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Show Car Baseball Butch and Fenn Stories 3 5 When Butch, Fenn, and I walk past Mr. Wilkes on our way back from the river, he never speaks or looks at us. He simply rakes the ground, adding debris to the little fire. Even un-burnable things slowly dissolve in that smouldering heap. 2 Butch's sister Karen has disappeared, running around the house with the tupperware cup which we were using as a ball in the World Series of Cup Baseball. Fenn just stroked a line shot off the house and the cup clipped her in the face where she was standing experimentally poking Tiny with a stick. Butch goes to throw his mitt at her, but she is gone, and he rips around the corner after her, his mitt still aloft in his hand, ready to fly- We watch the chase and listen for a moment for a scream. Tiny, his coat festooned with great dried gobs of dogcrap, stands, yawns, and having no one to poke him, falls like a door into the weeds. "Was that supposed to be a curve?" Fenn finally asks me. "I'm not going to tell you." "Fine. We care. Off the house is a double; that drives in Michelson from third. Six runs in." Fenn has named his players after kids in the neighborhood who moved away last year during sixth grade. "Who hit that?" |