile rose, fighting its way up his esophagus. They even gave you a cool name. Not like me. They gave me a girl’s name!
He ground his teeth, willing the tears back as he heard the first of the snickering start.
“Let’s go, Richards,” Howell barked. “We don’t have all afternoon.”
Leslie threw his head back and howled—more a roar than a scream, more from anger than fear—and attacked the rope as if it were a living thing, as if his only goal in life was to annihilate it.
For almost three minutes, Leslie saw nothing except the red glow beyond his squeezed-shut eyelids and felt nothing except the burn in his muscles and the scratchy, twisted hemp inside his fisted hands.
When he finally opened his eyes, the first things he saw were the tops of the green-shaded, wire-protected gym lights. He had climbed above the lights. He looked up at the rope. No more knots. His sneakered feet pressed together on top of the last knot in the rope, the knot they only had to touch before climbing down. He’d climbed higher than anyone else. He dared to look down, where a couple dozen round, upturned faces reflected the harsh glow of the lights. His peers stood quiet, mouths agape, waiting, Leslie guessed, for whatever came next.
As the adrenalin rush wore off, a disquieting thought gnawed away in Leslie’s brain. If I fall from this height, I’ll splat apart like a ripe watermelon.
～
Joss’s breath came hard as he rounded the corner and raced down the sidewalk to the entrance doors closest to the school gymnasium. Way too late, he knew, but maybe he could still catch Leslie in the locker room and apologize. He pushed open the outer door and breathed a sigh of relief when he saw the glow from the gym lights bleeding out into the otherwise darkened hallway. Maybe I can still make it.
That notion faded when he saw—through a window in the door—Coach Howell alone in the middle of the gym floor, arms folded across his chest, staring at the ceiling. No kids anywhere. Joss pushed through the door and only then realized what held the coach’s attention: Leslie, clinging to the rope like a lifeline, suspended thirty feet in the air.
Oh God, is this my fault?
“Leslie,” Joss called.
Leslie’s quavering voice echoed from the rafters. “Is that you, Joss?”
Howell turned at Joss’s voice and held his arms up in a helpless gesture. “The kid’s been up there almost half an hour. I don’t know how the hell he’s hanging on.” The coach scratched his head. “I’m about ready to call the fire department.”
Joss studied his brother. He wondered which of them was more frightened. “Are you okay up there, Leslie?” The kid’s eyes were closed, and his whole body trembled from the strain of hanging onto the rope.
“I can’t come down, Joss. I’m too high up. Every time I open my eyes, I’m afraid I’ll fall.”
Joss thought for a moment then said, “Leslie, do you trust me?”
“You said you’d be here today.” His voice shook. “You promised.”
“I know I did, kiddo. And I’m really, really sorry I didn’t keep that promise. But I will keep this one. I’m going to make sure you get down from that rope. Okay? You believe me?”
Leslie said nothing for a few seconds, then, “Okay. Can you hurry, though? I’m getting awfully tired.”
Joss turned to the coach. “When I tell you to, I want you to kill the lights.”
“Are you sure? It’ll be pitch-black in here.”
Joss nodded. “That’s what I’m counting on.”
As Howell walked to the lighting control panel, Joss spoke to Leslie again. “Here’s what I want you to do. In a minute, I’m going to cut off all the lights. You can open your eyes, but you won’t be able to see anything at all. Not even how high up you are. Then I want you to back slowly down the rope. Go by feel. Just find the knots with your feet. Let the rope move through your hands.”
As Joss spoke, he saw his brother begin to relax, his breathing become more regular. He kept his voice calm. “I’ll keep talking to you all the way down. I’ll be that much closer every time you find a lower knot. Don’t think. Just listen to my voice.” He paused for a moment. “You ready?”
“I think so,” Leslie said, then more confidently, “okay.”
Joss turned toward Howell and nodded. The lights went off with a thwack. “All right, Leslie, remember to just listen to my voice and concentrate on my words.”
A couple of minutes later, Joss reached out and put his arms around his kid brother. Leslie trembled against him like a tuning fork, his body stretched to a limit far beyond what Joss could ever have imagined. “You can get the lights now, coach. We’re good here.”
～
By the time Joss and Leslie made it out of the gym, the sky hung low and starkly black. A cool breeze ruffled Joss’s hair. Leslie, now in his street clothes but still soaked with sweat, shivered. Joss threw his arm over Leslie’s shoulder and they stepped off the sidewalk together. A row of street lamps stretched out before them, light forming circles on the ground like flagstones paving their way home.
It occurred to Joss he might’ve lost two people today. One he could live with or without, but the other, never.
Leslie slipped his arm around Joss’s waist and looked up at him, the pale glow of the street light captured in his eyes. “I climbed that rope today, Joss.” A shy grin turned up the corners of his mouth. “I climbed that fuckin’ rope.”
Joss laughed. He had been dumped by his woman and missed his shift at work, but it didn’t matter. “You sure did, kiddo, you sure did.” He waited a moment before adding, “I’m glad you finally got the hang of it.”
Leslie laughed then, too.
And Joss warmed to hear it.
They walked on together into the starless and Myra-less night.
Bob Strother 