Marbles On The Loose

by Charlie Dickinson

From beyond the empty desks came the sound of glassy clicks. She turned and looked at a fat boy kneeling on the floor beside a bulging Gold Medal Flour sack.

"I be done."

"Thanks for staying after," she said.

He rose, shifted his weight from one foot to the other, and cast a final, searching glance downward. His brow, freckled darkly, furrowed.

"I'm sure, Benno, you got them all."

"Yes, Miss Arguello. If I can get anybody to play, I win more. I Mister Marbles King."

"I am Mister Marbles King, Benno."

"Yes'm."

Benno left, tennis shoes thumping, squealing over the waxed corridor. The marbles sack swung by its drawstring. He tramped down the stairs, intent on the playground, when girls from class--Shonda, Tori, and Annrae--stopped talking and to a one beamed at him.

"Your marbles bag not looking too heavy," said Tori.

Shonda asked if he missed any. Annrae's eyes cut from Shonda to Benno, her mouth open like she wanted to say something.

"Not none," he said.

"I saw Jared pick up some by his desk," said Annrae.

"Oh, you be jiving me." Benno walked sideways past the three, not missing a step.

"Bag look smaller--" Shonda yelled after him. He pushed open the metal door with its small, sunlit wire-mesh window and went outside.

A riot of kids played four-square, hopscotch, tether ball, kickball in the far corner, and game after game of marbles, where guys hunched over white circles chalked out on the black asphalt.

Benno waggled the taut drawstring, then set the marbles sack down and crossed his arms, as proud a figure as Michael Jordan. Unlike Michael, he had no takers in his game. These guys wouldn't make room. They'd point to the sack, ask what he wanted with more marbles.

Benno wondered when he'd ever play marbles again. Below a forehead of jerry curls, his dark eyes squinted. He checked off all the good players who refused to play. It was everyone, including nappy-head Jared in the nearest game. Annrae's words came back. That sneaky thief. He uncrossed his arms, picked up the marbles, and walked.

"Let me in this game, man," he said.

"You late out the gate, spilling marbles."

How could Jared be second-best marbles player at Irvington, he always having excuses not to play? "Jared, let me in, I forget you pick up my marbles back there."

"Who said that?"

"Someone. A girl."

"What you see?"

"Am I going to play or not?" Benno said. His fingers itched to shoot marbles.

"No, find your own game."

"What say I don't play for keepsies?"

Jared ignored him.

Pressure built in his chest. He trudged to another game. If he was forced to spectate, it would be away from someone for whom he was half ready to bust their lip.

Benno parked his marbles and stood next to E.C., the perpetual, unpopular loser in school. Skinny as a green bean, E.C. had a marbles bag filled probably with fifty cents worth of new cat's-eyes bought that week.

E.C. tilted his head back and said, "Want to play? Not easy get in a game." Benno wanted to laugh. Poor E.C. Poor Benno. They were both desperate, any game was better than none.

Benno knew an empty marbles circle by the school building, under the fire escape from the second floor. He took out a piece of chalk and touched up the lines.

"What game we play?" said E.C.

"Your choice," said Benno.

"Oh, whatever you guys be playing most is okay."

"Then it's potsie. We both put five in." E.C. counted out five marbles from the pathetic marbles bag. "Let's not bother lagging," Benno said. "You go ahead, shoot first." Benno dropped the ten marbles in the middle of the circle. Out of his pants pocket came his favorite shooter, an aggie he discovered in a neighborhood vacant lot years ago where for weeks and weeks the Kuwaiti army he'd joined dug trenches in a game of Desert Storm. Ugly, but the pitted aggie felt like sandpaper and could he ever give it spin.

On his first try, E.C. dribbled out, missed it all. He shot like a girl.

"Slippsie," Benno yelled as he got down next to E.C. to show him how cocking his thumb would give some power, some control. Any hope for a little competition was gone. His opponent had just shelled out five marbles for Benno's target practice. E.C. missed again. Ouch.

Settling on his knees, he got ready to shoot, became still and pensive as a stone sculpture. Only his eyes darted about, as if catching the marbles in motion from different shot possibilities. Might as well stretch out the game; it would be over soon enough.

