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Show Car Baseball Butch and Fenn Stories 58 pocket full of lethal rocks. I'm considering taking them home as souvenirs, putting them on my bookcase. Fenn keeps repeating: " Those suckers sure can run, right?" Then he laughs and laughs. We're flying when we cruise into the back lot at Butch's house. My ears are roaring and I'm shot with that high happiness in my lungs which means I better not laugh because I could cry- We're all pushing and hauling each other around and I have the feeling that if we knew a song, we'd sing. Butch pushes Fenn into a hole, and then we find the ball where we left it, untouched by Tiny, but it is just too exciting to play Wall or anything else. We're just not on the ground. Butch throws a couple of rocks over the Quails' roof, three, four, five, until we hear glass break, and we dive into the large foxhole and hide, muffling our racing laughter in the weeds. We've gone crazy. "Geez, Butch, old man Quails is going to kick our asses!" Butch is too giddy to listen. He rolls onto his back, his mouth pursed but heaving in laughter, and he arches to get his hand in his pocket so he can extract another rock. His face still buckling, he holds the rock before our faces in two fingers as if it were a coin and then still from the sitting position, he throws it up in a soft lob right through his own bathroom window. The crash is flat and obvious, a sound so wonderfully wrong that Fenn convulses and jumps up to run |