Thursday, August 18, 2011

The red ball.

The one they had at recess.  For kickball.  For general mayhem.  The one that inflated and warmed in the sun.  The one you took to the nuts a couple times.  The one that embedded your braces in your lips.  The one you could really sink your foot into.  Crosshatched and beautiful.  Remember that ball.  That ball is your world.  Everything you ever needed was embodied by that ball.  But you got greedy.  You got monied.  You stopped empathizing with Holden Caufield and realized he was the phoniest, whiny-bitchiest one in the book.  Much rather be friends with Stradlater.  Fuck, even Ackley.  But man, you could kick the shit out of that ball.  And that used to be more important than almost anything.   And then you moved on to drugs and parties and girls and bullshit jobs you hated, hoping in some dark, cobwed infested part of your mind that the kickball was still waiting.  But it is not.

15 comments:

  1. That is a rather brilliant second person short piece. I can really feel what you mean, so blow that up into a short story (say a thousand words?) and try to get it hosted, or send it to an online magazine like wet ink.

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  2. Sheron says: nice short piece. I enjoyed. You bring in a touching emotion That most people have felt some time in their life.

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  3. God how I remember that red ball. Thanks!

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  4. Why haven't I read this before? Perhaps because I love having JD discovery moments throughout the year. Like the red wheelbarrow, so much depends on the red ball...

    Thanks for pulling this forward. It's worth a read.

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    1. Thanks Jo! Why haven't you read it? You've been slacking apparently. ;)

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  5. Hi, JD,

    I agree with Jo-Anne's allusion to the "Red Wheelbarrow." Brilliant in its brevity.

    Coming of age...from the awkwardness of youth to the angst of ten years later. The road is not so long, just pitted and hard, walkable but just barely.

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    1. Agreed, and I am so happy I will never walk it again. ;)

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  6. A new red ball is never nor ever could be the same as THAT red ball. That's what makes it special I suppose....

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  7. Why you gotta ruin my dream!!! (Are you sure it is not, still waiting?)

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  8. Man, those red balls hurt. We only used them for dodge ball. Must have been 12 or 15 of them. Scrawny weak kids like me hated them.

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    1. Yeah, I definitely got that hashmark pattern imprinted on my face a few times...

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