He knocked out five in a row and each time the aggie stuck at the point of impact, a spinning blur. When the fifth rolled out, Benno quit staring at the marbles and gave E.C. a quick look.

E.C. still grinned like he was enjoying the game. Benno decided the guy needed at least one more turn shooting. He set up for a combination shot, a really hard one.

Two marbles flew out. Benno chuckled at his failure to lose his turn. He aimed at one of the three marbles left and shot the aggie flat, without spin, and the cat's-eye was his. The aggie also rolled out. Great. E.C. can shoot again.

E.C. missed again.

Benno didn't like it. After a whole week of not playing anybody, he ends up having a guy practically give him marbles. And why was E.C. so happy about losing? Was it the thing about being lonely, especially lunchtime in the cafeteria? That had to be the worst. Benno remembered E.C. sitting at a cafeteria table in back. Alone, paying too much attention to slicing off bites of steamy meat loaf and eating mushy spinach.

Benno stopped thinking and knocked out the rest.

"Man, I wish I play like that," E.C. said. "Hurry, let's play another before recess is over."

Benno didn't know what to think. Was E.C. ready to lose five more? Words caught in Benno's throat. He was done taking this guy's marbles and nobody else would play him.

Benno crouched beside the bulging marbles sack planted on the ground. Yanked open its mouth. Miss Arguello would have nothing to say about this. The top marbles clicked at his touch. Yellow, red, blue wisps of color in the cat's-eyes wanted to be rolling. No one had ever done this.

He grabbed marbles like they were free jelly beans, spilling some, then rose back up. E.C.'s face seemed lost at what was happening. Sun-bright clouds floated in the blue above and that's where his right arm catapulted dozens of marbles in a high arc. Sunlight glittered off the glass missiles. Then they crashed and ricocheted on the asphalt. "Free marbles," Benno shouted.

The sound of skipping marbles was followed by the scuffling of kids. He reached down, scooped another handful of marbles. "Get out there." He waved E.C. back.

"You badder than I thought," E.C. yelled.

As if he needed to know where to aim, the voices came at him: "--Over here, Benno. Benno, us too. Yea, Benno--" He reached back and slung skyward his gift. The voices retreated, guessing correctly that he was going for distance. Marbles rained down and bounced like hail. Guys were colliding and Benno drew a deep breath. It was like Halloween treats, Christmas presents, and an Easter egg hunt rolled into one. The fighting over marbles was both crazy and happy. He loved it.

The voices: "--More, throw more, please. Throw some over here. Benno, you style, man--"

The voices and another reach in the marbles sack. Then the flinging skyward one handful of marbles.

The voices, more marbles skipping through the scurrying feet. And scooping out more marbles and the sound of those voices wanting him not to stop.

Over and over the glassy spheres catapulted from Marbles King's arm until the voices and the tossing to the sky could not go on. His fingers at last felt hard asphalt under the marbles sack, flopped over like a torn balloon. Benno clutched the sack and shook the rest of the marbles out. He kicked a few.

"You got them all." He waved the empty sack like a flag.

Benno stood up straight and checked it all out. Guys pig-piled on each other for the last marbles. Even E.C. mixed it up. Benno laughed at E.C. and another guy both reaching under the chain-link fence for some marbles off the playground. And Jared ran about greedy as the rest of them. Jared was coming around. He knew who was Mister Marbles King and next thing he'd be thanking Benno personally. Benno couldn't believe it. This was the best thing he'd ever done in his life.

When the scuffling was over and the last cat's-eye pocketed, Jared swaggered up. He held his marbles sack to his chest, almost as if to point out that he had the most marbles. "Benno, you're dumb. You know that."

Benno's hands felt heavy, almost like a fight coming on.

"You ought to take that empty bag, put it over your head," Jared said as if he hadn't been out there running after marbles.

Benno's teeth clamped together. He wanted to bite off, spit out Jared's little nappy head. He tore Jared's sack away, loosened the drawstring, gave it a shaking until all the marbles were out, rolling. Then he kicked at what he could, splattering marbles every which way. "More free marbles," he yelled.

