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Show Why We Cry Butch and Fenn Stories 95 just one friend. Your father is a little worried about how much time you spend down there with Butch. Okay?" I nod and shrug and rise on that one pedal so that the bicycle and I begin to wander down the driveway. I want to appear nonchalant. The park is full of little-leaguers playing five-hundred, and I see Dickey down at the other end leading the Blue-hats in a practice. The season is running to a close. I scan the park from bandstand to ball park as if I'm looking for a new friend, but when I round the corner at Concord, I bear down and race the wind, bent for Butch's. I'm free! My parents are worried about Butch, that he's a bad influence on me. I'm not going to lie and tell them not to worry. I'm not going to lie to them. He's crazy. But he's the one they should worry about. He doesn't have any friends except Fenn and me. Fenn has the right idea about parents. He says, "They worry if you don't have any friends; then when you get a few, they worry that your friends will corrupt you. You're not going to win, but you don't have to listen." On Butch's block, I race down the sidewalk because the four gigantic poplars have heaved the cement all around and there are ramps you can fly from at the right speed. Then I see there's a cement truck cocked across his front yard, so I cruise right by without looking and ride around Quail's sheds and up the alley into his back yard. If Butch's father is home, I don't want to see him. |
