The Glow

By Dan Bryan

Quentin Ross is twenty-one years old and approaching the end of his college years. His (nominal) girlfriend Marcela is decidedly out of his pay grade on the scale of life ambition. In lieu of visiting her family for spring break, he crosses from one side to the other of 2004 America, with all of the anti-turmoil that implies. There are the regressive jokes and diatribes of Kjell as well as the adderall-induced conniving and philosophizing of Carson. But it is truly through Olivia Dupree, vivacious and tormented, worldly and aesthetic, that Quentin might wonder about the narrowness of his own perspective.

The Glow touches on the nature of responsibility, relationships, redemption, and repetition. It contains historical, picaresque, coming-of-age, and romantic elements, and it is the first work of Dan Bryan.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dan Bryan
• Release date: Sep 22, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301016907

Dan Bryan

Dan Bryan is a writer and data analyst from Chicago. He was born on August 6, 1985 in Columbus and lived in several locations while growing up. He attended the University of Chicago and graduated with a B.A. in History in 2006. The Glow is his first work of fiction, though he has also written extensively on history and current events.

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The Glow

by Dan Bryan

Published by Dan Bryan at Smashwords

Copyright 2013 Dan Bryan

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

Thank you for downloading this free ebook. You are welcome to share it with your friends. This book may be reproduced, copied and distributed for non-commercial purposes, provided the book remains in its complete original form. Thank you for your support.

This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.

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The Glow

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Chapter 1

Outside it had been the coldest day all winter, but they were sheltered in the depths of the athletic club. Sweat ran down their burning faces. Marcela was teaching him racquetball and competing with ferocity. Not once in a month had he defeated her. Experience thus far had trumped his strength. Now they played the deciding game in their best of three match. It was the first time Marcela hadn't won 2-0.

Her biggest advantage was her skill at imparting spin to the ball once it caromed off the front wall. He was never quite positioned well and his returns were mediocre at best. However, when he got a direct shot on the ball he was able to hit it frighteningly fast at times. On the balance though, he was shocked to win a game from her. She had clearly been playing since she was very young.

Marcela was leading him 10-5 in their third and final game with match point on the line. Her serve proved almost impossible to play, hitting two walls near the front corner and ricocheting in a rather oblique direction when it hit the floor. The resulting return was feeble and the point was easily closed.

Sorry Quentin, you do not have me beaten yet. she said.

I was close that time. This is hard.

You weren't that close. she told him.

As they walked to her apartment the wind blew cold off the frozen lake and their hands and feet went numb. She lived in a mid-rise and they passed through the lobby and up into the elevator. Back at her apartment they showered together. The water droplets were steaming and they both felt the stinging of their fingertips as the blood flowed back. They pressed together naked and made out as water sprayed onto their eyelids.

Afternoons with Marcela were the substance of his winter. The cold days and freezing nights had kept the two of them indoors, and by the time they left for Christmas break he knew she was his girlfriend. The night before she caught her flight to Santiago he placed her gifts beneath a miniature tree. She was the kind of girl who would get a little Christmas tree to spend three nights with before she flew to the other side of the world. It was a little stupid, to be sure, but it was a smaller thing that made no sense not to humor.

His gifts for her were a small necklace, Amores Perros, and a black and white photography book of the Andes. His rationale was that by getting three things, there would have to be something that she enjoyed, but she told him she loved everything. Together they watched the movie while she was still around.

How much Spanish can you understand? she asked him.

When he couldn't duplicate the speech of Gael Garcia Bernal, she teased him mercilessly.

Now it was in the middle of their frozen February afternoon and they were sitting up in bed, leaning against pillows pressed against the wall. They were warm again from the shower and the quilt that they were nestled under. The ground and the water outside of the window was white and the expanse stretched for miles.

How did you learn to put that kind of spin on the ball? Sometimes it's just like Jesus Christ out there.

My father taught me all of the tricks. He loved to play tennis when he was young. He wanted to take it seriously, but he suffered a bad injury when he was twenty years old. When I was a girl he taught me racquetball and tennis both. There were many courts at our gym.

Did you ever beat the old man? Quentin asked. Marcela chuckled at the suggestion.

Why do you think I play against you now? I need to know what it feels like to win at that game, because never did I win when I was young. My father did not believe in taking it easy.

Did you play against other girls?

Not much in racquetball. There were tournaments for tennis in Santiago. Usually three or four per each year. For some reason I found it very stressful, whether I won or lost. Those games may have been good practice, but they were never good entertainment.

Yikes homegirl. At least you were just playing for yourself. When I used to screw up playing football there were another fifty guys on the team who I had to worry about.

Marcela pulled on a t-shirt and sat up straighter. She grabbed a blanket and wrapped it tightly around her shoulders, and then she turned back to face him.

You yourself were an athlete, as you tell it. How did you come to play football?

I played Pop Warner since I was six years old. Everyone played in Virginia. We were all Redskins fans--

I hate that name.

I could care less now, but that's who we watched when I was little. They won the Super Bowl when I was in second grade or something and our school had a huge rally to celebrate. It was that kind of thing.

Marcela put her hand on his thigh.

How was it playing football in front of everybody? What was your worst mistake?

Well... I fumbled in the fourth quarter of our high school playoff game when I was a junior. I pretty much quit playing after that. Quentin said, shrugging his shoulders.

What is this fumbling? Marcela asked.

So my last year playing we were nine-and-one in the season and we won our conference. I mean we had a really good team that year. I was ok, but we had two linebackers who play in college now.

Yes, but what does this have to do with a fumble? You never just explain anything right away. she said.

Fine, I guess I won't explain it at all. Quentin teased her, but instead of bothering him further Marcela just grabbed her computer from the nightstand and started typing on it. After a couple of minutes she found something.

My goodness. A fumble is when you drop the ball and the other team can get it? That sounds terrible!

See, you've got the computer. What do you need me for? Quentin said.

So your team lost the ball because of you?

Ok, I was in the process of telling an admittedly long story. Do you want to hear it?

Of course! You never tell long stories. Usually you just sit here in my bedroom like the Sphinx.

Marcela nudged him with her elbow as she said this, but he kept on with the story.

Like I said, we won nine games, lost one, and won our conference. So because of that we advanced to the Virginia state playoffs--

"Yes. Divisions and