"You cocksucker," Jared said. He grabbed his marbles sack. He turned to the others, "Bring them here, they're mine."

Benno laughed. He twirled his own empty marbles sack about his head.

"You going to pay for this. You are," Jared said.

The next day, Benno was a hero. Everyone who rushed up to him had the ebullience of a winner with marbles to spare. They said Benno really fixed Jared, who only played guys much worse than he, who deserved what he got. Now Jared was cleaned out, they said, laughing.

They pleaded with him to play. But Benno would not take the marbles guys offered. He wanted to soak up being a philanthropist and watch the guys, even E.C., shoot marbles.

Recess after recess, he'd go from game to game, making expert comments, in a low voice, about who was winning and why. He was the perfect spectator and he relished how everyone kept beaming at him. They kept grabbing at his arm to play.

Not that he didn't want to play again ever. Now and then when his shooter thumb got itchy, he'd reach in his pocket for his last marble. He'd pinch his trusty aggie and rub his thumb back and forth over its pitted surface, then put it back in his pocket. He knew he could beat any of them, but for now being popular was what he wanted.

After all, that was how come he threw out the marbles. One person, though, wasn't rushing over to get Benno in a game. Jared. He had also quit playing marbles. Almost like he wanted everyone to know he held his grudge dear.

So dear that one morning, on the way to school, Benno got some dirty looks from Jared and two other guys leaning against a fence. They smoked cigarettes, something they must not have wanted their parents or teachers to know, but something they were not hiding from every other kid in school.

Jared stubbed out his cigarette on the fence and strolled out on the sidewalk. So did his two icy-eyed friends. They acted like hard guys, blocking Benno's way.

"You owe for marbles, where's your lunch money? Where's your seventy-five cent?" Jared said.

"You jive turkey. I be shivering and quivering so bad."

Jared flung his hand out, palm up. "Hand it over."

"Man, your marbles worth nothing. Here." Benno fished three quarters from his pocket and chunked them at Jared's feet.

"This only one day's payment, blood." Jared stood tight with his buddies, forcing Benno to walk around them, off the curb. Next time, Benno knew, was fight-time.

That afternoon, once school let out, Benno headed for Saint Madelaine's. He needed to go to confession.

In the booth, he fidgeted on the skinny wooden seat, not sure what to say first. He couldn't sit speechless too long. The priest might come around, checking if he was okay. "Father, I'm in trouble bad," he said softly.

"What trouble, my son?" It was the familiar, optimistic voice of Father Pauley. He could be trusted with anything. Had client privileges, like on TV.

"I dumped out Jared's marbles and kicked them all over the playground."

"You do want to replace them, don't you?" "Should I? When I did that, he be laughing at me, said I was stupid after I threw away all my marbles--"

"What? You're saying you don't have marbles to give Jared?" Father Pauley always started with lots of questions.

"Yeah and what's more, he and his friends shaking me down for my lunch money." His shoulders sagged.

"Well, that's extortion--does your school principal know about this?"

"No. I wanted to see what you'd say, what you'd say about me throwing away his marbles." He stared at the cloth-covered opening inside the booth, waiting for the disembodied voice from the other side. What could Father Pauley say? Both he and Jared were in the wrong.

"You're impulsive, son, but young; you have much to learn. I'm sure God forgives you. He knows you want to do the right thing--"

"Me give Jared lunch money?"

"No, no, absolutely not. Next time you see him, tell Jared you'll give back all his marbles. Just make sure he understands you'll need some time to buy them."

"Or win them back." Benno pressed his palms down on his thighs.

"Yes. And as for the lunch money, be sure and walk with another friend, someone to be your witness. I bet Jared won't be so bold if you're not alone."

Benno pushed up off the wooden bench and said thanks. He didn't have to say one Hail Mary. The worst was over.

Benno wasn't sure about Father Pauley's advice to walk with a friend, but he found another way home, one that didn't include the usual swing by Plaid Pantry for candy. And if Jared and his buddies spent too much time waiting for him the next street over, that was okay.

