CWW: Excerpt from ‘The Field’

Posted by Heath on February 6th, 2009 @ 1:14 pm, filed in CWW, Creative Works, Writing

(Creative Work Weekends: On Fridays The Heathernet will feature a completed or in progress work of creative writing. Constructive feedback and ideas/prompts for more CWWs are always appreciated in the comments.)

Read: Excerpt from ‘The Field’

Note: This is an excerpt from a longer piece I wrote for a fiction class in Spring of 2007 called ‘The Field.’ For those of you who know me best, the subject matter of this piece will certainly make you snicker at me.

            Each time Brock answered his door there would be someone standing in the garage holding a ball underneath his arm. As the years passed and the sample size grew larger Brock learned to love and loathe the objects that waited for him just after the knocking.

            He dreaded the whiffle ball. It seemed to occupy most of the year with its impossible to hit loops and endless innings of boredom. A spot was worn away in his yard where he spent most of his summer toiling away as the all-time pitcher. He learned to like the football, the foam becoming easier to catch every time it took to the air. He learned to enjoy tucking it away once he had it, dodging would be tackler until he was crushed to the ground in an inevitable human embrace. Most of all, he learned to adore the rubber playground ball, the one that meant four square was about to be played for unending hours in the chalk lined court on the street just below the field.

            Everyone on the street lined up to play four square. While waiting to play kids would swap stories and make plans. It was around the four square games that one learned about Junior High. It was here that you got the phone number for the soccer coach. It was here that everyone could assault the ice cream truck at the same time and lounge with creamy treats on each other’s yards.

            “See, we’re playing with Junior High Rules,” Adam said from the fourth square, effortlessly passing the ball into Brock’s square.

            “Ok, what’s the big deal?” Brock asked, sending the ball back.

            “Well,” Adam said, again returning the ball,  “There’s no stupid kid rules, and all slams, spikes, and spins are legal.”

            “Really?”

            Brock excitedly just skimmed the bottom of the rubber ball slightly, yet whipped his hand through so fast that the ball whirred in the other direction; squirreling like a chased rabbit through Adam’s square. Brock let out a shout, not of ego, but of surprised pride.

            “You’re out! Woo! Server square time!” he said.

            Adam froze in his square and watched in disbelief the ball continue to roll away down the street. Then, something changed, and his face clouded over.

            “Shit,” he said.

            Everyone was silent. The only sound was the ball continuing to roll away, picking up speed as it caught up to the hill. A girl had been giving chase but she slowed to a stop, mouth agape, and stared at Adam. Nobody dared move, no one had ever cursed on Rockdown Street.

            “What?” he said, shoving his chest at the kids in line. The little ones broke their trance to stumble back.

            Others began to move and shuffle.

            “I, what’s that? I hear my mom, time for supper,” a voice scraped out. Several kids departed from where the voice came from.

            “No one said anything, Adam,” Kevin said. He had suddenly appeared with the ball in his hands. He tossed it over to Brock, “Serve it up. Let’s go.”

            Brock spun the ball in his hands and took tentative steps towards Adam’s square. Adam looked at Brock, lip in a sneer. Then he turned, hung his head, and headed towards the line. Instead of joining it he shoved the last kid in line to the ground and departed for his house.

            Brock took his spot as the game’s server. He looked around, the rest of the neighborhood anxious to move on. He served the ball, not sure that he ever wanted to go to Junior High.