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Show Car Baseball Butch and Fenn Stories 75 Butch stands with his fists in the fence. He turns to me: " Twenty-nine runs, bases loaded, one out." And he's gone, running for the swings on a car I finally see, coming down from Indiana Avenue. He takes a double to my single, and we all settle to the game. Butch takes off his shoes and his shirt, and poses as a sprinter, one finger tip touching the fence. The cars are backed up at the Seventh South stop sign; we'll be running for a long time tonight. The air is bright, and there's a whole run of stars over our heads that will only move much later and then as one big wheel. The milky way is so thick it looks like smoke. 11 At night, on a fine strange night after a day of baseball and a rock fight, on a night so strange it is like night on another planet, with your shoes off running in the new dew, with bare feet at an hour that is so far beyond late that it is no time, on a night like that a person can run a long time. It is no trouble. The car lights swing onto your street, and you fly around for a while, back and forth, doubles, triples, home-runs, sliding in safely each time. The bright night air will sparkle in your throat when you slide on your back, and you won't remember standing again, being ready, and launching at the next lights, trying and making a double into a triple, |