But that didn't keep Jared away at school. One recess Benno was crossing the playground, kids were shouting and running, and Jared called out to him, "Where you hiding yourself after school, blood?"

Benno felt power from his shooter thumb all the way up to his punch-'em, drop-'em biceps. That beady-head Jared came closer, so Benno shot back, "Still want those marbles?"

"That skinny bag, you never pay back. I need money."

"No money, you get them end of month," Benno said, firm like Father Pauley back in confession telling him what was right to do.

Jared's shifty eyes froze up like, What was Benno saying? "You owe all of them, all them two hundred marbles."

Benno hitched up his sagging pants, rubbed his hands together like the matter was done. He had games to play, marbles to win. "You come by my place end of month, I'll take care of you," he said like he'd dismissed some runt-sized bro.

Jared, empty-faced, had no comeback.

Every recess Benno was at it. Winning a few marbles here, there. Working with his revived popularity and not playing anybody more than twice a day. Just moving around from game to game, so the word wouldn't spread too fast that the old killer form was back.

He'd play anybody, even E.C., who he hated taking marbles from, the guy was such a dufus player. But E. C. didn't seem to mind, he was glad to have a game.

The retarded players that were difficult were like that runny-mouth Deanerio. Once he heard Deanerio playing a game with E.C. and Benno asked to get in.

Deanerio said he'd play if he and E.C. put in four each and Benno put in eight.

"Oh, man, Deanerio, you forget Benno threw out his marbles?" E.C. said. "What you thinking?"

"His handicap, he better than us. He gotta put in more."

Deanerio would like to become a fine lawyer: slow game and plenty of argument. Benno wasn't about to talk away any more recess. He put in the marbles, eight.

E.C. won the lag from Deanerio--Benno shooting third--another concession to legal man. E.C. fumbled out with an old lady shot and hardly disturbed the bunched-up marbles.

Deanerio, for all the jive, shot one marble out. Next, shot, he didn't stick the shooter, lost the turn.

Benno hunched over, calculating the easy shot, the leave, the next shot. He cocked his thumb till it blanched tan and his eyes raked to the target cat's-eye and clack, the aggie took it out. He moved in the circle. Clack, three inches away, the second cat's-eye. The aggie spun up a blur. Clack, a third cat's-eye. Clack. Clack. Clack. Clack. Benno eventually took them all. "Another game?" Benno asked. He gave the won marbles to the open mouth of his flour sack. "The way you play, you gotta put in more, put in sixteen, we put in four. That's your new handicap." Winning against Deanerio had a big price, like marbles were only the excuse to argue. E.C., always agreeable, smiled. "What if I put in four," Benno asked, "E.C. put in four, you put in zero?" With that remark, Benno knew Deanerio joined Jared on the new list of guys that would refuse to play him marbles. His stomach suddenly felt hollow at the idea that he could have everyone quit playing on him before he'd won enough marbles.

That night, Benno watched his mom wash dishes with a soapy rag. She had her hair up, she was perspiring, she looked slimmer than usual wearing that stained and frayed apron. He ate oatmeal raisin cookies, his favorite, and drank milk.

"Benno, why you so hungry? You ate dinner only two hours ago."

"I be having some dessert, a nightcap before bed."

"What a growing boy you are. I just wish more of you would grow up than out."

The reminders about his weight were so tiresome. He toyed with the empty milk carton, held it up. "Mom, you mash this, be recycling it, don't you?"

"Why you ask?"

"I just wonder if I can have it, keep stuff in--"

"You wash it first, hear."

A guy Benno did like to play was Cleveland. Cleveland was good. Quiet, all concentration. A lot like Benno's style.

They'd stopped by a chalk circle the top of the playground, next to the brick school building, well away from screeching hop scotchers. Once his growth spurt started, Cleveland got to be a long, tall hoopster. Benno was afraid he'd quit marbles altogether, make basketball his main game.

"Usual game, potsie, seven in each?" Benno asked his towering companion.

"Potsie's okay, but I rather play honeypotsie. You cool on that?"

"Honeypotsie? Whoa!" Benno didn't know. Chancy game.

