b unit, impersonating the enemy
fiction
edward w pritchard
We played the b unit impersonating the enemy, the team we were to play on the football field the coming Saturday. The offense ran their plays and we took the names and personas of a few of the stars of our cross town rivals.
One of my team mates since grade school was all State, I forget if first team. The play was called the pass was thrown and another friend, with me on the b unit jumped up and stole the pass from our star athlete. Very unusual for the interceptor by now knew his place in the world, the pecking order was set and mostly he drifted along although still on the team. Him doing his part no matter how small, b team impersonating our enemy each week.
It was nearly dark practice nearly over and the interceptor shouted our secret password as he jumped and grabbed the ball. We rushed to block quickly switching defense to offense as we charged forward. Our offensiveness first unit didn't pursue. Coaches whistles blew but we ran clear to the end of the practice field.
Frozen in time my friend always intercepts that pass. Sometimes months or years go by and I don't remember. But, then there it is pounding charging feet as we rush down the dusty dark field.
Showing posts with label memory. Show all posts
Showing posts with label memory. Show all posts
Thursday, June 2, 2011
Tuesday, May 31, 2011
heavy heavy snow
heavy heavy snow
fiction
edward w pritchard
I was rushing through the old industrial district of town. It had been over twenty years since I had been here, before. The element of danger inherent in this bad neighborhood was no longer present to me. I climbed and slid over stalled cars, half buried buses and incapacitated buildings and stores as I rushed along battling the drifted snow.
I had to get to where the young girl was. I didn't know why. The snow was an obstacle to my progress but worse was not knowing where to go although I moved forward with purpose despite the snow. The inhabitants of this section of town were oblivious to me. I moved through their labors digging out cars from the snow piles or struggling with stalled buses and complaining passengers. I moved invisibly through the deep snow; to them at least.
I tried several futile things to move faster in the deep deep snow. Near a run down factory I stood on a heavy iron pair of wheels connected by a rusty axle; I was approaching a steep decent as I ran the narrow roads through this area. I considered standing on the axle and balancing faster down the hills through here. Later I looked for pieces of discarded wood to use as skis. For once in my life I didn't considered rules or consequences, I took or used anything that would facilitate me accomplishing my secret purposes.
At last I rushed into a small apartment in a seedy neighborhood. The door was wide open and the wind was driving the falling snow across the floors of the living room and kitchen where the people stood. A pretty young girl tilted her head to a kiss a young man. I watched intently. Most of the people there were indifferent to the kissing couple and no one noticed me. I walked in and through the crowd. The movement and habits of the girl kissing the young man were infinitely intimately familiar to me.
The young man was myself. Walking back invisibly into the snow I asked the man at the door " where do I go next" . He took no notice of me so I continued to walk directionless through the ancient industrial district of the city. Later I began to see more and more troops entering the area.
end
fiction
edward w pritchard
I was rushing through the old industrial district of town. It had been over twenty years since I had been here, before. The element of danger inherent in this bad neighborhood was no longer present to me. I climbed and slid over stalled cars, half buried buses and incapacitated buildings and stores as I rushed along battling the drifted snow.
I had to get to where the young girl was. I didn't know why. The snow was an obstacle to my progress but worse was not knowing where to go although I moved forward with purpose despite the snow. The inhabitants of this section of town were oblivious to me. I moved through their labors digging out cars from the snow piles or struggling with stalled buses and complaining passengers. I moved invisibly through the deep snow; to them at least.
I tried several futile things to move faster in the deep deep snow. Near a run down factory I stood on a heavy iron pair of wheels connected by a rusty axle; I was approaching a steep decent as I ran the narrow roads through this area. I considered standing on the axle and balancing faster down the hills through here. Later I looked for pieces of discarded wood to use as skis. For once in my life I didn't considered rules or consequences, I took or used anything that would facilitate me accomplishing my secret purposes.
At last I rushed into a small apartment in a seedy neighborhood. The door was wide open and the wind was driving the falling snow across the floors of the living room and kitchen where the people stood. A pretty young girl tilted her head to a kiss a young man. I watched intently. Most of the people there were indifferent to the kissing couple and no one noticed me. I walked in and through the crowd. The movement and habits of the girl kissing the young man were infinitely intimately familiar to me.
The young man was myself. Walking back invisibly into the snow I asked the man at the door " where do I go next" . He took no notice of me so I continued to walk directionless through the ancient industrial district of the city. Later I began to see more and more troops entering the area.
end
Thursday, November 25, 2010
BeAndrea was hot stuff
BeAndrea was hot stuff
fiction
edward w pritchard
I found it offensive that Beandrea was only interested in me for a sexual fling. My friends thought I was nuts. We were young and Beandrea was hot stuff.
When I found out we were still involved. I used my key and went into her apartment when she was at work and took ten of the left shoes of her favorite pairs of expensive sets of shoes and donated the shoes in two brown bags to the Goodwill over on Cuyahoga Falls Avenue.
