Read Online A Trick of the Light by Lois Metzger - Free Book Online

pudding and goes to bed.
    The next day at lunch he tells Amber, “Thanks for the advice. It’s really helping me.”
    Amber grins. Mike thinks her teeth look kind of filmy, that she should brush better. He’s much too critical. Her teeth look fine.
    Amber: “I wouldn’t do this for some girl, you know.”
    Mike: “What?”
    Amber: “You’re not some girl who just wants to be skinnier than me.”
    Mike: “Um . . . yeah. So I got through dinner, but I got incredibly hungry later so I had one of those cups of rice pudding.”
    Amber: “Only half a cup, right?”
    Mike: “No. The whole thing.”
    Amber: “You don’t mean an entire cup, do you?”
    Mike: “Yeah, that’s what I just said.”
    Amber (quietly, like a doctor delivering bad news): “You had four grams of fat and four hundred and forty calories.”
    Mike: “No way. I read the label, like you told me. One serving has two grams of fat and two hundred and twenty calories.”
    Amber: “But each cup is two servings.”
    Mike: “What? Those cups are so small.”
    Amber: “Even so.”
    Mike: “No way.” But this is the kind of thing Amber knows. Mike feels awful.
    Amber (sadly): “I told you to be careful. When you get really hungry, try FireBalls.”
    When Mike gets home, his mom is cooking dinner again. Meat loaf this time. He cuts back to four bites, to make up for the rice pudding.
    Mike goes to the mirror. He feels better. He can see muscle and taut skin. He thinks about his body, the structure of it, how each part is splendidly connected to the next; it is a work of art, like sculpture; it possesses power and energy.
    Your mind is soaring!

CHAPTER 15
    IT’S THE HEIGHT OF AUTUMN AND MIKE IS HAPPY.
    He’s never felt like this before, not in such a pure, undiluted form. Bursts of absolute joy fill his chest. He sees his boring old neighborhood in a whole new way. The slanting light makes everything pop as if it exists in more than three dimensions, a kind of super diorama—front lawn, sidewalk, street, bus, trees, sky, universe, beyond-the-universe. Tamio once told him that when he first put contacts in, he could see the veins in leaves. Mike thinks this is way better than that. When he looks at trees, he can see their life force, how mighty and solid they are. Colors are incredible. The awning over a fruit stand isn’t simply green, it is glowing-green, green-on-fire. After a run in the park, Mike stops and stares at some flowers. The bright yellows and oranges look otherworldly, as if he has just landed in some distant galaxy and this is the plant life. He wonders, What are those flowers?
    An old lady stands next to Mike. She has short white curly hair and so does the poodle she has with her.
    Old Lady: “Don’t you just love chrysanthemums?”
    The universe is truly on your wavelength these days. You were wondering what the flowers were, and now somebody has told you.
    Mike feels like he’s living in an alternate reality, a reality he never knew he wanted. Here, things go right; here, everything feels new and mind-expanding; here, everything is in its right place.
    Old Lady: “You know, you should rest, young man; you’re bright red.”
    Mike gets mad. What is she, he thinks, my mother? He leaves without a word. He goes back to running even though he has finished his run. Amber told him he’d be able to run faster without all that dead weight holding him back. He runs until he can’t run anymore.
    But always finish the lap.
    He runs. His legs cramp and there’s a sharp pain in his chest. He can barely breathe.
    Run past your endurance. That’s how you build up strength.
    He runs some more.
    When Mike gets home, his phone is ringing.
    Mike: “Hello?”
    No answer. He sees a number he doesn’t recognize on the caller ID.
    Mike (louder): “Hello?” He finds it hard to catch his breath. He’s practically gasping into the phone.
    There’s a low voice on the other end: “Hello.”
    Mike: “My mom’s not home.” He doesn’t know