IN THE TALL GRASS by RIVER CONFER “Shit!”, Sounded the sandlot chorus in unison. Overhead, our collective last ball soared, tracing a line for the sun and falling unceremoniously into the barley field owned by Mrs. Wentworth. “That’s the fifth one today!”, The first baseman called out. “I’ll go have a look.”, I said, running so that I could outrun the shades of their careless words. I slowed to a stop at the field's boundary and considered turning back. I searched my mind for an excuse but found none, and I could feel the pockmarks of their listless eyes boring holes into my shirt, letting in light where it oughtn’t be. Waiting a moment for a point su ciently between breaths and heartbeats, I closed my eyes and stepped into the haze of the golden field. The ball had gone far — its arc had carried it at least a dozen yards into the field, but already I could not tell where I was in relation to the ball's most recent landing. I receded into the murky memories of the last few minutes until I found in my mind the instant in which I had seen the ball flying overhead, over and over I replayed the scene looking for a clue of the ball's whereabouts. Finally, it came into my mind! Just before the ball crossed the horizon into the dense evening barley, it had been — for a moment — between the steeple of the church where everyone got dressed to weep, and the canopy of a Stoney Oak that lay somewhere just on the other side of the field. I traced the tops of the waving blades for a glimpse of either landmark, seeing nothing but the orange emptiness of a sky that promised stars; a sky that if I was not quick would follow me home where my parents would scorn me for inviting a night sky to their door. At the thought of a supperless evening, my footsteps quickened, my arms combed wide through the bowing stalks, and my head hung low and scrutinized the soil. The smell of flowers filled my nose, and I paused to find its source. Fifteen odd feet away from me, a girl in a blue sundress lay on a bed of cracked stems, her hair so well suited to the color of the field that at first I did not notice it, laying long beside her, accompanying her. “Hey,” I said, walking towards the girl and her hair. “What are you doing?” “I could ask the same of you.” She said, not looking away from the sky. “I’m looking for my ball,” I said. “Have you seen it?” “No,” she said, still looking up “I’ll help you find it if you lay with me a minute” at this proposition I hesitated, but my feet did not obey, and so by the time I had decided she might be pulling my leg I was standing over her bed of reeds. She turned to me and locked her midday opal eyes with mine, the color of soil, a color that would ruin her blue dress, her billowing hair. I looked away, feeling an uncertain shame. “Well, c’mon,” she said, “I won’t bite long as you listen better than those boys you was playin with.” I laid down beside her and looked up where she had been looking hoping that this solidarity would su ce for the lack of eye contact. “Do you know them?” I said. “I don’t think I’ve seen you before.” “I don’t know them.” She said, “but they talk too loud to listen good. You seem di erent than them.” “How’s that?” I asked, pu ng my chest to fit better into her apparently charitable view of me. “Don’t know, I hardly known you a minute, but I get the feeling in my gut, and my gut ain’t a liar” she turned away from the sky again to look over at me “you calling my gut a liar?” She said and I could feel her breath was hot, but I shivered. I turned to meet her opal eyes and her big grin and found that I was smiling too “no I.. I guess not” “well good,” she said turning back to the sky. As she turned I saw a flash of silver and white hanging from her ear, a tulip earring
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