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Show Carlson Ferguson Lives 8 "Yeah," Butch says. He lets Fenn feel his way almost up the stairs before he adds: "You coming back tonight?" "Should I?" "If you want to." It's enough of a truce and Fenn leaves. For a while then I watch Butch string wires in the back of the old television set. I think he's making a bomb to blow his house out of the ground once his father really does come home. I don't know; I've never seen him quite this wound up, though it's been an intense summer all around. "I've gotta go. Butch. I should eat dinner and check in." "Yeah, sure," he says. "I'll go with you. I should see Fenn at the park. They'll be batting by now." So we ride double through the startling daylight to the park. Linda Parley and Carol are playing tennis and the swings are alive with kids, one of them my brother which means I still have fifteen minutes to get home. It's hard to believe that the neighborhood cooks like this all day long while we're in that basement making up the world. Fenn's team is having batting practice and we see him leaning on the fence, posing like a baseball player, waiting for his turn to bat. Butch watches the pitcher for a while and then goes to Fenn and says: "Wake up, Bozo." "Hey, Butch. What are you doing here?" "Time your step and your swing with this kid's arm. Watch his arm. Keep your back elbow way up and your hands level. Stand up in the box. Don't swing too hard." |