Turning Up the Applause, and: Dog Days, and: Slo-Pitch

Abstract

Turning Up the Applause My father-in-law from Croatia turned up the tape recorder at the end of my wife's piano recital when she was eight years old. This weekend no one uses the hairdryer and we just let the air do what it does naturally. The clock sleeps all day. The kids quietly write their life stories in crayon. Today I picked up my baseball bank stuffed with pennies from the sixties and shook it at some smart-ass birds jazzing it up out on the telephone lines. First weekend in June. I was born 46 years ago. The rise in volume is obvious as a father's love. His English wasn't very good then. My kids pressed some wild flowers gathered in the park – my presents today. The clock works while we sleep. When my hair is wet, it doesn't look so gray. I can't imagine her tiny on the bench feet swaying beneath the keys. Or maybe I can. What a gift! I close my eyes and listen. [End Page 57] Dog Days My neighbor sneezes his usual three times. August – I don't know the date, a glum zero hovering over these days. My son asks about "dog days" and I improvise something about a dog panting in the heat. The sun's burning out my memory as effectively as little pills I used to take when I was allergic to life. Bless you, I say, for it's no use pretending I can't hear. Bless you, bless you. I enjoy addressing my neighbor when he's not fighting with his wife. When it is dark and only our screens separate us. He slams the window shut. But we don't have fur, my son says, his breath hot against my neck. [End Page 58] Slo-Pitch After leaping to catch a fly ball, I landed on artificial turf, my head bouncing up. At 46, it wasn't exactly a leap. At this age, we only leap to our deaths. More like a little bunny hop or the mad barnyard flail of a chicken yearning to fly. While I know I put my sunglasses back on, I haven't found them since that evening. I used to do something similar to my brain a couple times a week back when – hey, a white pigeon just goose-stepped across my window. Who taught it that? when I was/when was I?/whenIwaz. I sat up on the stupid green fake grass and shook my head to clear it. I shook my head, and that means no. So what if I squint a little more than I did last week? I held onto the ball. The pigeon takes a bow and flies away. Oh yes, I hung on.