Slot Machine (8 page)

“I can’t, Eugene.”

“Then get one shoulder up. Come on, Elvin,” he yelled. “Concentrate on nothing but the ball of that one shoulder, focus on it, that you will
not
let anybody get that shoulder down on the mat. You got one thing, one piece of ground to hold, and nobody’s gonna take it from you.”

He was so earnest, so intense, that I had to follow his directions. I heaved, filling my head with blood as I pushed. But I got it up there. A couple inches of space opened between the floor and my right shoulder.

“Good, Elvin, good. Excellent,” Eugene said, sounding truly excited for me. I was actually making him work. Unfortunately I was making him sweat as well. Warmed, he smelled like boiling cabbage. He pushed back, slammed me back down.

I wriggled, got the other shoulder up now.

“Great move,” he said. “You’re still alive. Stay alive. That’s the thing. As long as you get it up off the mat, you’re alive. And as long as you’re still alive... you never know. Anything can happen.”

I fed on that. It wasn’t winning, certainly, being ninety percent pinned, but there was a certain amount of victory in this, holding my ground, hanging in. I was determined that I would.

“Whew,” Eugene said suddenly. “What a stench. Was that you, Elvin?”

“No,” I squeezed through gritted teeth, trying to save my little remaining breath.

“Oh ya,” he said. “I forgot. It was me.”

I laughed first, and as soon as I did, all the strength ran out. I fell back and lay flattened, Eugene laughing and finishing off the pin with his shoulder blades.

“That wasn’t bad,” he said, standing over me. I still lay exhausted but satisfied and flat on my back. “I guess what we have to do with you is teach you in reverse. We start with you down for the count, try to get you unpinned, then off the mat, then maybe competitive. ...” He held his hand out to me.

“Let’s not get too ambitious,” I said.

He pulled me up off the floor and just as I reached upright position, my shoulder popped out of its socket. I wailed. Eugene checked it out, squeezed my embarrassingly soft shoulder, worked his fingers in toward the joint as if he was kneading pizza dough.

“Ah, there,” he said, gave it a little bang, and knocked it back into place.

“Thanks,” I said. It was better, though it still hurt a lot.

“You better go let the nurse look at you,” Eugene said.

“What’s wrong?” Coach Wolfe asked, making his rounds.

“Elvin’s got a—”

“Bruise,” I said, elbowing him. “No big deal, Coach.”

“Ah, you’ll have plenty of those, Elvin,” Coach said, punching the shoulder. He didn’t notice the tears this brought to my eyes. Eugene did.

“You sure you don’t want to go to sick bay?”

I was sure I did not want to go to sick bay. It was the fifth day of camp, and the first time I felt like I didn’t want to sleep the whole thing off on the injured list. I hurt, and I was more than a little nervous about what else was in store for my unprepared body, but for a change I felt like I might actually be getting somewhere.

“I’m fine, Eugene,” I said, windmilling my shoulder slowly.

“Okay, that’s it, just don’t let it stiffen up. You’re doin’ right, Elvin. When you’re ready, we’ll do some more. I’ll show you about balance, about keeping your big butt off the floor. Just don’t get stiff. That’s it. Don’t stiffen up now.”

Ma,

I suppose this is what you wanted, so don’t go bawling your eyes out. I just want you to know that things are happening here. Changes by the hour, and you might not recognize your baby.

Remember you told me not to get in any fights? I fight every single day. So what do you think of that? Several
times
a day. And I’m enjoying it.

Hey, here’s something I learned. Do you know what enuresis is? I do now, because the nurse explained it to me. It’s something that happens to you when the coach announces that tomorrow you’ll be fighting the guy with the axe scar across his whole cheek.

Do you know what an exercise mat tastes like? I do. But it depends who’s been sliding around on it before your mouth gets pressed into it. It does not taste like chicken.

Remember those carnival people you pointed out never to associate with? What do you know, they’ve all turned up in my Sector. Every morning we meet strip together, pull on tights, then spend the rest of the day rolling around on the floor together.

They have mass here two times a day, but they have no confession, so I’m afraid it may be too late by the time I get home.

Send postage, and I’ll send you an 8 x 10.

Elvin “The Body” Bishop

“WHAT’S WRONG WITH YOUR
arm?” Frankie asked at Nightmeal, his wide-open mouth full of watery mashed potatoes. The potatoes were so thin, you could see through them like lemon slush.

