The last extra interior TV got patched in while the network was doing the race preview.
McAster was complaining that he was losing money by closing the hardware store, but no one in town was doing hardware projects.
The exterior wall of the bar was being used as a projection screen and the parking lot of Sturgeon Lake Tavern was full of chairs, not cars.
Marty and Alicia LeVan put out baskets of fries and chips & salsa, telling everyone that the kitchen was closed until after their son Jerry swam in the Olympic 400 meter final.
People offered congratulations until Alicia had to hide in the corner because she was so nervous all she could do was nod, not speak.
Marty was the gracious host, playing his role, joking with customers and some neighbors who had never set foot in his tavern.
He moved through the sea of people with some effort., careful that his prodigious gut didn’t knock any drinks off tables.
At 5’6” Marty resembled a gnome navigating a busy town square in a fantasy novel.
The patrons of the bar cheered wildly when the screen showed Jerry walking out to poolside.
Many of them had stories of him clearing tables at the Tavern, or as a lifeguard, the youngest lifeguard at Huron Beach.
Someone said to Marty “When he wins, he’s gonna be on a cereal box.”
Marty, superstitious, winced.
Someone called out to Alicia “Your son is so handsome, no matter what happens you should be proud...and set him up with my Vicki. The anxious crowd laughed, then as the swimmers mounted the started blocks, someone whistled loudly for silence. The noise reduced to a murmur but the tension was thicker than the Sturgeon Lake Tavern’s clam chowder.
When the camera paused on Jerry LeVan, the crowd went wild again.
Someone shouted, “Make us proud, son!” and Marty winced again.
Alicia was still facing the TV in the corner of the bar, the first one Marty installed when he remodeled.
Marty decided he should be with the outside patrons, and waddled through the old wood door.
Cars lined US 58, everyone capable of standing stood next to the chairs Marty had lined the parking lot with.
The sheriff was there, ignoring all the open beers in the parking lot, his eyes glued to the images of the swimmers on the blocks.
Jerry’s medal would be a medal for the whole town, certainly celebrated on signs at all four borders.
Marty popped a blood pressure pill, swallowed it without water. He wasn’t due for one, but it couldn’t hurt.
Jerry didn’t get a good start. Marty could tell. His tall frame and long arms were never more than a hand’s length behind the competition.
The crowd cheered and shouted encouragement to a boy they knew who was thousands of miles away, across an ocean.
Jerry made up some pool at the first flip, and according to the graphic on the screen was in second place.
Marty thought “Silver would be just fine,” then cursed himself.
The shouts and encouragement had become one noise in Marty’s head, like a private jet landing at Blanchard Airfield.
Things on the wall/screen seemed to slow down as if there was a data glitch at the cable company.
The crest of splashes headed to the final wall, a kid in red, in the lead.
Palms slapped edges, and the network enlargened the box with the swimmer times.
Gold went to Germany
Silver to Australia
The US got bronze. But not Jerry. Jerry came in fourth.
There was one last shot of him exiting the pool, a chiseled pale Adonis, not an ounce of body fat, graciously, even joyously congratulating his American teammate
***
Marty sat in the center of the empty, locked bar, a mug of beer in front of him he had barely touched.
Alicia had chattered nonstop-she had texted back and forth with Jerry a number of times, and spoke once, briefly. He had thanked the whole town for their social media messages, posted a photo of himself at five in a swimsuit with Marty and Alicia, the All American family enjoying a day at a wave pool in a small town.
Alicia was counting the bills for the next day’s bank, dimming the bar lights.
“It’s been a good run,” Marty said.
Alicia turned and leaned toward her husband.
“The fourth best 400 swimmer in the whole damn world, Marty? I’d say it’s been a great run.”
“No, no, Alicia, That’s not what I meant. I’ve always had this weird math in the back of my head…”
Alicia stood upright, stiff, like an animal smelling a storm coming.
“It was there when we were younger, too, “ Marty continued, “but I was so in love I couldn’t really dance with it. But then when Jerry was taller than me at twelve years old, bright blue eyes to my brown…”
Marty sipped his beer, almost like someone would slurp hot broth on a cold night.
Alicia took the guest check spindle and scratched underneath the nail of her ring finger.
“You...You were at the airbase...in the reserves…”
“I was in the reserves,” Marty said, glad that they agreed on that point.
“They were tearing down the drawbridge over the Grand, building up the bridge straight across it so the tourist traffic didn’t back up…”
“Construction worker?” Marty asked.
Alicia bit her lip and nodded.
“Think he knows his son just competed in the Olympics?”
***
Photo by Emilio Garcia on Unsplash
Gasped out loud
Gold right here: Alicia took the guest check spindle and scratched underneath the nail of her ring finger.