Published
Every Day
The Ballad of Avron Jones
by Richard Millman
The city lay
in quiet repose
as the workers
retreated to home
and a small boy sat
in an old office hall
his back to the wall 'gainst the cold.
He'd been there before,
more than once, truth be told
but had yet to explore to the full
but this night he went on
all alone to dissolve
in the welcome embrace of the dark
A forty watt bulb
beckoned him on
to the musty old basement below
courage in hand
he stepped down and down
to the world he was destined to know
Old broken chairs
files long forgot
were littered in chaotic affair
and at the end of a hall
a miniature door
with a curious wee spy hole was there.
The boy flicked on
the old metal switch
which sat adjacent the door
and mixing a measure
of boldness with fear
stepped into the opening yaw
Imagine the strange look
that furrowed his brow
as the sight that he met first sunk in
neither windows nor doors
nor furnished repose
just yellowing walls were within
And garnishing the walls
and floors at the same
red lines in a pattern so strange
and at the base of the front
a bordering strip
with its construction all made out of tin
For a moment he stared
at the nonsense before
when a noise made him turn with a start
and there just behind
stood a little old man
With a smile and a curious glint.
'Welcome, my boy,
to the theater of dreams,
where the world of panache lies within
I've seen you before,
this many a time but I chose
to be patient and wait.'
And having said just this much
he proffered his arm
wherein a racquet was held
with an encouraging nod
he smiled to the lad and
motioned to take it from him
From a pocket unseen
he then Magicked a ball
and throwing the same to the boy,
said 'Now swing nice and slow
with a bend at the knee
and feel all the rhythm within.'
Uncertain at first the boy
acceded and swung
first testing the balance and feel
and then with a swoosh
released such a stroke
as never a beginner had seen
Thence came a tear
to the old man's glad eye
And a smile from deep in his soul
'Meet me each night
at this time and place
And I'll teach you my heart's delight.'
Month after month,
year after year
they worked and developed his skill
until that fateful night
when the old man declared
that the moment was finally right
With his kit in a bag
and his heart in his mouth
the boy followed along the old man
until eyes opened wide
he discovered himself
where the trains stand on every side
In that great marbled hall
he dutifully stood
awaiting his old master's words
as a great heaving mass
of people spoke all abub
the noise a most deafening merge
'Now listen my boy,
these walls are of glass
and the ball not of black but of white
but all else is same as
the basement you know
so you have naught of which to take fright.'
Just then came a voice
as a loudspeaker boomed
and the people were asked to be still
as the words that were spoke
shivered his spine
and ushered him on with a thrill
'It's with pleasure dear friends
that I ask you to stand
and applaud to the depth of your bones
a delightful young man -
a local you know -
pray bid welcome to Avron Jones!'
That legendary night
was the first not the last
in a story of fame as of yore
of great deeds and duress
and champions tales
that naturally passed into lore.
Even the days
of sadness were strong
as the old man's passing away
'twas marked not with tears
but with smiles and a song
as the sport all turned out for his day
But time marches on
and champions decline
and such was the case for the boy
and he moved through his age
with such honor and grace
no regrets for even one day
On a day nondescript
he found he had walked
absent mind to his old hunting ground
and as twilight thence fell
he stood 'fore the door
whence his life had once turned around.
As he thought to step in
a shadow within
gave him a momentary pause
And he silently stepped
up on the stoop
and gingerly opened the doors
There deep within
a poor little glow
crept up from basement downstairs
and curiosity's hand
beckoned him on
on the back of his neck stood the hairs
Imagine his thoughts
as he crept down and down
to the place where all had begun
and yet more when he saw
a shy little boy
open the door as he had once done.
For a moment the boy
stared at the nonsense before
when a noise made him turn with a start
and there just behind
stood Avron Jones
with a smile and a curious glint.
'Welcome, my boy, to the theater of dreams,
where the world of panache lies within
I've seen you before,
as you stood at this door
and wondered whether
you'd ever step in.'
And having said just this much
he proffered his arm
wherein a racquet was held
with an encouraging nod
he smiled to the lad and
Motioned to take it from him
From a pocket unseen
he then Magicked a ball
and throwing the same to the boy,
said 'Now swing nice and slow
with a bend at the knee
and feel all the rhythm within.'
Uncertain at first
the boy acceded and swung
first testing the balance and feel
and then with a swoosh
released such a stroke
as only once a beginner had seen
Thence came a tear
to the old man's glad eye
and a smile from deep in his soul
'Meet me each night
at this time and place
and I'll teach you my heart's delight.'
This story and the stories in this contest are works of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, or to any other works of fiction, is entirely coincidental.