Cleveland tossed his marbles bag between his two palms, sized like pancakes.

Benno had to take it or leave it. Cleveland looked elsewhere, moved his head with a b-ball fake, like he was peeping another game across the way. The game was all or nothing. Knock out the honeypot marble and everything else was his. Benno could use seven quick marbles. He held out a black purie. "For the honeypot, we use this." With one hand, Cleveland wrapped his long fingers around the marbles bag and with the other, counted out the seven marbles they were each in for.

Cleveland won the lag and let Benno go first. To dislodge the honeypot, center of the bunch, on the first shot was almost impossible. Benno knelt, fired his aggie, slightly off to the right. Three marbles popped loose.

Cleveland's turn. Again, like Benno, he broke a few away from the bunch.

Benno scooted to the other side. Attack the marbles from there. It did no good to hit the honeypot, unless it could roll out. He aimed once more off center, his aggie rifling across the asphalt and slamming the bunched marbles. The aggie stuck, spun furiously in place. Three more marbles scattered.

Cleveland concentrated, like thought energies would move marbles, give him an opening. Hopeless. On all sides, the black purie was blocked. Cleveland squatted, his fist just outside the chalk line, pitted shooter snug against his thumb. Benno laser-eyed the thumb, tried giving it a jinx. A flick and out shot the missile, blasting the marble in front of the honeypot. Almost quicker than Benno could follow, the black purie popped up like a Fourth of July rocket. He held his breath.

The black purie came down and rolled. Benno felt like someone had personally stuck a cold stiletto knife in his belly. He'd never seen this happen before. The black purie rolled across the chalk line, out and game over. He was about to expire. He looked around.

That nappyhead Jared had seen the whole thing, gave Benno a mocking eye. "You ain't about nothing." Benno looked away. Cleveland was quietly gathering all he'd won. "That bag of yours, it too skinny," Jared said, now louder.

Benno glowered back at Jared. "What I tell you, you get paid end of the month." He had just lost seven marbles and didn't have the energy to bust that flicted grin off Jared's face.

"You lose bad here, I worry."

Benno said nothing. Turned away and walked.

That Jared was pure pest. A chigger bug that won't let off biting your arm. Benno couldn't shake him. One way or the other, he'd pay him back. He'd do just that. Do what Father Pauley said was right.

If Jared wasn't enough of a bother, Benno was also getting irked by the sight of Theron, who'd taken to bragging on himself, toting around his fat marbles sack, claiming to be the best. Benno wanted to take him out, get some marbles to boot.

One day Benno asked him, "You want to play the best, Mr. Big Bag?"

Theron's caramel eyes glanced up at his, then down. "Man, I busy with this game." Zeke, who always shot hard and wild, knelt at the circle too.

"You about finished."

Theron ignored him.

"You selective, you don't go bragging near me. You know you play me, you choke."

Theron picked off a marble, a shot sweet as biting a gumball. The shooter spun, setting up a cripple shot, inches away. Bang, the game was done.

"You sure you can afford to lose five marbles?" Theron, asked, the caramel eyes checking out Benno's slack bag of hard-won marbles. He nodded at Zeke like he'd agree Benno was yesterday's oatmeal. "I'm in for five," Benno said, flicking his shooter thumb over and over like some Zippo lighter. He stood ready to beat the black off that Theron. Theron squatted, bunching up the ten marbles, middle of the ring. They lagged, Benno lost, and Theron shot first. The shooter flew at the target, knocking one marble loose for a roll to the feet of Zeke. The shooter stuck for a choice of good shots. Bam. Second marble out. Benno studied the marbles hard. He needed his turn. This Mr. Big Bag was no jive turkey. Theron was good, shot like a young Benno. The next shot was tricky. Wham, the marble went out, so did Theron's shooter. Benno got busy. His turn and he was going to have to blast and hope for the best. A hard shot. Anything less wasn't going to break a marble loose. He closed his eyes, imagining a miracle shot, every last marble rolling out simultaneously. His eyes open, calm, he read the three feet of asphalt out to the marble bunch. He put his left fist under his right fist for an air shot. The thumb tightened up behind the aggie until his thumb bones would pop, then without realizing it, the aggie shot out like a bomb--clickety-clickety-clickety--the marbles exploded all over. Two went for the chalk lines.

