Free Swing State by Michael T. Fournier Page A

used to stand like that. Figured it out as the kid walked away. So he stood in front of the mirror at home. Wanted to try it right then at school but someone would have seen him doing it in the bathroom. Laugh. Another fight. Didn’t want that. So he practiced. At home.
    He wished he could go back and tell the kid in the mirror about Peck.
    Hanley kicked. Armbrister returned it all the way to the twenty.
    The guy jumped up and down. The kid pretended. Still slumped. Maybe he wanted his dad to think he liked it.
    He wanted to say hey, fat kid, look. At least he’s here. That was another thing. Fights, chants.
Who’s Your Daddy?
A bunch of them. First it was pick out the smallest. But the big ones would come at him all at once. So it was the biggest from then on. Everyone stopped to watch. Surprised. Got his ass kicked sometimes. Stantz and detention. But not all the time. It slowed down.
    He talked to her while she was in the hospital. Went in. Needed to know. Couldn’t remember much from growing up with her. Mostly a lot of TV. People in and out. Which made sense. He didn’t know then. He just watched TV. Reruns.
Brady Bunch
. Brothers and sisters. Mom and Dad.
    He could hear the bus down the road over the TV set. Sometimes he went. His mom would wake up and say go to school. But she didn’t mean it. Not like when she said do those dishes. Or stay in your room. Or clean this shit. She was saying it because she had to. Wouldn’t hit him. Too tired. So he waited for her to go back to sleep and watched more TV. The bus at the trailer park entrance waiting less and less.
    Then Auntie Blake. Her sisters. Dusty old house. Smelly. Different smells. Didn’t know the trailer smell names until later.
    Auntie Blake always meant it when she said go. He said okay and went back to sleep. Or tried to. Royal, she’d say, it’s time for you to get up. And she’d yank the covers off. I am not saying this to hear myself talk.
    Thanksgiving one year. The first one, must’ve been. The only one. Some huge dude. Smoked in the house. Please extinguish your cigarette, Auntie Blake said. Tattoos. Mustache. Smelled like a garage and something else. Get me an ashtray. I will not be spoken to in that way in my own house, she said. Picked up the turkey platter and went to the kitchen. His mom went in after her. The guy smoked to the filter. Ground it out on his plate.
    Kitchen yelling. Some old lady took him outside. One of the aunts. Tried to get him to play. Didn’t want to. Could hear them yelling inside. Couldn’t hear words.
    His mom and the guy came out. Not running. But mad. Looked like she was dragging him. Big strong guy pulled by alady. Went right past. Didn’t say anything. Wanted her to. Goodbye. Happy Thanksgiving. See you soon. But she didn’t. They got into a huge loud car. Drove away.
    Hanley returned it to the ten. Then a sack. UVVVVVVV except it was DOVVVVVVE. That was it. From the newspaper. Ross Dove.
    Guy jumping up and down. Fat kid trying to give a shit. Did they paint for every game? He wouldn’t try so hard if this was his first one. He’d be like look at me, I’m doing this. I’m painted. He slumped like he wanted to disappear.
    Went to see her. His great aunt said I understand why you’re going, Royal, but no good will come of it.
    I just need to—
    I understand. But prepare yourself. Nothing good will come of it. Believe me.
    Why would she say that? He had to go.
    He understood later.
    Tubes in her nose. Taped to her arm. Beeps. Noises. Skeleton in a bed. She tried to breathe every time. Couldn’t just breathe. Eyes closed.
    Sat there. Held her hand. Waited for her to wake up. Open her eyes. Something. But she didn’t. Trying to pull breaths. No one else in the room. A TV playing down the hall. Wanted to say something. Yell. Don’t you know what’s happening? But they did. So TVs.
    He sat and waited and she never opened her