By Greg Bottoms
In a pared-down, hugely readable kind that brings to brain the paintings of Raymond Carver, Sherman Alexie, and Denis Johnson, Bottoms has created a piece of literature that exhibits how even the main approved varieties of “toughness” may have a dangerous, disorienting, and at last dehumanizing influence on each person, specifically kids.
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Additional resources for Fight Scenes
Hereradiated. Hairradiated. Mark wear a list. He used to be nonetheless right here. Who knew? We listened to 1 of the stepson’s stepbrother’s albums. It used to be satanic, suicidal—and I simply saved growing to be clear of myself. I closed my eyes. only for a moment. I opened my eyes. The track had stopped. Empty room. Mark used to be long past. The door used to be open. I stood up and walked out of the room. “Mark,” I acknowledged, yet no longer loudly, afraid now that we weren’t on my own. In a whispered half-hiss: “Mark. ” I walked slowly down a brown-carpeted hallway with sixty eight struggle Scenes[2]. indd sixty eight 6/30/08 11:41:40 AM Fight Scenes extra faux wood-paneled partitions. On those partitions have been images of households at Christmas, aged leaning their heads towards one another and smiling, infants sitting amid blocks and rattles, chuffed, in that captured quick, to be having their photo taken. It happened to me that this type of infants was once most likely Mark. I couldn’t bet which one, notwithstanding. they simply seemed like infants, around and rosy and bald. Little people. bizarre creatures locked up in frames. I had a thought of infants and God, however it escaped via my eyes. The final photo body within the hallway was once crooked and empty, the particle board backing noticeable. I went out right into a major room, the place a card desk used to be organize, papers stacked well on most sensible of it. A television rested on a steel rolling desk coated in a rash of rust. a number of lamps. containers round the desk. The female friend should have been an accountant, or a bookkeeper. Mark’s mom—I imagine I remember—was a nurse in a kid’s ward. My lips caught jointly. I unsealed them. “Mark,” I acknowledged back, nonetheless now not very loudly, heading right into a darkish den with purple carpet and lacking light-switch covers and shafts of slanting sun slicing diagonally via. The room used to be filled with extra bins of papers—phone files, debts, receipts, tax varieties, the recorded historical past of maybe countless numbers of individuals. proof, proof, proof and no experience to be came across. I felt my insignificance like a breeze. I walked slowly sixty nine struggle Scenes[2]. indd sixty nine 6/30/08 11:41:40 AM Greg Bottoms round the room, taking a look within the containers, then out the window into the brilliant day, at a puppy in a neighbor’s backyard panting, a rusting grill inside an oil-stained carport around the road, an outdated pickup parked alongside the scale down of the home. on the different facet of the room, i'll see via an open door, right into a blue-tiled rest room. The translucent bathe curtain used to be half-open, exposing the tap and showerhead, cleaning soap scum and shampoo bottles, a bit window excessive within the wall, black mildew at the steel body. i finished on the doorway, contemplating the motion picture The Shining, which I had simply visible for the first time, the scene the place the gorgeous bare girl becomes an outdated girl with rotting epidermis and the soundtrack rises up right into a man made and shrill crescendo of horror, and that i was once in a position to see now that Mark had passed through the medication cupboard, leaving the reflected door part open, and that i felt my belly, simply then, grab and a faintness omit me just like the shadow of an plane.