Untitled

[eckered]

Untitled

 

By: Daniel Iafrate (me, obviously)

 

 

Im a simple kind of guy who likes simple kinds of things. I like baseball and fishing; the sun on my back, and the breeze flowing through my hair. I like the blues of the sky, and the greens of the trees, because well, here in Missouri, if you dont enjoy the simple things, what is there to enjoy? As I walked down the familiar road, the taste of dust in the air, and the satisfying crunch of gravel between my bare toes, I hummed a tune. Its not a tune that I specifically recall, nor one that has even before graced my ears with its presence, but it is an enjoyable tune none the less. Its melody, like the clouds in the morning sky, adding a hint of change to the otherwise routine walk to the sandlot.

 

 

 

As my vocal composition seemed to develop further, nature in itself seemed to join the orchestra. The buzz of the honey bees, sucking the sweet nectar from the flowers that line my walk, the bass to my concerto, the rustle of the leaves on the ground preceding the change of seasons added rhythm. The sounds of a rooster in the distance indicated that my walk was coming to a close, and I could make out the vague shapes of Matthew and Jane heading east, their paths conjoining with mine less than a mile down the road. To my west, lay the sandlot, and just like every morning, Tim would be waiting there with his bat and ball, warming up for our game.

 

 

 

As I approached the split in the road, my vocal masterpiece came to a seemingly perfect close, and Matthew and Jane, also perfectly in sync, slowed their walk as they caught up with me. At first, no one said anything as we continued our walk. Jane and Matthew were the kind of people who didnt need to say anything to express their appreciation for the world around them. Matthews youthful blue eyes were open, taking in everything around him, and Janes lips were tilted slightly upward in satisfaction hinting that she too was glad for the beautiful weather. Still silent as we rounded the bend leading into our sandlot, Tim was leaning on our bench, feet up, and his mouth tilted in his usual clever smirk, his usual still-lit joint half smoked between his lips.

 

 

 

Heavy traffic today? he joked playfully, pointing out for the millionth time that we always arrived a few minutes after he did. He passed me the roach.

 

 

 

Lets just play some ball, I responded.

 

I nibbled on the end of his roach, and inhaled long and hard, the sweet smelling smoke leaving a pleasant flavor in my mouth. I walked over to the pitchers mound as Tim stepped up to his plate, taking a slow practice swing before spitting into the dirt. I slowly reached down and grabbed a fistful of gravely sand, rubbed it between my palms, and looked hard at the ball in my hands.

 

 

--------------------

 

C&C? Anyone want the rest? The full thing is 5 pages :/

[llamster]

Five pages of what? Word document? Notebook paper? Either way it's not a lot.

 

 

 

It's pretty good. I'd like to see the rest.

 

 

 

Hummed has two m's.

[eckered]

Five pages of what?

 

 

 

word document :-#

 

 

 

 

 

Hummed has two m's.

 

 

 

fix'd ;)

 

 

 

ill put up more in the next post

[eckered]

As I looked around, Matthew had taken his usual place on first, and Jane stood, still with that slight smile, on third.

 

The crack of a wooden bat against the ball is a sound you really need to hear to understand. When the weather is nice, and Tim is in a good mood, that ball can really fly; and boy, when he took a swing, the ball flew. Matthew ran back, and back some more, and finally, when he was within an arms reach of the fence, he scooped up the ball, and tossed it back to me.

 

 

 

Nice hit! he called, enthusiastically.

 

 

 

Thanks, Bro, Tim called back. Lets see if I can do it again!

 

 

 

He stepped back up to the plate, and pointed towards the sun, mocking Babe Ruths called shot. I hurled my fast ball at him, lifting my front leg high, just for the effect. Time seemed to slow down, and you could see in his face that he was determined to hit the ball. He succeeded and smashed a line drive towards shortstop. Jane reacted like lightning, making an amazing flying catch. For a girl, Jane was in really good shape. Her bleach blonde hair blew diligently in the wind, and her short-shorts highlighted her curves quite nicely. All in all, there was no denying she was HOT.

 

 

 

Better luck next time, Slim, she chuckled.