The trusty aggie spun in the damage. Benno exhaled big relief. He was even with one shot.

Bang. Bang. Bang. Three shots, three marbles. Fourth shot, Benno's shooter went out too.

He studied caramel eyes for signs of fear. Benno could not lose, only tie with five marbles now.

Theron set up for the three remaining cat's-eyes. His shooter skipped out, took a bad bounce, missed everything. Benno bit his tongue. A young Benno would have made the same mistake, not going for the air shot.

Benno felt like he was closing in for the kill. He eyed Theron's fat sack and was giddy with the thought, Mr. Big Bag, ha-ha, he gonna have a hard fall. He knew.

He steadied down at the chalk line. Another air shot. Like a rifleman, he picked one cat's-eye off, sent it scuttling out of the ring.

The shooter stuck near the other two. Bang. Bang. Game over.

"Another game?" Benno asked.

"No, I gotta play Zeke, win some marbles back."

Zeke play acted horrified, palms up, fingers spread.

"Anyone else?" Benno said to the crowd of fool grinners who'd joined Zeke on the sidelines.

Benno had no takers. Killer Benno. He was going to lose his popularity again. "You not being afraid to play me. Check this." He rattled the sack, the few handfuls of marbles at bottom stretching the fabric of the bag that held mostly air.

"Yeah, man, you having one big sack before long, way you thrashed Theron. He's good," that punk Warren said.

"Yeah, big sack, I throw them all away again, maybe." Benno chuckled to himself. These fools don't know what marbles about. Win, lose, it was all playtime. Anybody ever actually eat marbles? He shook his head.

Amid the commotion, Jared showed his face.

"Okay, blood, tomorrow end of month. You owe," Jared said. His sweaty beady head had angry eyes.

"You get the marbles, chill," Benno said, letting his marbles sack twist lazily on its drawstrings.

"Two hundred. Two hundred marbles. You ain't got that in that bag--"

"You get 'em, don't be sweating no BB's--"

"Sure, yo mama buy you them marbles, or you in bad business--"

"Like what?" Benno asked, ready to laugh at the eyes half filled with anger, half filled with fear.

"Like I'm suspended out of school, you be laying in hospital bed," Jared shot back.

"You get 'em tomorrow."

"Like when, where?"

"We go my place after school." Benno shrugged his indifference. Jared could believe him or not.

Next day, they stood in Benno's room where a poster of Michael Jordan covered most of a wall. "Blood, why you be keeping all these milk cartons like that?" Jared shot a finger at five milk cartons that sat along the wall below the poster.

"I keep track how I'm doing, hundred marbles in each," Benno said, a smile sneaking across his face, sassy as his jerry curls.

"Those filled with marbles?" Jared said, his eyes wider. "What your flour sack doing? You supposed to show them marbles."

"New 'tude. I'm Mr. Humbles." Benno tugged up his pants, didn't bother with the shirt, half out.

"Uh, huh. What's with you? Ain't you no pride about winning?"

"No, it's complex situation. I start setting aside some to pay you back, then I see guys they thinking I'm losing 'cause my bag don't get no bigger."

"Like Theron." Jared had gone and busted loose his first smile.

"Yeah, I beat him bad, but guys still be feeling sorry for me 'cause I don't carry all them marbles."

"And they no mind you win now--"

"I even be staying popular--" Benno said.

"Sounds me like you be steady hustling everybody, only getting better at it." What had come over Jared? He almost looked like he could be a friend.

"Like I say, call me Mr. Humbles. I ain't be living large no more."

Secrets had to be secrets, Benno added. He clumped over to the all-Mr.-Air-Jordan wall, knelt and rattled a milk carton in each hand, told Jared he'd be best keeping most of them at home.

Charlie Dickinson lives in Portland, Oregon, where he pays for his writing habit by reshelving books at the Multnomah County Library. 'Marbles on the Loose' is his first published story.