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Larry K.

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Featured Book
Pirate's Passion
by Robin Leigh Miller

Pirate or rebels? A girls got to choose her poison carefully...  
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The Great Windshield Disaster
by Larry K.
Tuesday, March 28, 2006
Rated "G" by the Author.
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           >> View all 48

Just another balmy Sunday morning sandlot game


“hey batter batter, SWING BATTER”


a loud crack and snap of the bat was all it took


like a rocket the ball sailed, higher


higher. Our eyes in radar mode track its path.


 


Charlie watched like a cat stalks a bird


the ball falling downward faster, as if it had eyes


floating left then right then left again and then,


Crash, glass shatters, glistening chips flying,


five pairs of feet running in every direction


 


At 10 years old, Charlie hit the mother of all windshields.


Kelvin Sextor’s classic 1958 shinny blue Chevy BelAir


The smell of Simonize wax and pinetree deodorizer


Heavy  like moms over sprayed perfume.


Yep, it was a sight to behold I tell ya.


 


Two penguins, arms flapping we waddled to town


Like magnets, the vanilla and chocolate pulls us in


“Double malted for me” Charlie chuckles impishly.


The soda jerk just grits his teeth and grumbles,


white hat tilted, chocolate stains on his shirt.


 


In that big old red booth, we giggled so loud.


Hands flying all over recapping the crashing windshield.


from nowhere “HE” appeared, greasy burger in hand


Kevin Sextor, all 5 feet 10 inches there, in front of us


our lives passing before us, shaking like Charlie’s grandpa.


 


“So you broke a windshield  heck who cares”


the smell of onions burning eyes as he spoke.


“happens everyday guys, done it myself once”


covering our face trying not to laugh, catsup on his face.


“by the way, who’s car was it?” the words hit like a rock


 


With fork in hand, a gladiator in the ring


ready to die with glory, stood Charlie


Creeping to the door I crouched, handle in hand


two warriors set to battle, our verbal missile launched,


“Yours!” we screamed running, sliding out the door


 


The rest is history, in the books so to speak


backsides sore for a week unable to sit


25 more yards to mow in the summer heat


two warriors survived to tell the tale


Charlie and me, ballplayers, soldiers, friends forever


copywrite 03/26/06



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Reviewed by Ed Matlack 3/29/2006
Can't change the trajectory of a ball hit by a master batter...unless it was aimed in the windshields direction on purpose...just another memory of childhood...& a good one...Ed
Reviewed by Karen Lynn Vidra, The Texas Tornado 3/29/2006
Larry,

One delightful write that scores a grand slam! Very well done; thanks for the grins this morning!

(((HUGS))) and much love, your friend in Tx., Karen Lynn. :D
Reviewed by Kate Clifford 3/28/2006
Owie! sore rump just reading this with my own memories LOL. Loved to write and your delightful way of sharing a childhood friendship and experience! Thanks for the sharing.
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