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Show Car Baseball Butch and Fenn Stories 76 sliding again, your bare back against the grass where that electric itch will grow like burning wings as you fly into the next run. I've never run so fast. Every twenty minutes old man Wilkes grinds by looking for Parley; when we see the car coming, we rocket back and forth trying for triples. Old man Wilkes is going to put a hundred miles on his car tonight, just driving six blocks. And from time to time we see the blazing shadow of Parley run through the lot or down Concord, always on the edge of lights. He runs like a god. Seeing him I feel the hair on my neck rise in sweet fear. Suddenly he appears outside the fence, not even breathing hard. "Hey, boys." "Parley." "What's up?" I want to say: Parley, is he really going to kill you? "Car baseball." "How many runs in?" I want to say: Run, Parley, I'm scared for you. "Thirty-eight," Fenn says. "Butch has got forty-seven. It's a good night." A car turns off Indiana and cruises our way- Parley lets it come a block and the lights start to rise on his face. As the car passes Concord, continuing, we see the boatlike expanse |