Roy by Timothy Willis Sanders, 2014
The magic trick:
Expertly controlling what the reader will extract from what is said so that the story can thrive on what isn’t said
This story knows its reader so well. It knows what we will assume after every single sentence. It knows what every sentence will suggest in our minds.
And with that knowledge assured, it can then leave huge plot points unsaid. The reader fills in the gaps; and it works perfectly.
And that’s quite a trick on Sanders’s part.
The selection:
He rebounds the ball under the basket. Palming it at his beer gut, he elbow swats at ghosts. I watch the blob of him wobble. ‘Seeing a lot of each other,’ he said, all chill before his brick shot.
Roy passes the ball. I catch the ball, bounce it hard, and pass it back.
Most Fridays Dad stays at Frieda’s overnight. He comes back to give mom a kiss, me a pack of basketball cards. Roy plumply jumps back and releases a jumper, just short, brick.
“All the boys were there. We were too drunk to drive home,” dad said. Roy’s arms flap and he hooks like Robinson. Air ball.
Roy weaves the ball between his hock knees. The ball strikes his Nike, and dives at the street. He pretends a pre-game warm-up and springs after the ball in tight little leaps, his teeth wrapped in his lips. I leave without a slap or a wave.
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