Free Venus Drive by Sam Lipsyte

moments like this will help promote international brotherhood through the majesty of the athletic endeavor.”
    â€œWell put,” says the color man, “and well-hoped. But let us not forget that this is just a game.”
    â€œBut a hell of a game!”
    â€œThe beautiful game. You can see why from the slums of the far-away slums to the war-torn fields of warring lands, this is the world at play.”
    â€œSo simple, yet so complex.”
    â€œA dance and a battle in one.”
    â€œYou fucking idiots!” Gary says to the screen, but it feels forced, as though he is just some man watching TV.
    Maybe Lorraine is religious, thinks Gary, the inner roar of his ears on the wane. I could learn the words. I could sing of God.
    There is one last O’Doul’s.
    Â 
    One day Gary chaperoned a field trip to the city’s science library. The kids unpacked their knapsacks and set to work. Gary loitered in the stacks, found a book about barbed wire. It had sketches of every variety, maybe named for the rancher who first knotted it that way. Scutt’s Clip. Corsicana Clip. Brotherton Barb. He thought he could do something with this, something creative, but he didn’t know what. Maybe a song with all the names of barbed wire in it. It would be good not to explain.
    There was one boy in his charge they said might be trouble. It was a private school, so no one ever put it quite like that. What they said was that Vernon was a genius.
    Now the boy sat alone at a silver table.
    â€œHey, man,” said Gary. “What’s wrong?”
    â€œMy homework,” said Vernon. “My fucking homework. I don’t want to do it right now.”
    â€œI know where you’re coming from,” said Gary.
    â€œSure,” said Vernon.
    â€œNo, really,” said Gary.
    â€œI bet you couldn’t even do my homework.”
    â€œIt’s not about whether I can do your homework. It’s about a feeling.”
    â€œWhat a pile. Look at you. You’re not even a real teacher. What happened to you? I bet you’re over twenty.”
    â€œI’m thirty-one.”
    â€œSee,” said Vernon. “If I’m anything like you at your age I’m going to kill myself. What do you think of that?”
    â€œI think you ought to save yourself the hassle and do it now,” said Gary. “I was at a faculty meeting and your name came up. Turns out you’re not a genius, after all.”
    â€œLiar,” said Vernon, but his voice wavered, and in a moment he was crying. Gary went back to his book. He felt terrible but harbored a secret hope that this moment would count for the genius as a minor scar. Someday Vernon would be accepting a prize at some institute and self-doubt would flare up in the guise of Gary, leering.
    Â 
    They are waiting for him at the park station uptown. He sees the trash sticks leaned up in a bucket. A woman ranger in a tight uniform leads him to a bench where some others sit. There are reams of flyers and boxes of envelopes piled on the floor. The flyers announce a summer program for kids, nature walks, rollerblading, marine biology by the lake.
    â€œAre you still hiring for this?” says Gary, holding the flyer up.
    â€œOh, good,” says the ranger, “I was worried we wouldn’t have a comedian today.”
    â€œNo, really,” says Gary, “I’m qualified.”
    â€œFold,” says the ranger.
    The others are younger than Gary, not white. Kids from nearby.
    â€œYou got a car?” says one of them, who has announced himself as Junebug.
    â€œNo,” says Gary.
    â€œWell, if you did, what car would you get? A Lexus, right?”
    â€œA Gremlin,” says Gary.
    â€œA what?”
    â€œIt’s a cool car,” says Gary. “Like in a fucked-up way.”
    â€œGremlin? What’d you do, anyway?”
    Gary tells them about the cart guy, the tomato crate, the cop. He doesn’t mention the