Chapter 22 night - game

The night before the All-Stars game, I checked into a hotel next to the game, and it reminded me of my career and my travels.I can't sleep.All kinds of thoughts swirl in my head: How many spectators will be in the stadium, will I not even touch the edge of a ball.After finally staying up until 5:30, I got up and tried to do some stretching exercises.I found that the red light of the phone in the room was flashing, indicating that someone had left a message for me.I hung up the phone at the front desk, and it rang at least twenty times before anyone answered. "My message light is blinking," I said.

"Hmm..." The person who answered the phone yawned, "...here is a package for you." I go downstairs to the lobby.The waiter brought out an old shoe box with my name on it.He yawned.I open the shoebox. My spikes. Apparently Dad has kept the shoes over the years.He must have been at the hotel in the middle of the night, but he didn't call my room and just left the box.I flipped through it to see if there was a message from him.But there was nothing in the box, except the shoes, the wrinkled and worn-out shoes. The Old Stars game is scheduled for an hour before the official game, which means that when we play, most of the seats are still empty.The organ played.Words of welcome came from the loudspeakers, and the audience was sparsely populated.We were introduced one by one in alphabetical order by last name.First came outfielder Ruster Alen Baker, who was active in the late 1940s, and then the star of the 1960s, infielder Willie "Bobo" Barbossa.His smile is very contagious.When his name was called, he showed his signature smile and ran out to wave to the audience.When it was my turn to play, many audience members were still applauding for him.The announcer was heard to say, "From the 1973 championship-winning team..." The announcer paused deliberately, as if to pique interest, "Catcher Charles "Chicken" Burnett special".The applause suddenly became sparse, and the enthusiastic applause turned into copious applause.

I got up from my dugout seat and ran out, almost bumping into Barbossa who was running back.I struggled to finish my presentation before the applause died down to avoid the awkward silence from the audience and the sound of myself stepping on the gravel.Somewhere in the auditorium, my dad must be sitting.I can't see him, but I can imagine him sitting there with his arms folded.He won't applaud me. When it was my turn to hit base, more than half the field was still empty.I try to swing the bat a few times to warm up and get into position.A dark cloud drifted past, blocking the sun.I heard the yelling of the hawkers outside the venue, and felt the sweat creaking out of my neck.I shifted my weight in the squat, grabbed the bat, shrugged my shoulders, clenched my jaw, and squinted my eyes

- despite this position, this movement, I must have done it a million times - I can still feel my heart beating wildly with tension.In this state, I guess I can't hold it for a few seconds.A pitch comes.I didn't pick it up.The ref yelled "Missed one shot." I almost wanted to run over and thank him. Have you ever thought that in different corners of the world, different things are happening at the same time.After the divorce, my mother often stood on the balcony in the backyard, smoking a cigarette, watching the sunset, and said with emotion: "Charlie, do you know that the sun has set here, and in another part of the world, the sun has set?" It's up. Australia, China, or other places, you can check the encyclopedia.

She took a puff of cigarettes and stared blankly at the square backyards of the neighbors who lined up with our house, the clothes-drying poles and swing stands in their yards. "The world is so big," she said thoughtfully. "There's something going on around every corner." She was right.There is something happening around every corner.At that moment, I was standing on the base of the old star game.The pitcher, whose hair had turned silver-gray, used the arm that had thrown countless powerful fastballs before, to throw a ball with average speed, erratic, and coming towards my chest.I swung the bat, heard that all-too-familiar thud, dropped the bat, and sprinted to base.I believe I hit a good shot, but I've lost my sense of the past, forgotten that my arms and legs aren't as strong as they used to be, and that the golf course gets worse as you get older. bigger and bigger.I looked up and realized that what I thought was a strike, maybe even a home run, had just flown to the mitt of the second baseman, a non-threatening fly, a water-soaked ball. a firecracker, a squib,

A voice rings in my head: "Drop it, drop it!", the second baseman's glove grabs my last contribution to this stupid game - and it happens At the same time, an accident happened at home in Jiaogu Town. Just like what my mother once said with emotion, different things happened in every corner and happened at the same time. Her radio was still playing jazz.Her pillow was still fluffy.But her body fell to the bedroom floor.When she went back to the bedroom to find her new pair of red-rimmed glasses, she fell. Heart attack. She took her last breath. In the locker room, I quickly packed my things.Someone starts taking a shower.I don't think it's necessary.We didn't sweat much.I folded the jersey and put it away, it was a souvenir anyway.I zipped up my bag, got dressed, and sat there for a few more minutes.It seems pointless to be in this game.

I followed the route I came in, through the staff tunnel and out of the field.Dad was standing outside.He was smoking a cigarette and looking up at the sky.He was obviously surprised to see me come out. "Thanks, Spike," I said, holding up the shoe. "What are you doing here?" He said angrily, "Can't you stay in there for a while and talk to someone?" I smiled meanly and mockingly. "I don't know, Dad. I wanted to come out and say hello. We haven't seen each other in two years." "God," he shook his head with a hateful expression, "what's the use of seeing me, seeing me won't make you go back to the team."

night Chickie finds his home is gone "Hey?" My wife's voice trembled, frightened. "Hi, it's me," I said, "I'm sorry, I..." "Oh chicken, oh my God, we don't know where you've been." I had my lies ready—clients, meetings,—but the lies, like a wall, came down. "What's wrong?" I asked. "Your mother. Oh god, Chicken. Where are you? We..." "what? What?" She cried, sobbing choked up. "Tell me," I said, "what's the matter?" "Heart attack. Maria found it."

"what?" "Your mother...she's dead." I hope you never get the chance to hear someone say that to you.Your mother, she is dead.These words are different from other words.The words were too heavy for the ear to bear.These words are strange, like a big shot put, hammering your head until it punches a big hole in your skull.At this time, people feel separated. "Where?" "at home." "Where, I mean, when?" Suddenly, the details mattered a lot.It seems that through these details, something can be grasped, and through the details, I can get myself into this unacceptable thing. "How did she..."

"Chicken," Catherine said softly, "you go home first, okay?" I rented a car and drove home overnight.Shocked and terrified, and filled with guilt, I made my way home.I arrived at Jiaogu Town just before the sun rose.I parked the car in front of the yard.When the engine was turned off, the sky was gray and purple.My car smells of beer.I sat there and watched the sun rise in front of me.I realized I hadn't informed Dad of Mom's death.My sixth sense told me that I would never see him again in my life. I did not see him again. I lost my parents that day.The departure of one made me ashamed; the departure of the other left me at a loss as to where I would end up.