---

 

This writing was accepted for publication in the 96 page perfect-bound ISSN# / ISBN# issue/book... “a Creative Journey” Down in the Dirt (v125) (the Sep./Oct. 2014 Issue) You can also order this 6"x9" issue as a paperback book:

Order this writing in the book Need to Know Basis (redacted edition) (the 2014 poetry, flash fiction & short prose collection book)		get this poem collection 6" x 9" ISBN# paperback book:

Order this writing in the book What Must be Done (a Down in the Dirt July - Dec. 2014 collection book)		get the 372 page July - Dec. 2014 Down in the Dirt magazine issue collection 6" x 9" ISBN# paperback book:

The Pro

Mark Herden

    Radly and Preston stood behind the rental counter at Skate World. Preston, whose job it was to clean the arcade held a skate upside down, studying its broken front axle. At eighteen he was already heavy, slow of hand. As he concentrated he shifted his mouth to the side. This is what got him, he said to Radly while tilting the wheel to recreate what had happened when George, the skating instructor, fell and broke his leg.
    Radly looked to the expanse of polished floor and pictured George, a razor-thin former skating champion with an angular face and shock of silver hair skating out there, weaving his way around clusters of slow and faulting teenagers, his hands behind his back, leaning into the corners, legs working in easy rhythm.
    Radly, a high school senior who collected entrance fees from the skaters looked on sadly. I can’t picture George falling. He’s the best skater I’ve ever seen.
    The skates we got here are crap, Preston said. He knew that, but last night he forgot his own, and look what happened. The pro made a fatal mistake.
    He’ll be out for a long time.
    He’s fifty-five years old, Preston said. It’ll take time for his leg to heal. He pushed away from the counter he had been leaning on. Larry’s got other instructors, he added, sucking in his stomach.
    What’s George going to do? Skating is all he knows.
    He’ll find something. Don’t go feeling sorry for him, because he can’t roller skate. He should’ve known better than to use our skates. Besides, he’s way too old to be skating real fast going backwards and doing tricks and that. Young guys like us, we’re the ones who should be doing that stuff.
    Yeah, if we could. . .  Is he married?
    Does it matter?
    It’s a shame, that’s all.
    You look too deep into stuff. Look, Preston said, unscrewing the axle housing from the skate bottom, if you want to visit him tonight, tell Larry. Well . . .  no, don’t tell Larry. You know how the son-of-a-bitch is. Even though George is his brother, he might fire you if you left here for ten minutes to visit him. You’d think that Larry, being the owner of this place, would be nicer to George.
    Radly often thought of Larry as a human bowling ball, always dressed in black, a round, fat face. Larry’s jacket, black with a silver outline a skater, crouched, leaning into a curve, looked out of place on him.
    Zip down to the hospital when Larry goes out to eat, Preston said. I won’t say nothing. Take that old bike back in the room where what’s-his-name . . .  Mike paints the arcade games. Sneak out the back.
    Radly stepped behind the ticket counter and waited for Larry to open for the night. He looked over the softly lit wooden floor to where the DJ booth was. Without the music and the sight of a hundred faces flashing by, Skate World seemed a lonely and hollow place.
    Mounted in the wall near the entrance was a display cabinet of skating trophies people had won. Some of George’s old trophies stood in the back row.
    Radly had a few minutes until the doors opened at six. He decided to check in on Mike.
    He walked to the back and looked through the shop door. He spotted Mike kneeling down, sketching a figure on the side of an unpainted pinball machine. Arcade games, old bowling machines, machines that test driving skills, Star Trek games, all sat about the room, some with their panels taken off for repainting.
    He made his way back to Mike.
    Mike looked up, and then stood. He adjusted his wire rim glasses, and with both hands tugged at his black ponytail. He had a slight build and his low voice sounded as though it were coming from a much bigger man. How’s it going out there? he asked.
    Okay. Heard about George breaking his leg?
    Yeah. He shook his head. The world’s a hell of a place sometimes.
    George is different. He hardly talks. You see him every day, then you get to think he’s always going to be there.

    Mike looked at Radly. You like him because he’s not like anyone else his age. Hard to say what’s behind him.

    Radly studied the sketch on the side of the pinball machine. It showed Wonder Woman breaking from chains anchored into the side of a cement wall. That’s cool.
    Look what I did over there. Mike nodded to indicate another game. Radly looked to see a purple bat-like face with pointy teeth and steel armor. You’ve got great ideas.
    That’s Buel, a guy who wants to destroy Spiderman. I used to read comics as a kid. In this business you’ve got to know all these characters.
    You’re talented.
    Thanks. He knelt again and picked up a black pastel.
    I’m going to visit George later.
    You’re probably the one person who’ll take the time to check on him.
    Radly returned to the ticket counter.
    An hour later he slipped out the back and rode to Geneva General Hospital.
    George looked pale, small in his bed. He didn’t smile when he saw Radly.
    How you doing? Radly asked, feeling that maybe he shouldn’t have come.
    I’ll be fine.
    It’s not the same place without you.
    George laughed, making Radly feel foolish. Hey, don’t worry about me. Things happen.
    I was going to drop by your apartment and leave a card, but I didn’t know if I could get in or not.
    Radly had heard that George is embarrassed by the little room he has.
    Well, I don’t usually have people over, he said.
    How long are you going to be out of skating, you think?
    Don’t know. Got some things to think about. Been skating my whole life.
    What made you stay with it for so long?
    George smiled. Wish I could answer that. Funny thing, as far as skating goes, I always thought of myself as a hand on a clock going around and around, unable to stop. He looked away for a moment. I guess we all get caught up in something. The years go by, first thing you know, you’re my age. I don’t want to get into all that though; it’s not in the gentleman’s code.

***

    Radly rode along the broken, tree-lined sidewalk, feeling that something unimaginable, but brutal lay ahead, poised to strike. He decided to take a shortcut back to Skate World. He rode as fast as he could and turned onto a wide street that led to a highway lined with old industrial buildings that loomed like giant dominoes. Distant city lights shone in the spaces between the buildings. He thought of George and wondered how his brother was able to show no concern for him?it was all so unfair.
    He noticed an embankment off the side of the road. He let the bike coast over to it and looked over the edge. At the bottom lay a small dump. Piles of clothing, a mattress and a refrigerator door were the largest castaways. He got off the bike, aimed it toward the edge and pushed it over. It wove its way down, hit the refrigerator door and tipped over.
    Radly began walking and looked to an expanse of grass separating two dark, brick buildings. For a moment he imagined life-like figures there; Mike’s paintings come to life; Superman, Wonder Woman, and Flash stood in the field looking back at him. Scared at his imagining he turned away for a moment, looked back and they were gone.

Copyright of written pieces remain with the author, who has allowed it to be shown through Scars Publications and Design.Web site © Scars Publications and Design. All rights reserved. No material may be reprinted without express permission from the author.

Problems with this page? Then deal with it...