It's been forty years and I still wake up with a smile on my face now and then thinking of BeAndrea going to the Goodwill trying to reclaim her left shoes. I guess BeAndrea was hot stuff to be able to wake up a man with a smile forty years after the agglutination.
fiction
edward w pritchard
I found it offensive that Beandrea was only interested in me for a sexual fling. My friends thought I was nuts. We were young and Beandrea was hot stuff.
When I found out we were still involved. I used my key and went into her apartment when she was at work and took ten of the left shoes of her favorite pairs of expensive sets of shoes and donated the shoes in two brown bags to the Goodwill over on Cuyahoga Falls Avenue.
It's been forty years and I still wake up with a smile on my face now and then thinking of BeAndrea going to the Goodwill trying to reclaim her left shoes. I guess BeAndrea was hot stuff to be able to wake up a man with a smile forty years after the agglutination.
Saturday, September 11, 2010
the usual lamentations
the usual lamentations
fiction
edward w pritchard
It's time to get started. Startled from sleep, pursued by dreams. Moan the usual lamentations and plan life's distractions from memory and suffering.
It feels distantly familiar as if I have done it before.
fiction
edward w pritchard
It's time to get started. Startled from sleep, pursued by dreams. Moan the usual lamentations and plan life's distractions from memory and suffering.
It feels distantly familiar as if I have done it before.
Monday, August 23, 2010
The Ghost Ship
The Ghost Ship
fiction
edward w pritchard
The ghost ship of memory drifts in to the harbor under the cover of the frigid fog late at night between very early in the morning and moors near the jagged rocks until I stir from my slumbers and try as I might to stay anchored in the present remember too many things from the frozen hell of the cold craggy waves of my life.
fiction
edward w pritchard
The ghost ship of memory drifts in to the harbor under the cover of the frigid fog late at night between very early in the morning and moors near the jagged rocks until I stir from my slumbers and try as I might to stay anchored in the present remember too many things from the frozen hell of the cold craggy waves of my life.
Thursday, April 22, 2010
meteor shower
meteor shower
fiction
edward w pritchard
The kids in the neighborhood often joked about Mr. Dewitt who dragged a lawn chair into the middle of the back yard and then stayed up all night watching for meteors. He took a quart of beer out there and would watch until a little drunk he dozed off until at about 4AM the cold drove him into his house. Sometimes he would sleep through the morning cold and they would see him on their way to school and joke about it up past the second corner. Not a dignified thing for a 60 year old man to do.
Mr. Dewitt sat in the backyard and thought about the two girls. He worked at the hotel when he was nineteen and he rushed out near the overhang near the front door about 11PM to get someone to move the car. It was an expensive car but he rushed just the same and do his duties planning on yelling a little to clear the entrance to the hotel that he was in charge of for the next 8 hours. The two girls leaning on the car were very pretty, too pretty to pick a favorite. One thing lead to another and the two bored 18 year co-eds ended sleeping in lawn chairs out by the hotel pool.
Mr. Dewitt, as the young man, took out a blanket to the girls and the three of them sat in one lawn chair and watched meteors. Just watched meteors but all three slept a while together even Mr. Dewitt who was supposed to be watching the desk at the hotel even at 3:45AM. About five thirty they went into the lobby of the hotel and he used his key to the restaurant and found them a little something for breakfast.
After watching meteors all night Mr. Dewitt hears the children going to school even over the old music on his MP-3 player as he wakes up in the middle of his backyard a little hung over from watching meteors and stiff and cold in the damp morning air.
End
fiction
edward w pritchard
The kids in the neighborhood often joked about Mr. Dewitt who dragged a lawn chair into the middle of the back yard and then stayed up all night watching for meteors. He took a quart of beer out there and would watch until a little drunk he dozed off until at about 4AM the cold drove him into his house. Sometimes he would sleep through the morning cold and they would see him on their way to school and joke about it up past the second corner. Not a dignified thing for a 60 year old man to do.
Mr. Dewitt sat in the backyard and thought about the two girls. He worked at the hotel when he was nineteen and he rushed out near the overhang near the front door about 11PM to get someone to move the car. It was an expensive car but he rushed just the same and do his duties planning on yelling a little to clear the entrance to the hotel that he was in charge of for the next 8 hours. The two girls leaning on the car were very pretty, too pretty to pick a favorite. One thing lead to another and the two bored 18 year co-eds ended sleeping in lawn chairs out by the hotel pool.
Mr. Dewitt, as the young man, took out a blanket to the girls and the three of them sat in one lawn chair and watched meteors. Just watched meteors but all three slept a while together even Mr. Dewitt who was supposed to be watching the desk at the hotel even at 3:45AM. About five thirty they went into the lobby of the hotel and he used his key to the restaurant and found them a little something for breakfast.
After watching meteors all night Mr. Dewitt hears the children going to school even over the old music on his MP-3 player as he wakes up in the middle of his backyard a little hung over from watching meteors and stiff and cold in the damp morning air.
End
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