 

 

 

Slim was what most folks around here called Tim. His name fit him well. He was a little taller than average, and you could spot him a mile away because of his signature plain white t shirts and long scraggly hair. Tim has been a chronic smoker for since any of us can remember, but it doesnt really bother any of us.

 

 

 

Jane and Matthew switched places on the field, hi-fiving and spitting into the dirt as they passed. Matthew is the youngest of all of us. He has an innocent face, and long curly brown hair that reminds me of fresh churned chocolate milk. Hes carefree but at the same time conscious; oblivious, yet aware.

 

 

 

The baseball game continued as usual; I threw fast pitches at Tim who hit the ball hard to Jane and Matthew who caught it and tossed it back to me. Although a bit routine at times, it was our idea of fun.

 

On and on we went, playing hard, and never missing a beat. The game went on for hours, uninterrupted except for the occasional water break or someone pausing to pee in one of the nearby bushes. Tim smashed the ball deep into the field countless times, while I practiced my screwball. Matthew and Jane fielded the ball like they owned it, and overall everyone had a great time.

 

 

 

But alas, just like every day, the hot summer sun moves up in the sky, and by the time its full overhead, our energy turns to sweat, and we decide to go fishing around noon. I call a break at about eleven thirty. We all move sluggishly over to our bench, and Matthew pulled out some bottled water from his bag. Matthew was always prepared. I wipe the sweat off my brow and look up at the trees that are shading us. A blue jay sits directly overhead. How nice to be a bird, with nothing better to do then to enjoy the days; and to have such freedom of flight, being able to go anywhere under the sun. I crack open the water and pour it savagely into my mouth. I carelessly spilled it onto my shirt, not minding because I knew it would dry in minutes.

 

 

 

[bleep], its hot Tim remarked. Tims good at calling out what seems to be on everyones mind. Jane nodded in agreement, her smile still as pleasant as usual.

 

 

 

Tim pulled out another bag and started rolling a second joint.

 

 

 

Wait, I said, lets save it for the lake.

 

 

 

Tim considered it for a second, and then nodded in agreement, and put his herb away. Matthew tossed his empty water bottle into the nearby trashcan, and pulled out some bread. Simple food for simple people, I thought to myself. He cut up a slice of cheese and a few pieces of salami, and put it on a slice of bread, and passed it to Tim. Next he made one for me, Jane, and himself, being careful and precise with his slices, making sure to give everyone the same amount.

 

 

 

We ate comfortably in our usual silence, relaxed and without worry. The bread was a bit hard, probably a few days old, but it didnt matter. Its crunchy exterior perfectly complemented its white fluffy interior. The salami was sweet, the cheese was sharp; but the combined taste was enjoyable to say the least.

 

 

 

Matthew was the last to finish his food. He stood up and brushed the few crumbs off his lap, and steadily walked over to the trash can and dropped his paper bag in. He always seems to be mindful of his every movement, always aware of his impact of the world around him. Although none of us would ever admit it, Matthew was like a little brother to each of us.

 

I checked my watch. The time was about 12, so we agreed to split up, go home, get our fishing gear, and meet back up at 1, near our favorite water hole. We all said our temporary goodbyes and headed home.

 

My house wasnt very impressive. It was a simple two story building with a tool shed and a few acres of farm land. The paint was peeling on the outside, the floorboards creaked, and my room was always a little bit chilly from the lack of insulation in the walls. Even so, my house was still a home, and I loved it for what it was.

 

 

 

I entered the front door, yelled to my mom that I was getting my fishing gear and headed up the narrow staircase to my room in the attic. I grabbed my shades and my fly fishing rod, which I had bought the previous summer, and headed out the door to the lake.

 

We all arrived at the lake around 1, fishing rods in hand. The lake wasnt really a lake; it was more a pond at best. In reality, it was just a small water hole in the middle of a wooded area near the baseball pitch, which somehow always managed to be filled with hundreds of sunfish and deepwater tuna. We selected a spot towards the north end of the lake and put down our gear. Tim had already lit up, and passed his joint around, while he sliced up a loaf of bread and placed two small cubes on the end of his hook. He tossed us each a few pieces of bread, and we cast out our lines.