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Show 41 like a rubber mask, smirking with half-lowered rubber eyelids and a mouth cut with a blade. She had asked to see it and he had said no, and later on that night she had not let him kiss her, no matter how many times he had tried. Several times he thought she had forgotten and grabbed her head, but she always remembered in time and turned her face away, grinning. A Softball game was in progress on the other side of the park, and he watched it for a while, wondering if he should try to sketch one or two of the players. He knew there was no hope of drawing the entire layout of the game, the figures in relationship to each other, the dog that ran back and forth between the pitcher and the batter, trying to catch the ball. A girl wearing green toreadors was at bat now. Each time she had swung and missed, another girl, who stood on what must have been third base, jumped up and down and screamed, and the boy who had been pitching nice easy underhand lobs spun around and bent over, holding his stomach. There were simply too many bodies on the field, and Lorin couldn't tell if they were all in the game or if some were bystanders. Their poses were all different, each requiring a different momentum, coming from a different angle, to draw, and they kept moving. And anyway there was no center point of interest, and there were trees and park buildings in the same frame. He could never get them all. He thought, however, that he might be able to do something with the girl in the green toreadors. She stood with the bat perched awkwardly on her shoulder, yelling something at the pitcher. If they stalled long enough Lorin thought he might be able to catch a quick impression of her outthrust elbows, her knock-kneed stance, her tense, nervous posture, bent at the waist, her behind moving from side to side. He took his pen out of his mouth only to find he had drooled all over it, and while he was wiping his fingers on his pantleg she had evidently swung and missed again, because when he looked |