This may be the slowest serial ever. If you don’t remember Chapter One – which was months ago – you’ll find it here.
There is no such thing as an uncomplicated ballplayer.
He wasn’t sure how long it’d been. How long since his brain would flicker as he tried to recall a word, a name, a something else.
“Normal aging,” the doc said. “Nothing to worry about.” But that was years ago – 10, maybe more. It was just annoying then. A lost name here or there. It was more than that now.
He would be talking to someone he knew. Someone he knew he knew and suddenly his mind would go numb – the person would keep talking but he wouldn’t catch a word. Instead, he’d be consumed by the realization that he no longer knew the person’s name.
The name he knew he knew.
He would start through the alphabet, like thumbing the pages of an old phone book.
Allan. Bill. Cameron. Danny.
Danny? Is it Danny?
The name would usually come to him. But, not always. It made him wonder – is this how it ends, everything just goes blank?
His hands trembled a little now, too. And, when they did he would lace and squeeze his fingers together or hold his wrist tight with his other hand, or rub his palms as though washing them with air. Little things that no one would notice and that would slow the tremors that came more often now.
Pam. Patti. Polly. Penny.
Maybe it was because Peach was a little girl, so when she stood next to her grandfather her eyes were closer to his hands than to his eyes. Or, maybe it was because she wasn’t trying not to notice, which was what her mother and the others would do.
They’d pretend not to see, but Peach didn’t.
“Grampa, why’s your hand shaking?”
He paused for a moment just to make sure. Pam, Patti, Polly, Penny …
“I don’t know, Peach.”
She smiled, turned, and ran up the stairs. She clattered around and quickly ran back down. She was holding her grandfather’s baseball glove – now her glove – with a ball shoved into its worn pocket. Continue reading