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Show Why We Cry Butch and Fenn Stories 114 observed all I care to, and I go back over to the bike rack, but Butch is still standing there. His ankles are the only thing the girl can see. It's going to be a twenty minute session, but after five or so, Butch turns and walks slowly back to me, thinking it over. His sister Karen, who has done three more bold Dead Man's Falls during this interlude as if to say, this won't kill me, has taken his place. I hear her say, "Oh shut up, Dotty, you chickenshit!" The clouds have really come in now in their late summer way, full and dark, and the air smells of earth and trees. It's going to rain. The light has shifted into a clear dusk, and everything appears more distinct. I can see the cement truck in Butch's front yard in exact detail. When it rains, we usually go into Butch's basement and play a game in the Bottle-cap league, but today I don't feel like it. I watch the children risking their lives. They're really cranking through their tricks now, frenzied by the coming rain. I don't know why, but the rain has really got a hold on me, and it hasn't even started yet. "What's your dad doing with that cement truck, Butch?" But Butch is lost on alert for the next falling child. I pull my bike out of the rack and drift down the schoolyard, waving once at Butch. My mother will be glad to see me home early. |