OCR Text |
Show Why We Cry Butch and Fenn Stories 116 "What are you doing home?" My mother has come upstairs from the laundry room. I can feel the washer moving in the house. "Nothing." 6 The next time I see Fenn, he's wearing the hat. He comes down the stairs into Butch's basement, and he's wearing the hat. Butch and I are right in the middle of drilling the bat. Butch cranks the killer auger slowly while I try to hold the nervous, binding bat in my hands. Every four rotations, Butch removes the one-inch bit and checks to see that he's still in line. To Fenn, it must look as though we're trying to open a long wooden bottle of wine. "What are you guys doing?" he says. He doesn't know that we're reaming out his most precious possession. He doesn't know that Butch has stolen his glasses as well as his bat, and that we have just spent two hours dismantling the frames and taping the lenses into two short cardboard tubes. He doesn't know that we've made him this treacherous pair of goggles. Fenn doesn't know anything. To keep it that way, Butch quietly takes the bat from my hands and sets it behind two tires. Suddenly in the poor light, I sense somethng different about Fenn. I can't see his face; it's his posture. He's not |