"Out with the ball-player again, dear?"
This was her mother he could hear, as he waited by the door for
Michelle. Kelly only got to hear bits, the louder parts of the conversation,
as they tried to keep their voices low.
"I'm sure he's great, dear, your father was a great pitcher when
I met him. And now, he's in his chair most of the day, half asleep.
This last part was directed toward Jack, Michelle's father, who
had been scouted for the majors, but was more of a drunk then any
team was interested in taking on. That, and his ERA had been in
the toilet after an inconsistent year, his last playing college
ball. Kelly used to have a coach who used Jack as an example, a
cautionary tale: the body and mind, ruined by drink. Kelly shifted
from one foot to the other, waiting.
"Women - out!"
Jack bellowed from the living room, and soon Michelle was rushing
into Kelly's arms and out the door. Her hair smelled clean, but
also like flowers, and outside, in the sun, her face glowed and
shone, her cheeks perpetually flushed. He teased and laughed and
joked her into a state of making her forget, he hoped, about home
and her parents, the outside world entirely; making her breasts
bounce and heave with laughter.
They couldn't - would not - worry about time passing, who they'd
be; where, in five years. Twenty. They would be young and strong
and indestructible, their backs would always hold and the world
instead would break.
* * * * *
Day 16 | Kelly
Home | Day 18