Mmm....oddly i'd never been much for sporting events of any sort. But there i was, a baseball match. Damned if i know why, i wasn't even American. And there during some random little leagues defeat of their anonymous rival i spot a guy sat across from me in the bleachers (how the hell did i know what these seats were called?), when i say a guy i mean to say an old guy. A familiar guy. Guy, even that is an American term. I spot a bloke, a chap, a fella. An old, white haired misrable looking chap. A fake smile (as usual) forced across his aged face. Awkwardly i gaze at the man, waiting til i can get his attention, when i finally do, when those old deceptively blue eyes meet mine an odd chill skips down my spine, the man stares back at me. Why do i feel so accustomed to this indignant glare? I get up, push past the row of knees and hotdogs, make my way toward this stranger. This face that somehow stirs feelings that i can't quite identify. Strange that the seats should nearly all be taken yet i could take my pick of half a dozen around a man that as i get closer i begin to understand shouldn't even be here. Given the options i still decide to sit to the rear of my father, he turns as much as his pride will apparently allow and says "....". I don't know, for some reason whatever he says to me he has no voice, yet i know, i just know that disapproval is the gist of his remark. I'm aware that i begin to respond and yet just as i am about to question his presence i find myself in the dark. Staring at the ceiling, as I've done nearly every night for about two months now. Wondering why a man that cancer took from me two months ago (surprise surprise) is alive and well and still disappointed with me every night.
Last edited by J Harker; 7th July 2016 at 10:46 PM.
|