Read Online Swing State by Michael T. Fournier - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Michael T. Fournier
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sighed loudly and said well, some people just arenât cut out for a better life. He remembered that. A better life. His would have been better if he did cars. Kids in classes gave him looks. Didnât even apply for school after that. Or scholarships. Said heâd work. Keep his mill job. But layoffs. So he joined up.
Walked down in the dark. Streetlights along the way. Not like the way to Schaferville. No sidewalks. Barely a shoulder. The school walk was easy. Leg doing okay. Saw other people headed there. Big paper signs under their arms.
Full parking lot. Band playing in the background.
Felt a headache coming behind his eyes.
Maybe it would be okay.
Still there, but a little less.
It would be okay.
Less.
Okay.
He looked up. Away from the people. Bugs swarming lights. Getting too cold for them. That morning he woke up to ice puddles. First all year. Winter coming. Tired of global warming. Wasnât true. Especially in his apartment. Felt cold air through the walls. Birds flying south. In packs. Flocks. Leaves mostly already gone. Saw his breath. Wasnât the first time for that, but still. First ice. Long winter. Last year in the desert. Hot all the time. Except night. Couldnât believe how cold it got. But his apartment. January would suck. February. Go to the library all day. Probably still walk.
Garages cold in the winter. Artie, his hands must freeze. Probably had a space heater. Warm them up. Go in the office. Keep customers warm. Hoped he didnât have to talk to them. Just wanted to fix stuff. Get paid. But he might like telling them. Like look at the score marks on the clutch plate. Iâm glad we replaced it when we did the timing belt. He could do that. As long as it wasnât thatâll be eight hundred even all the time. Money made him nervous. Math was okay. Until the really hard stuff. But being that guy, that was Artie. He was good at it. Always. Easy to hang around him. Planning. Organizing.
Bleachers were full mostly except the visitorsâ and the back. He didnât want to sit on the Hanley side, get looks. Hey, what are you doing over there? I thought you were one of us. If anyone even recognized him.
Packed at the bottom. Kids being stupid, probably drunk. Reminded him of himself. Before he went over. Walked up, feeling eyes roll off. Way up there was space.
Middle of an empty row, second from the back. Looked around. Kids, families. One guy with no shirt. Painted white. Kid next to him. Painted blue. Shivering.
What the fuck. Come on, Dad. Kidâs cold. Even through the fat. Shoulders on him slumped. Sitting there freezing. No energy. Didnât want to be there.
The band came on. Played a song. Recognized it a little. Something new. Liked it. But he missed the old stuff. Easier to guess the next one. The ba-na-na-na-na-na-na-na-HEY song. They still played that, right?
Stands kept filling. He couldnât see spaces. Where people were going. Just not up the stairs. Which was okay. If some hot chick sat next to him, great. But there werenât any. Only wives and girlfriends. If he were a hot chick, heâd sit next to him. Be like hey.
The kid shivering. Standing now, clapping. Like his dad. The people around, their heads kept turning to them, nodding. Like yeah. How could they not see it? The kid was cold! Didnât want to be there.
National anthem. Stood. A tape. No singer. Everyone had hands over hearts. Some men saluted. He saluted. Never used to care. Before he went.
He hadnât been sure. Thought it would be okay. No loud noises. Plenty of space. Okay. So far, anyway. Headache gone. Anthem helped. Didnât think it would.
Teams came on. Band playing music he knew. Intro music. They ran. Pointed at the sky. Jumped up and down. Hit each other in the helmet.
Hanley ran on. Looked like the fat kid. No spring.
He didnât get it. Football was hard. Those kids hated it. He could tell. And he was sitting far away. If he could see,
Walked down in the dark. Streetlights along the way. Not like the way to Schaferville. No sidewalks. Barely a shoulder. The school walk was easy. Leg doing okay. Saw other people headed there. Big paper signs under their arms.
Full parking lot. Band playing in the background.
Felt a headache coming behind his eyes.
Maybe it would be okay.
Still there, but a little less.
It would be okay.
Less.
Okay.
He looked up. Away from the people. Bugs swarming lights. Getting too cold for them. That morning he woke up to ice puddles. First all year. Winter coming. Tired of global warming. Wasnât true. Especially in his apartment. Felt cold air through the walls. Birds flying south. In packs. Flocks. Leaves mostly already gone. Saw his breath. Wasnât the first time for that, but still. First ice. Long winter. Last year in the desert. Hot all the time. Except night. Couldnât believe how cold it got. But his apartment. January would suck. February. Go to the library all day. Probably still walk.
Garages cold in the winter. Artie, his hands must freeze. Probably had a space heater. Warm them up. Go in the office. Keep customers warm. Hoped he didnât have to talk to them. Just wanted to fix stuff. Get paid. But he might like telling them. Like look at the score marks on the clutch plate. Iâm glad we replaced it when we did the timing belt. He could do that. As long as it wasnât thatâll be eight hundred even all the time. Money made him nervous. Math was okay. Until the really hard stuff. But being that guy, that was Artie. He was good at it. Always. Easy to hang around him. Planning. Organizing.
Bleachers were full mostly except the visitorsâ and the back. He didnât want to sit on the Hanley side, get looks. Hey, what are you doing over there? I thought you were one of us. If anyone even recognized him.
Packed at the bottom. Kids being stupid, probably drunk. Reminded him of himself. Before he went over. Walked up, feeling eyes roll off. Way up there was space.
Middle of an empty row, second from the back. Looked around. Kids, families. One guy with no shirt. Painted white. Kid next to him. Painted blue. Shivering.
What the fuck. Come on, Dad. Kidâs cold. Even through the fat. Shoulders on him slumped. Sitting there freezing. No energy. Didnât want to be there.
The band came on. Played a song. Recognized it a little. Something new. Liked it. But he missed the old stuff. Easier to guess the next one. The ba-na-na-na-na-na-na-na-HEY song. They still played that, right?
Stands kept filling. He couldnât see spaces. Where people were going. Just not up the stairs. Which was okay. If some hot chick sat next to him, great. But there werenât any. Only wives and girlfriends. If he were a hot chick, heâd sit next to him. Be like hey.
The kid shivering. Standing now, clapping. Like his dad. The people around, their heads kept turning to them, nodding. Like yeah. How could they not see it? The kid was cold! Didnât want to be there.
National anthem. Stood. A tape. No singer. Everyone had hands over hearts. Some men saluted. He saluted. Never used to care. Before he went.
He hadnât been sure. Thought it would be okay. No loud noises. Plenty of space. Okay. So far, anyway. Headache gone. Anthem helped. Didnât think it would.
Teams came on. Band playing music he knew. Intro music. They ran. Pointed at the sky. Jumped up and down. Hit each other in the helmet.
Hanley ran on. Looked like the fat kid. No spring.
He didnât get it. Football was hard. Those kids hated it. He could tell. And he was sitting far away. If he could see,
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