Sunday, August 21, 2011


Practice Practice Practice

     Their friendship grew and one balmy Saturday afternoon, she asked:

     “Hey Ant teach me!”

     “Annnge…ya ahready knows how ta play,” he responded.”

     “Yea, but I don’t know how to hit dem killahs like youse does.”

     “So practice, ya na wat they sez.”

     “Say about what?”

     “Ya gotta practice ta be poifect, so practice.”

     “Yea but I dunno wat I gotsta practice, divo.”

     “Look it’s ina eye, da ball goes wa ya looks, ya got dat?”


     “So look ata base ada wall,” He pointed, and continued: “Look wa da wall ana ground meet, and hit it da.”

     She tried a few times, some came close, others were way off, and one or two were spot on.

    “See ya gots it, jest keep practicing that, ventually it will come natural ta ya.”

    “Okey dokey,” She smiled.

     At the sound of Mr. Softee’s music, they laughed, and raced to the truck. It got to where he always bought her a treat. In his heart he was being kind, a big brother, but it was all the world to her. Occasionally they would walk to the corner deli and he would treat her to a soda.  It was all innocent, but one day that summer she looked him in the eye and from her heart murmured,

     “I’m meant for ya!”

    It scared the crap out of him,” the hairs on his arm stood at attention, and it took him more than a moment to get a hold of himself, before he responded,

     “Look Angie you a beautiful girl, but I dun wanna go ta jail. So puhlease foigedaboudit!”

     “Oh I can wait, I got time dude, one day…you’ll see!”

     “Oh okay, one day, uh…he hee hee!”

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