“Nothing,” I said, picking my left arm off the table with my right hand and letting it fall to my side.

“Looks a little weak to me,” Mikie said.

“Weaker than usual even,” Frank said. He threw a fish puff in the air like a grape and swallowed it after chewing twice.

“Ya, well it’s
stronger
than usual even, if you really want to know,” I said, leaning over the table toward Frank.

“Whoa, I give up, I give up.” Frank put his hands up in front of his face. “Mikie, do you believe what’s happening to this guy? That wrestling thing’s making a real menace out of him.”

Mikie nodded while at the same time drinking milk out of the little carton. He finished and opened another one. “I know it. He’s getting pretty fearsome”—he tipped a glance down at my lower regions—“and large.”

“Dammit, Mike, would you please leave me alone.” I looked away, at nothing in particular, but he was right. The first real physical activity of my life was actually making me
fatter.
I was famished all the time.

“You going to finish that?” I asked, pointing at Frank’s briquette of corn bread. He rolled it off his tray toward mine. I scooped it up and bit it. It sounded like an apple.

“You lifting weights, El?” Mike asked.

“Some.”

“You running?”

I got some corn bread granules stuck in my nose laughing at that one.

“Maybe you should run a little. Just for a balanced program.”

“Listen, I appreciate your interest, Mike, but I have to remain strong. Look at this.” I gave him the traditional Muscle Beach one-biceps flex.

“I don’t see it, El,” Frankie said, straining to get a look.

“I don’t either,” Mikie said.

I looked at it myself. I didn’t see it either. I let it go slack, then tightened it again. There, there was a difference.

“Give it a squeeze,” I said. They both did. Then they nodded, but they had to sort of fish around in there to find it.

“Still,” Mikie said, “it might be good to get some cardiovascular action, you know, just so...”

“So you don’t have a heart attack,” Frank finished.

“Don’t worry about me—I’m fine. Anyway, I have to keep my weight up, or I won’t be a junior heavyweight anymore.”

“Gonna be a senior heavyweight pretty soon,” Mike said.

“Yo, Franko,” Obie, the senior football stud, said, putting both hands on Frankie’s shoulders.

“Hey, Obie,” Frank gushed. “What’s happening?”

“You wanna come out tomorrow night? We’re goin’ out.”

I looked at Mikie at the same time Mikie looked at me. Then we both turned and looked at Obie. Obie was one of the upperclassmen I had seen down in the clearing with Frank. A very big muck among mucks around here. He was a football star at the school but didn’t bother much with the Football Sector here. He mostly marched around camp just being awesome and too cool. The way football stars do.

“Out?” Frank asked. “What kind of out? They don’t let me out.”

Obie laughed. “Just out. Me and some of the other counselor boys just thought we’d get out for a while, stretch our legs. But don’t worry. You’re with us, then nobody’s got a problem with it, I guarantee.”

Frank turned back to us. We both shrugged.

“Sounds like fun,” Frank said up over his shoulder. Obie loomed over him like a big square billboard for beef. “How ’bout them?” Frank asked, meaning us.

Obie looked our way, made a sour face. “No way,” he said.

I was relieved, actually. Mike showed no feeling about it one way or the other.

“Ah, it’s movie night tomorrow anyhow,” Frank said, but he looked pained saying it. “Maybe I’ll just hang out here.”

Obie’s lips tightened. I guessed Obie wasn’t used to hearing no. “Y’know, if you
gotta
have your little friends with ya, I s’pose you can bring ’em,” he said.

Frank’s face brightened. “Okay, Obie, let me talk to them, and I’ll catch you later.”

“Okay, good. I’ll be there at the movies, and when the lights go out we take off.”

“Cool,” Frankie said, offering up a flat palm above his head for Obie to slap.

“He’s not there anymore,” Mike said.

Frankie pulled the hand down. “Oh. Well anyway, he’s great. Him, and his boys too. You guys are really lucky. This is a major social move here, to be hanging out with them.”

“Ah... I don’t know...” I started.

“You
can’t
say no,” Frank insisted.

“Well,” Mikie said, “let’s just give it a try. Ummmm...
No
. See, there, I can so say it.”

Frank got desperate. “Hey, you guys. I worked hard. You saw. ... How can you just turn it down? Don’t embarrass me now.”

