Remote Feed by David Gilbert

Author:David Gilbert
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Bloomsbury Publishing Plc
Published: 2009-05-29T16:00:00+00:00

opening day

IT WAS THE Spring I tried to Save My Marriage, the Spring I made an effort to be My Old Self again. On weekends I visited the house and devised basic repairs from the effects of winter. I replaced storm windows with screen windows, cutting up my fingers in the process. I fertilized and mulched the quarter acre of stubborn land. I made sure the tree house was still solid after the record snows and put in a few nails for good measure. And finally I built a fence, a white picket job, that edged the perimeter of the property like a set of movie-star teeth. After this, my wife invited me over for a Family Dinner.

"Roast beef," she told me on the phone.

"Well, sure," I said. "That'd be great." My thumb was nervous on the remote's mute button, as if she could somehow hear me waste time. My new shame was TV, and whenever I was in that small apartment, the TV was on. I especially liked C-Span's coverage of the British House of Commons, everyone shouting and murmuring with basic good humor, often instructing their Right Honorable Friends to shove it up their asses.

"How about Friday?" she said.

"Friday's fine."

"Good." And then there was an awkward silence between the two of us, a moment of indecision. Instead of the usual End of Conversation abruptness, we had time to wait for the other to hang up. It seemed to baffle us.

This was also the Spring the Cleveland Indians were touted as American League contenders. Losers for as long as anyone cared to remember, Cellar Dwellers season after season, the team finally had a chance at greatness. I was a fan. In elementary school, I felt physically ill with each defeat; in junior high and high school, I switched allegiance to the Cincinnati Reds; and in three semesters before flunking out of Ohio State, I rekindled my loyalty and started to take a certain pride in the losing traditions of the ball club. During home games I'd sit in the stands of that old Municipal Stadium, and I'd drink beer after beer in those waxy cups, the bottoms sagging against my thigh, until late in the innings, when I'd sneak up into the empty Nose Bleeds and stretch out on the bleachers. The noise of distant incompetence lulled me into a comfortable sleep. Sometimes, My Old Man came along, and he'd shout at the players to "C'mon, Hustle Up!" and "Give It Your All!" his voice filled with an awkward desperation. And I remember once turning to look at him after the Indians had blown a lead, a smug smile already on my face, and seeing him pinch himself on the arm, hard enough to leave a three-day bruise.

"They Break Your Heart," he said.

"You take it too seriously."

"Just shut up."

But this Spring promised to be different. The Tribe was stocked with a bunch of solid players, and they had a prized new Tepee—Jacob's Field—designed to bring back memories of The Good Old Days.

Download

Copyright Disclaimer:
This site does not store any files on its server. We only index and link to content provided by other sites. Please contact the content providers to delete copyright contents if any and email us, we'll remove relevant links or contents immediately.