Dream 3

Take me out to the ball game

Early summer, early in the 20th century.  The sun is low in the horizon as I sit on a wooden set of bleachers waiting on the end of a minor league baseball game.  I am wearing a casual short-sleeved summer dress of blue calico with small flowers.  Even with my hair fashionably tied up on my head, the evening is hot and I fan myself to dissipate the heat.  The team I am there to see is ahead by one, their pitcher on the mound, the outfield tensed to attack anything the batter might get ahold of.  The uniforms are crisp white, with red pinstripes running from the top of their collar-less shirts to the bottom of their knee-length pants.

I am here because I know what the future holds.  Tonight will be his last night pitching.  I don't know how I know this, and it seems to have no affect on me.  I will do nothing to change it.

He throws his final pitch and strikes the batter out.  His teammates assault him on the mound, elated to have won their game.

I climb down from the bleachers, carefully watching each step my navy low heels take and wait by the gate for him.  He arrives and puts his arm around my waist, his colleagues still slapping his back, and congratulating him.  

We all arrived at the apartment complex and pushed the furniture out of the living room.  The Victrola was turned on, and the dancing began.  This was a celebration.  It was to be his last celebration.  He spun me around the room as more guests arrived and filled the space.  Food was brought in and lined along the kitchen cabinets.  I knew something on that buffet would poison him and lead to his death.  I would do nothing to stop it.  Not because I hate him, because it was inevitable, and not my place or purpose to change his path.

We danced in the stairwell of the complex and outdoors.  Late in the evening, as the dew settled on the grass, we said our goodbyes in the courtyard.

In a few days, he would be dead.

Situations I have found myself in. Vol 1. Ed. 2

April 19, 2000

As a youth (that being someone aged junior of 20) living in Coffeyville, I often found myself leaving town to find entertainment. One spring evening, quad 15, a few others, and myself decided to take a jaunt to Pittsburg to a club for a night of dancing and drinking.
We left as storms were building on the horizon but, being young and invencible, we chose to ignore them.
By the time we got to Parsons, hail was falling and the rain had obliterated road visibility so we decided to pull into Pizza Hut to wait it out. No sooner had we walked in, and the sirens sounded. We were all quickly ushered with the few other patrons and staff into the walk-in freezer. After about 15 minutes a few of us free Kansas spirits tired of the wait and left the freezer to go outside and stare at the sky. I walked out into the rain while Brian stood under the canopy to light a cigarette. I was preoccupied with the downpour when Brian said, "I can't believe a train is coming through here in this weather."
No sooner had the words escaped his mouth than he recognized the sound for what it was, and drug me back inside, away from the approaching tornado.
Some time later, we decided to abandon our trip and head back to the 'ville and the safety of quad 15. All amusement of the evening was not lost. We danced in the rain at the dorms for a while and, after stealing dry clothes from Matt we played a rousing game of cards late into the night in the quad.
The next morning, the front page of every paper detailed the story of the tornado that wiped out downtown Parsons. I will always have the story of how I hid in the freezer at Pizza Hut from it.