Fortunate Lives by Robb Forman Dew Read Free Book Online Page B

whenever they passed by Owen if he was sitting on the
     bleachers watching a play. They would offer a solemn tilt of their heads, or touch his arm, or briefly brush his shoulder
     without engaging his eye. In his presence that afternoon, they perceived themselves as fragile and tentative. When one or
     another of them spoke some word to him, he didn’t answer or turn his head; he remained overwhelmed and unreachable, and therefore
     he was suddenly the heroic center of all the sweet radiation of their grave concern.
    The pale light that fell from the high windows of the building illuminated the shifting bodies without variation or shadow.
     Every aspect of the scene had an equal vibrancy of color, like the landscape of a dream. Slowly the players moved into separate
     teams. Five boys loped into the near court, but the only one Martin knew was Winston Grimes, the starting center.
    The drills became smoother, the pace quicker and purposeful. In the far court Owen came in under the basket for a lay-up,
     and then the team moved into another pattern, an elaborate series of passes, while the defensive players flung themselves
     violently in the paths of their opponents, lunging and waving their arms while the offensive players pivoted and searched
     for an opening. The two practice teams were serious now, and the increased adrenaline wastangible under the lofty roof. The calling back and forth of the players echoed harshly, and the damp air was filled with
     a pervasive, tangy scent like wet hay.
    Martin sat perfectly still, but he was infected with that same surge of adrenaline. His whole body was tense, his senses heightened.
     A remembered knowledge of communal masculinity under the attention of pretty girls along the sidelines swept over him, and
     he knew again, just for a moment, that simultaneous male arrogance that had rendered him and his teammates haughty and indifferent—even
     contemptuous—of those very girls whose presence spurred them on.
    All at once Martin had become lost to his thirty-eight-year-old self and was affected with an absolute loss of self-consciousness
     or restraint. Without a pause, without any consideration, he was up and off the bleachers, trotting diagonally across the
     court. He too, just like those lovely young women and the leanly muscled boys, was drawn toward Owen Croft. Jogging slowly
     across the floor, his treaded boots thumping against the parquet, he didn’t notice the surprised faces of the players under
     the basket as he approached.
    Owen was under the basket holding the ball in midair, cocked over his head. Martin took two long strides and launched himself
     forward, landing his head solidly under Owen’s breastbone—a football tackle—and clasping him around the waist. Owen was slammed
     backward, his long legs bent under him, his head bouncing up after thudding against the floor. There, lying on the floor of
     the gymnasium, clasping Owen Croft tightly, and short of breath, Martin was finally trapped in a long moment of realization.
     He came back to himself the instant Owen’s head had hit the floor, and it was as if those following seconds became elastic,
     stretching out too far for him ever to escape them. Finally he pushed himself up and away from Owen, gettingto his feet and brushing himself off without looking up at all the faces turned toward him.
    And Owen was pushing himself to his feet, too, where he stood for a moment before turning and moving slowly off toward the
     dressing room. One of the coaches left midcourt to follow him, but no one else moved. Once the onlookers had recognized Martin,
     they were horrified. Several people in the stands had risen to their feet, but most had stayed exactly where they were, stunned.
     The teenagers were awed by these consequences more profoundly than they had understood the fact of Toby’s death, and the adults
     were filled with dismay and pity and relief.
    One of the coaches caught Martin roughly by the elbow as he