"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. Right dear?"

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.

 

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Day 16 | Kelly Home | Day 18