Hometown Favorite: A Novel by BILL BARTON, HENRY O ARNOLD

they
had gone to the state championship game, and circling a large
group shot of the entire team and coaching staff was a drooping
banner painted in school colors that read SPRINGDALE TIGERS
DISTRICT CHAMPIONS. It was the owner's way of remembering the glory. The two boys responded in kind to the warm
greetings as they passed through the crowd on their way to
the shooting gallery where Jesse was playing pool.
    The back room was cramped, the atmosphere soured from
years of cigarettes smoked and alcohol consumed. REBEL
ROUSER in bright red neon and the green glow of shaded bulbs
over the pool tables lighted the space. Photographs of Mississippi veterans from the Civil War to the wars in Iraq and
Afghanistan interspersed with posters of scantily clad women
posing with automobiles and handyman tools haphazardly
plastered the peeling walls.
    Dewayne grabbed Sly's arm, stopping him from interrupting
Jesse while in the middle of a game. From a distance, unnoticed
in the murky light, they watched their friend run the table in
a game of eight ball surrounded by a juiced crowd fascinated
by the wonder of Jesse's skill. Between each shot Jesse gulped
down a swig of beer, his bottle held for him by a former Tigers
cheerleader. Even in the diffused illumination, the friends could
see that Jesse had lost significant weight, and indeed, he did favor his right leg as he maneuvered around the table. When
Jesse sank the eight ball with a hard smash as though he had
fired it from a gun, the cheerleader performed a Tiger acrobatic
leap and a ludicrously extended kiss. Sly was ready to walk out
the door and willingly lie to Cherie, but Dewayne led him out
of the shadows into the smoky, muted light.

    Jesse was about to light a cigarette when his friends appeared
at the end of the table like black apparitions staring at him with
a prophet's insight. The cigarette dangled off his lip and fell to
the floor. Were he not in a public place, he might have burst
into tears at the sight of his friends. Instead, he covered the
impulse with a loud guffaw and hobbled toward them, falling
into their arms like a penitent.
    "Man, it's good to see you boys;" Jesse said, a strength returning to him that had not pulsed through his body for a
long time.
    "Yeah, yeah, you too, my man," Sly said.
    Dewayne said nothing. He nodded to the crowd, who waved
and smiled in return but did not want to participate in this
private moment, and they dispersed to other tables and other
games. Even the cheerleader knew there would be no invitation
to join this trio, and she became a part of the human stream
keeping their distance from this privileged encounter. Jesse
was unable to release his friends. It was as though the power
he received from their touch had brought him back to life.
    "Is this your idea of working late?"
    Jesse knew it was a subtle chastisement for being a no-show
at dinner. "Yeah, it was lame. I just..
    He wanted to explain, but the truth remained aloof and he
released the grip on his friends.
    "We missed you, that's all," Dewayne said, rubbing a hand down Jesse's side, his friend's weight loss noticeable to the touch.
"You know you never need an invitation."

    "Yeah, I know that" Jesse was careful not to make direct eye
contact.
    "You missed meeting D-man's girl;" Sly said, giving Dewayne an elbow. "He not careful, that girl is gonna end up in
Miami."
    Dewayne returned the elbow to Sly's ribs and laughed. "He's
all talk. Nothing's changed with this boy."
    "I keep up with you in the papers and the sports channels;' Jesse said. "You're superstars. You're making Springdale
proud"
    "We miss seeing you, brother;" Dewayne said.
    "Yeah ... ancient history." Jesse fumbled his cigarette pack out
of his shirt pocket. "I guess you heard about my bad luck:'
    "I thought you'd get back in the game once your leg healed,"
Dewayne said.
    "I thought so too." Jesse rubbed the spot on his thigh where
the femur had been shattered. "The