Tuesday, December 02, 2008

The Streak - 9

The National Anthem played crackily on the PA and Evan held his cap to his heart in a studiously reverent pose. Over weeks and months and years of this he had perfected what he imagined was the posture that befit the ritual, that was expected of any man in uniform when an anthem played: back straight, head held up and cocked a little, free arm akimbo or maybe not. Akimbo conveyed a certain assuredness, a frank willingness to face what lay ahead. And a trace of arrogance. Evan's left hand kept sliding off his hip. He wasn't sure akimbo was right for this.

Through the perilous fight

Brendan Terry held a similar posture to his left but he fidgeted, a catastrophic heresy. Sometimes he even kicked at the sand in front of the dugout where they stood. It made Evan uneasy to perceive this in the corner of his eye. Brendan must have read his mind. He leaned toward Evan without looking at him.

"Dirty little cocksucker."

Brendan stood back upright and cleared his throat. Evan tilted slightly in his direction, careful not to compromise the integrity of his stance.

The bombs bursting in air

"I like you. May I fuck your cunt?"

Brendan erupted in a guffaw that he managed to stifle with some agony.

"You choking on sperm?" Evan inquired.

And the home of the brave!

Brendan exhaled happily. Evan smacked his ass with his glove and jogged away towards third base. On the way he peered into the hazy distance between the bleachers and observed a jet plane arcing slowly, gracefully toward the ground. There followed the distant rumble of a formidable impact.

It was time to play ball.

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