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Show Why We Cry Butch and Fenn Stories 108 After ten minutes watching those monkeys, my butt gets sore and I ask him my favorite question: "What are we doing?" "It's all right," he answers. "Just wait." So I wait and watch the weather. Now it rains every afternoon. The clouds roll in every day, proud and fat, darkening after four and spilling huge and fragrant showers that each last an hour. I dread them. They seem the full round summation of a summer. They say: the weather has changed. They smell like school. In a summer in which I haven't had this feeling once, they make me want to go indoors. There are five kids flying around. The point of each of their exercises seems to be to leave the earth. One tiny girl in a torn brown dress is climbing up the jungle gym and then leaping across to catch the tallest tricky bar where she flails like a flag for a moment before dropping into the sand. Karen's friend, a blond girl with two pigtails is trying to learn Karen's tricks, but she balks each time when it comes to letting go of the bar with her knees and flipping in the air. Karen is coaching her a little by calling her names, primarily "Chickenshit!" "Fenn wants to be an All Star." Butch says. "Yep. That's what it looks like." "Are you going to be on the team again?" "Probably." I say. I was an All Star last year. "How do they choose them?" |