Winners Read Free Page A

red Therabands.
    It was August before he could play again, after a secret month of practicing alone at the middle school down the hill from their house. In the hours between the gym and Lou’s coming home he’d jog down to the empty court to run sprints, shoot, dribble, jump. Shuffled side to side, changed direction quickly. Threw hard chest passes to the concrete walls. Afterwards he’d go home and sit on the stairs and feel his foot, stick his finger against the exact point of the healed break. Press until it hurt. Bend the foot up and down, side to side. There were days when it still felt sore, and his doctor told him the healing process would not be final, continuing for years.
    “You’re very stubborn,” his doctor said. “You should take up golf.”
    “Like Jordan.”
    “They say it’s an excellent game.”
    “Sure.” He was almost a friend by now, this doctor, another local who grew up in the Richmond and had sports sins of his own.
    “What about surfing.”
    “What about basketball.”
    “What will you do when you break your foot again?”
    “Jump off the Golden Gate. Little hang time before I go.”
    “Well. Keep hitting the gym.”
    “I hate the gym.”
    “Strength is everything. Flexibility is everything.”
    “I’m strong. I’m flexible. I never went to the gym in my life.”
    “Well you do now,” his doctor said. “I seen guys like you, work with their hands for a living, think they’re fit, never been hurt in their lives. And then wham-bam. Your body will make you listen to it, eventually.”
    But in the end his doctor gave him his blessing and glucosamine and calcium and sent him on his way.
    The shocking thing was that the world survived. It didn’t absolutely need him, it turned out, it didn’t depend on his good health or character or contributions and found a way to function smoothly in his absence. But when he returned quietly to the land of the living, nothing was the same. It was as if he’d lost his seat and he couldn’t find it again and couldn’t find another one either. So he stood, kept moving, he worked, he paid bills, he put money in Ma’s account, he spoke sternly to his delinquent brother, he cheered on his busy wife and sometimes begged for children, he fixed the van and painted the bedroom and cooked dinner and did all the things he did before and nothing was the same because for a little while there he plain gave up. He gave up, he fucked up, he knew it, and he swore he’d never do it again.
    The cell phone rings through and she answers on the first ring. “It’s me,” he says.
    “Hey. It’s my favorite Homo sapiens. I was just thinking about you.”
    “Between meetings.”
    “Between meetings. During meetings.” She drops her voice to her open-office whisper, a tone she has developed to create privacy where there’s none. Her voice like that has a distorted sound, the muffled echo of holding a hand over her mouth. “Was there an earthquake? Did you molest me this morning?”
    “Yes. And yes.”
    “Oh goodie. I didn’t see anything online so I thought I made it all up.”
    “Do you remember your five dreams?”
    “No. I don’t dream. I gave it up. Something had to go.”
    He hears the staccato of a keyboard. “Are you multitasking me?”
    “Sorry. It’s nuts here today. Our server’s possessed. And I’m waiting for the Wallet to call.”
    “I’ll let you go. ETA tonight?”
    “Decent.”
    He turns onto his favorite street, the street that leads to the court.
    “I’ve got nothing much to say except I love you.”
    “Oh my. Say that again.”
    “You heard me, lady.”
    “I love you too. I’ll call later.”
    “Okay.”
    The phone winks once and falls gently into his lap. I’ll work late, he thinks. Lou. Then his body remembers what’s about to happen, and he guns it up the steep street, parking quickly and jogging up the stairs to the court.

2
    T HE FIREHOUSE SHOULD be packed. Noon is the unofficial starting time but most hot