awesome ultimate expert hen (mdyesowitch) wrote,
awesome ultimate expert hen
mdyesowitch

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I must have blacked out just around then, 'cause the very next thing that I could see was the light

I slept through the night. When I woke up. There was daylight. I'd quite forgotten what it feels like.

I'm at June. I finally figured out who Steph is. It's Stewart O'Nan's son. Stephen King is correctly referred to as Steve. That was a huge load off my mind. I remember the feeling of June. Knowing Nomar was going to play for Pawtucket for a few days, in Louisville. Knowing the big club was holding it's own waiting for Mueller, Nixon, and Garciapara to come back, but most importantly, keeping it tight and close. The feeling of "wow, if this is what our backups can do, we're going to kick when our starters return." I remember how much it didn't work out like that, and I dread this next chapter.
I want to apologize to all the fans of the movie Titanic. I remember thinking when it came out, how much suspense can their possibly be when you already know the ending. The sexy guy (Not Leo DiCaprio, John Jacob Astor) dies, and it's depressing to the utmost, although his wife and kids survive, but as far as history records, no subsequent Astor was ever as sexy. Anyway, that's off-topic, the point is that even knowing in my heart that it will turn out okay, my stomach turns as what I have to go through before it is okay.
"Day in, day out, nothing feeds the soul like the Church of Baseball."


It's a quiet morning, as the veil of night lifts and rosy-fingered dawn approaches. Around the house, there is the subtle sounds of waking children. One by one, they troop to the bathroom, seeking to unburden themselves of the accumulation of the night. There is a quiet moment as they pump the soap, once, twice, then a scream reverberates through the house! The parents come running! Has there been an accident? Was there a tragedy? Are the childern hurt? Is there blood?
The children stare at them with unseeing eyes, lost in the tragedy.

"The soap, it's..." begins one, but words fail him.
The girl is incoherant with tears, but holds out her hands, wet with soap and water.
The one who has already spoken tries again, "water!" He holds out his hands for inspection. Never in his tiny life has he felt so betrayed.
The small one, the suspicious one, fixes the parents with a baleful gaze, steeped in knowledge and understanding, and malice. "J'accuse!" he says.
"Yes." she says quietly, the maternal figure who stands in the doorway, eyes shining with concern, and relief. "I watered down the soap, because you were using too much of it. No go wash up and get ready for school."
Tags: books, creative writing, sports
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