The Under Review - Issue 4 | Summer 2021

37
Trust Fall
CHRIST BELDEN
We were out in the backyard, Richie and I, playing badminton. The boundaries were a couple of trees, a
stone walkway, and the edge of the brick patio. I was twelve and my brother fifteen. I don’t know why I was
playing with him, given how competitive he could be, how ruthless and cruel. I’d wanted to go to the
library, but he badgered me until I gave in. He called me a bookworm and said I was afraid he’d kick my ass.
All true. He always won, and not once did he take it easy on me. If I was stuck way over on one side of the
court, he would line drive the shuttlecock into the grass at the other end, raise his arms, and crow like
Jimmy Connors at the U.S. Open. When I won the occasional point, he’d curse and swing his racquet at an
imaginary version of his little brother—swish swish swish, and I was dead. Once, after I’d struggled to win
three points in a row, he launched his racquet at a tree and cracked it in half. Good thing the badminton set
came with four racquets because he broke another one by pounding it on the ground after I’d tied him at
15. He beat me 21-15 that day after digging out the one remaining racquet from the closet.
Today I was down 16-1, and Richie beamed with his typical combination of glee, superiority, and contempt.
This being September, the sun had already made its rapid early-evening slide behind the house. Inside, our
parents sat in the kitchen with their after-dinner drinks, and I could easily imagine them snorting,
between sips, at their older boy’s triumphant outbursts:
“Yes!”
“That’s what I’m talkin’ about!”
“You suck!”
Richie had won ten volleys in a row. But this time, after he served, I lunged and barely popped the birdie
back over the net, and it landed in-bounds. 2-16.
“You got lucky!”
ISSUE 4 | SUMMER 2021