Atlas's Gym

A tale of what was, and what is.

The gym is packed, the lights are bright.
The dancers twirl around faster than the
mirrored balls above them. A man from
Tupelo, Mississippi is on the radio;
already the 'King' over them all.

Here, paper mache flowers adorn the walls.
Over there, seashells and cardboard seagulls
fly around in mute testimony to the talents
and ideas of the art club. On another wall,
pinned up like the messiah, the costume of
the mascot of the just beaten rival team.

Teachers stand aside from the students,
giving the young the room they need to
breath. Guarding the punch from what
has already happened and will not be felt
for a few hours yet, the biology teacher
comments on how good it is as she has
her fourth glass. "The b***h is drunk," never
reaches her ears.

The men are dapper; as dapper as 17 and 18
year olds can be. Mostly standard tuxedo's
with the usual mix of non-style and bright
red ties speak of emerging individuality.
The football team, princes of the dance,
seem to get the first pick of the mostly shy
group of young princesses gathered near the stage.

The girls are lovely, of course. Ribbons in
their hair; ribbons upon their dresses. Flowers
earlier placed with nervous care adorn their
bosom. The smiles are white and the skirts are long.
The prettiest ones are taken in strong arms first,
followed by all the stragglers as the music changes
again, and the once and future king bows out in
deference to four jesters from Liverpool.

And then she is here. I can hear her before I see her.
That is, I hear the collective pause as everyone
else that had been dancing stops. My head turns,
only to see her walking straight towards me. If
Aphrodite herself could have made her presence
known, she would have looked like the vision
I see right now at this timeless moment.

She wasn't the homecoming queen, nor I the king.
Those two were the pretty and shining couple in
the middle of the dance floor. But all attention was
upon my darkly purple clad angel, perfect in her
movement as we started to dance. A hand upon a shoulder,
another upon a hip and we were away in a magical land.
There, atop the hill, my love, sits Camelot.

The dance goes on. We hear a song about a boy who
can play a guitar just like he was ringing a bell.
The tempo picks up, then slows down some more. We
sit upon the dock next, and we hold each other close as
our feet move together in slow rhythm. We look at
each other, she and I, and say 'I love you' without
ever having to say a single word.

Soon enough, but all too soon, the dance is over.
The 'King' himself sends us off as the last of the
special punch is drank. The finger sandwiches are
left untouched as comments are made about
finding a local castle made of white and getting
some real food.

I don't want to leave. I suddenly feel like I
have grown roots straight into the gym floor. The
ring in my pocket feels like it weighs more
than the burden of Atlas. I almost lose my nerve,
but one thing convinces me; a kiss from an angel
that brings my attention back to what is important.
The life that was to be after this moment, not the life that
had come before.

I smile, kiss her back and find my resolve made up.
Under the stars is where it will be. I know how;
I know where. A short walk, a simple question and
then the happiest man in the world will be born this night.
I already had her answer, unofficially. Me upon my
knee, in the grass and asking her the most important
question of our lives was only a formality.

Arm in arm, we walk off the gym floor. The lights
snap off and we both look up at the suddenness
of this part of our lives ending. Together we smile, kiss again,
then I open the door for her; gentleman to her lady.
She bows, not unlike a lady of court, and walks by me
into the parking lot. My horse; my wild mustang,
awaits us. Hand upon the door handle, I look back
to say goodbye to the now silent room of young dreams.

------------------------------

I blinked once; twice and then looked around. The large room
was cold and drafty. After the tornado last year, it had never
been repaired and in fact was slated to be torn down next
month. Birds had made their nests in the once empty rafters
and everywhere you stepped, their droppings greased the floor.

There were no longer any banners from all of the state
championships. Those had been stolen long ago. Graffiti
adorned the walls where once, there had been posters of victories
over local teams. Some of the words now, even I was ashamed to read.
Before, the bright words had spoken of happier and lighter times.

Bleachers had long been stuck in the out position. The
area behind had been a favorite place to make out. Now,
it was an almost unspoken of area, littered with broken
needles, empty beer cans and used condoms. In my mind, the cheer
from the crowd could never be loud enough to drown out the darkness
now hidden under the old wood stands.

I turned and started to go back into the gym. The cane
in my left hand once again reminded me I could not move
as fast or as sure as I once did. That more than anything
reminded me of the here and now and not the long ago
and oh so far away. I stood there, leaves blowing around me
and not caring who I was.

Then, it was gone. The moment ended as quickly as her life had.
A group of celebrators that had drank way too much of the
special punch had been driving faster in their daddy's Pontiac than
they should have been. The driver, after it all, had been truly
horrified and sorry beyond belief. I had cried for him, then.
I had cried for us far, far later when the alone feeling
came up and punched me in my stomach; taking from me the
only breath I had ever thought life was worth living for.

I didn't slam my cane against the wall. I'd worked out
my frustrations long ago. I had started to wonder, just for
the briefest of moments, if I had still felt anything at all.
I moved my free hand to wipe it against my pants pocket, and like
a laser beam focusing on a target, I had my answer.

It still weighed as much as the weight upon a god's shoulder.

I turned the broken handle with my cane hand, the other buried
deep in my pocket and unwilling to let go of the warm metal. A final
pause at the cold breeze suddenly upon me, and like that, yesterday was gone.
I stepped across the doorway of the old gym, swearing that I heard
a long gone king singing about a hotel.


Atlas, my friend, how did you ever do it?

Reviews

[Hello, Goodbye]

This is a brilliant piece. The narrative is powerful, particularly now that I realize the full meaning of the story. The flow is easy but not simple at all.. the imagery is delicately placed and seems specific.. The tactful imagery surely helps create a powerful dream-like story. This really is fantastic.. Once having concluded the reading and realizing its entirety, it gave way to reflection of aging and self awareness.. Great job.

[al25]

Very well written.

[Mornaric]

Thank you my friend.

This tale surprised me. I was sitting here as normal one day, grooving to some classic rock, when all of sudden I started writing. Surprised the hell out of me. This was the end result and I think it came out near perfect.

There is actually a sequal to this. When I remember where I put it, i'll post it.