Mike enjoyed this. “Hey, Franko, the movie might be great. Might be a
must see
. If it is, then I
must
see it. Elvin, you know what the movie is tomorrow night?”

“Ya, I think it’s
Ernest Goes to Camp
.”

“Oh, see that, Frankie, it’s out of my hands now.
Ernest Goes to Camp
. Need I say more?”

“Stop it. You’ll go, right?” Frank said hopefully. “I’m not joking now. I mean, I want to get in the right circle, that’s key, but I always figured you guys were coming with me. You know, like we all jump together, and it’ll be the best, right?”

Mikie picked up his tray and started toward the trash barrel. “Hmmm,” he said, faking deep thought. I could tell he was jerking Frankie a little. Frankie could have seen too, if he was thinking okay.

“You didn’t even touch the pound cake,” I said, dashing, more or less, after Mikie. Frank followed right behind me.

“I’d like to all jump together,” Mike said, “but I don’t know if I want to jump where you want to jump, Frank. Let me think about it.” That seemed to be good enough for Frank for now. It made
me
nervous, because I didn’t really want to get involved with those guys. But if Mikie said go, I’d most likely go.

Frankie had to help me out of bed the next morning. I tried and tried, but I hurt too much. I knew I’d be all right if I could get on my feet and start working the knots out, because that’s the way it worked out yesterday and the day before. It was the getting to the feet that was the problem. So I rolled to one side, lay there taking deep breaths, then made the push. Nothing. I rolled to the other side, took the breaths, pushed, flailed one flipper like a beached you-know-what. Nothing.

I moaned. I lay there for a while making my mournful wail, resigned to spending the rest of that day flat out, as most of my good buddies passed by on their way to and from the bathroom.

“Hi.”

“Hey there.”

“How’s it going?”

“Wimp.”

“Blob.”

“Good morning.”

They all had something to say. I just waved back. Until Frankie came by. He was always the last one up.

“Jesus, why don’t you quit, Elvin?” he suggested as he eased me to my feet. He had one hand on my back and one tugging me by the wrist. “Get yourself a new slot, for crying out loud. You gave it a shot.”

“No. Don’t... want... to... quit,” I said, dividing my energy equally between speech and movement. “Like... it.”

After one escorted lap around the barracks, Frank thought it safe to let me go. I was doing much better, and started in on my serious stretching. I got down on the floor and reached, with both hands, for my ankle. Today I nearly reached it. I wrapped my hands tightly around my calf and held the stretch. It burned my muscles to hold that for thirty seconds, but I did, smiling too, as I looked at the pen mark I’d made after yesterday’s stretch. I was an inch closer today.

I did the same thing to the other leg, then looked up to see Frankie. He had the purple lotterylike sick-bay vouchers in his hand. “Here,” he said. “Take a day off.”

“I don’t want a day off. I want to wrestle.”

“Then wrestle tomorrow. You need a rehab day today.” He pushed the vouchers at me.

I stared at them, then at him. “That’s really nice, Frank. But I’m not seeing the nurse today.”

He shoved them into my hand. “Then keep them for when you do need them.”

“They’re yours,” I said.

“What am I gonna do, El, injure myself putting? Or drinking raspberry lime rickeys?”

I was incensed. “You guys get raspberry—”

“Somebody makes a run now and then to the Brigham’s in town. Just keep the vouchers. To make me feel better.”

“You could probably get five bucks apiece.”

He nodded. “To make me feel better,” he repeated.

Mikie was already munching a bran muffin when we walked into the dining hall. His two pints of milk were already empty, and he was starting on the grapefruit juice.

“Unsweetened? How can you drink that stuff?” I said, sitting down with two miniature boxes of Rice Krispies, two blueberry muffins, and six strips of bacon.

“They really are great guys,” Frank went on, as if we’d never left the table from last night’s conversation.

People were picking up and moving on all around us. We were about the last ones in, what with Frankie’s sleeping in and my palsy. So everybody was in a hurry, and it was one of those edgy mornings when nobody’s interested in what the other guy wants to talk about.

“How old is this cereal?” I demanded to the room at large. “They’re all duds. Hardly a crackle or pop in the box.”

“These guys, they’re the kind of guys who can really set you up, really improve your situation in the school,” Frank said. “We’ll be cool.”