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MONTHLY WRITING
CHALLENGE
No Joy In Mudville
Audrey Yoeckel Copyright © 2002
Note
to subscribers: If you've already read the
first part of this article in the eZine itself, look
for the red cue below to find your place.
No joy in Mudville. Kent snickered at the appropriateness of the unbidden
thought. How long had he been standing in the old dirt parking lot? The
imitation sun hadn't moved from its position in the unnatural sky. Just
seems like forever. He shook his head.
Eardley Park beckoned with seedy majesty, like the old cigar box he'd
used as a boy to hold his boy-treasures. It had the same battered patina--the
same aroma of keepsakes loved and used and long forgotten. With the casual
air of a thief he sauntered to the barricaded entrance.
No Trespassing, a yellow sign cautioned. It went on By Order of the County
. . . He didn't bother with the rest. Everyone knew in a few days Eardley
Park would be torn down to make way for a new and far more profitable
structure. Ever since the town lost its franchise, there had been debate
over what to do with the old baseball park. Finally, the land was purchased
by an international corporation in order to build an industrial park.
A park is a park? No. Not at all.
Reaching through the crossed boards, he laid a gentle caress on the old
iron gate. Dad should have brought him when there was still time. How
angry he had been when, time and again, Dad let him down. He'd never been
inside. But he used to come to the parking lot with mitt and ball and
thunk, thunk, thunk on the wall outside. Fast balls thrown to a pretend
batter--Steeeerike!--and pretend crowds cheering him on.
Kent looked at the sky again. This time the sun had moved. He turned and
left without a backward glance. It was too much to know he'd never see
it again. Those dreams were dead. Along with second chances.
Subscribers continue here:
He pulled his dad's old Impala into the reserved parking space in front
of the funeral home with plenty of time to spare. This lot was full. It
didn't seem right. Who in this crowd could reach through the desolation?
Maybe one might, if he could find the words to say. Kent looked through
the glass doors and spotted him. He was talking to a couple Kent didn't
know. Of course. Why would it surprise him to find strangers here?
"Son," his dad called in a respectful stage whisper as he approached.
"These are the Murphys, Jeff's parents. You know Jeff, right?" Kent nodded,
though he had no idea who Jeff was. Wait. Now I remember. Jeff was Tommy's
best friend. He murmured a greeting and shook the proffered hands. Cardboard
people. Cardboard words. Sorry for your loss.
It was his turn. Was he supposed to say something? He nodded again and
they moved on. Scowling in consternation, he tried to place his son's
best friend. But all he could see was Tommy's sweet face and that was
unbearable.
"He knew you loved him." Startled, Kent turned to the old man beside him.
Once upon a time this man had been his universe. As Kent grew older and
learned his father wouldn't be there to turn his dreams into reality,
he gradually closed down and shut the old man out. They had some awful
fights. By the time he left at nineteen, they spoke as strangers, if they
spoke at all. Then he married and started his own family.
Now, looking his father in the eye for the first time since he'd arrived
this morning, he saw himself reflected there.
How? Kent held his breath and swallowed hard. "I was never there for him.
I broke my promises. He barely knew me." The words came spilling out with
his ragged breath.
"I wanted to be with him, take him places, do . . . stuff, but life .
. . just got . . . in the way." It sounded like an excuse, even to him.
Kent lowered his head. "Why couldn't I have, at least, taken him to the
park for a game and a dog?"
His father's eyes were full of understanding, as if he'd heard the unspoken
thought.
"I know you feel that way. It's hard." He paused, looking thoughtful.
"There's some time before the service. What say you and I go sit
out back and just talk?"
~~~~~~~
AUDREY
YOECKEL owns and publishes an award-winning e-zine, The
Big Country Peacock Chronicle, where she offers a jumping-off point
to new (and not so new) poets and writers. The magazine is listed in the
Novel & Short Story Writer's Market. |
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