Nothing But Net BYO2023 Non-writer

The garage was silent except for the buzzing of fluorescent lights.

“But I don’t like basketball,” said Cole querulously, fidgeting with his hands and looking at his feet. “Can I stay home and play piano?” He paused. “Mom always let me.”

Mr. Byrne rolled out from underneath a restoration ’70 Plymouth Barracuda on jacks, wiping an oily hand on his coveralls.

“Hey. Look at me.” Cole pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose and limped his eyes to his father’s face. “We been over this. Mom’s dead.” For a fleeting moment, Mr. Byrne’s face was chiseled with despair. Composing himself with a sharp inhale, he continued. “We gotta move on best we can. Now why’s this gotta be like pullin’ teeth? Summertime is for playing. Playing is good for boys. It’ll loosen y’up a bit. I saw Mrs. Brand at the store and we worked all this out. They’re expecting you.” He cocked his brow. “Go. Have fun.”

***

The summer air was a potpourri of hosewater mist from the neighborhood sprinklers and freshly sawn fence timbers. As Cole proceeded down the sidewalk, the pinging thud of a bouncing basketball grew louder. He turned down a driveway, on one side of which was Ash Brand, and on the other, an adjustable-height basketball hoop, set low for slam-dunking. Ash noticed Cole and rolled his eyes.

Ash wore Michael Jordan branded everything: sneakers, athletic shorts, t-shirt. Not counting his Bart Simpsonesque spiky hairdo, he was five inches taller than Cole. His two front teeth were like a husband and wive’s gravestones in a pioneer cemetery, crooked with big gaps between and around them which grew as the years passed.

Ash puffed out his chest, scoffing. “Whadda you want ‘tard?”

Cole tensed through his whole body, his face squirming as he looked at his feet.

“Hey. Creep. I’m tawkinnda you.”

Cole took a staggered breath, and was about to speak just as the screen door opened and Mrs. Brand appeared. Her face exuded grace and she wore lilac nurse’s scrubs. The boys turned toward the house. Cole’s shoulders lowered in relief.

“Hi Cole! Thanks for coming over to play with Ash.” She fired a warning glance at Ash, though her voice remained soft. “Are you boys getting along OK?”

Ash seeped out an indignant sigh and rolled his eyes. “Yeah Mawm.”

Her face softened again into a smile, and she disappeared into the house, the screen door swinging gently shut. Ash neared Cole and hissed, “The only reason I’m lettin you play with me is cuz my mawm feels bad for you cuzza your mawm. Gawt it?”

Cole tensed again. “mYea.”

“Whuddever, let’s play. Winner’s ball.”

Ash went to the far side of the driveway, where a crack in the pavement demarcated the free-throw line. He snapped into his triple-threat stance, bending his knees and lowering his center of gravity. Cole stood in front of Ash, his elbows glued to his ribcage, his shoulders a little hunched. He scrunched up his nose to scoot his glasses back into place.

Ash held out the ball teasingly. “You want this? Huh? You want the rawk?” He faked to Cole’s right, then dribbled through his legs, broke left, stopped, pump faked. “It’s comin from downtown,” he declared in an announcer voice, taking a fadeaway shot. Swish. Cole had turned, but hadn’t moved from his original position.

“C’mon scarecrow, you gawta move a liddle bit,” Ash chided. “Gimme the bawl.”

Cole collected the basketball and walked it over to Ash, who scoffed when Cole handed the ball to him.

Ash assumed his stance again, and this time he drove to the basket, catching Cole with his left elbow as he went for a lay in. Swish. Cole scrunched his nose to reset his glasses. Ash got the ball and returned to the free-throw crack.

“Now I get it. Your mawm died of embarrassment cuz yer such a pussy!” He narrowed his eyes and bared his teeth in a big, ugly, mean grin.

Cole's face flushed and he clenched his teeth. Tears began to show in his eyes and his glasses started to fog over.

"What? You gunna cry pussy?" Ash charged hard to the basket, knocking Cole over, whose glasses fell to the ground.

Ash leapt for the dunk. Swish. Didn’t even nick the rim. During his hang time, the bottom loops of the net lassoed his two front teeth. As he descended from the jump, the net pulled the teeth out from the root. The teeth made faint plinks when they hit the driveway. Blood started to fall, drenching Ash’s lower lip and chin, showering Michael Jordan’s silhouette on his t-shirt, and dripping to the driveway. His eyes bugged out of his head and he started hyperventilating.

“Oh hsssit. Oooh hsssit. hSssit! Mawm? Mawm?! MAAAAAWMEEEEE!” The pitch of his voice had practically reached a whistle and he was bawling. His teeth just sat there on the driveway, bits of bloody gum stuck to the roots glistening in the sun. Cole picked up his glasses and stood up.

Mrs. Brand stuck her head out the screen door, then rushed from the house at the sight of blood. She sized up the situation quickly—her nurse’s training had tuned her reflexes.

She turned to Cole with a gentle smile. “Cole, sweetie, it’s time for you to go home for today,” she said.

***

Cole was still smirking when he entered the living room. Mr. Byrne was half asleep, outstretched on his recliner. His hair was damp and he smelled of Old Spice from a recent shower. A NASCAR race was on the TV. His eyelids snapped open and he looked up from the race.

“Hey buddy. You just missed a big ol’ wreck. Musta been ten—twelve cars.” He paused to take a swig from a bottle of beer. “Letcha in on a lil’ secret…the wrecks are all anyone cares about. Anyway, you weren’t gone all that long…who won the ball game?”

“I think I did.” Cole scrunched his nose to lift his glasses, and his smirk widened into grin.

“Thass ma boy,” said Mr. Byrne, returning his focus to the TV as he took another swig.

Cole crossed the room and sat at the piano. He leafed through a stack of sheet music, pulled one out, and put it on the music stand. Chopin’s Fantaisie-Impromptu, Op. 66. He took off his glasses and set them atop the piano. His fingers danced over the keys, his shoulders dropped, his breath slowed, and he closed his eyes.

THE END

a reply to: QRST4

Bravo, QRST4! Excellent imagery, dialogues and structure. A solid story and refreshing to see new writers join in.

I feel Ash's pain, very vivid.

a reply to: QRST4

What a great story! It really pulls the reader in at an emotional level! I look forward to reading more from you.

a reply to: QRST4

Well written and pushing some emotional buttons here too, on my internal piano.

Another new member that knows how to paint mental pictures, I saw the street and I smelled the tarmac.

a reply to: QRST4


Listening to Chopin now.

Very well written. Nice job.

a reply to: QRST4

Amazing!!!

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Thank you all for reading and complimenting my story!

a reply to: QRST4

Amazing writing!

a reply to: QRST4

QRST4,

I enjoyed your story quite a bit. I could see it being printed in a literary magazine (or a story like it, since print magazines generally don't want stories that have been posted on the internet). I could see a story like it being published in a magazine such as Ploughshares, The Sun, The Paris Review, North American Review, Red Rock Review, or just about any magazine with "Review" as part of its name.

Since those magazines probably would not consider publishing a story that's been on the internet, I would suggest writing another story using the characters you've established. For instance, you could go back in time and tell the story of how Cole's mother died. Or, you could go forward and tell what happens next between Ash and Cole. Perhaps Ash blames Cole for what happened to him, and has developed the desire, purpose, and plan to pull two of Cole's teeth. Perhaps Ash pretends to befriend Cole, so that he will have the opportunity to make Cole suffer the way he has suffered.