CATCH A COLD, CAPTAIN

“Catch a cold, Captain.“ It’s the Fourth of July, or some month. Do people catch colds then? Captain can’t remember. “Catch a cold,” the boy says again. Captain’s head is stormy and he blinks until he sees the baseball and the glove. Catch a ball? They are out on the grass, picnic blankets like band-aids on grass that is bleeding green. It is getting late and Captain is getting round the bend, had kicked it off early, had reached the outer bound, was heading back in, head heavying up again, fatigue fighting elation. He asks the boy to get him cigarettes. “You can’t do that,” the boy says. “Can’t tell you what to do?” Captain says. “No,” the boy says.  “Can’t buy cigarettes. They’re not in any part of the law anymore.” Captain closes a hand gently around the boy's shoulder and walks him out of the part. “I’ll show you,” he says. “You little so-and-so. Why, I oughta.” Captain is all patter so that the boy will know not to be afraid of him. He has used the same tone several times at home. He walks the boy to the corner of the park. There’s a wooden platform there covered by a latticework. Captain has crouched beneath it and taken breathers on days that failed him. He has addressed it directly over the months, called it Atlantis and Utopia and Shangri-La and Park Avenue. These are all places he once lived. The platform beneath the lattice is not a place he has lived. It's not home as much as the other home, the one with the boy and the tone. Where does he hang his hat? Where does he park his shoes? He has promised to throw the ball to the glove but will it ever happen? A man is only as good as his rotten word. It comes to Captain suddenly that he has been speaking out loud. The boy appraises him with an expression mixing pity and anger. Captain has lost his taste for cigarettes. He will go to the store across the way and stock up and go back to the park until here in July or some month at least there is a blanket of snow over his brain.

© 2020 Ben Greenman / Stupid Ideas