The Blues & Billie Armstrong 38
A SUMMER COLD
Previously in The Blues & Billie Armstrong…
In the bottom of the fifth inning, the Dodgers pounded out six runs and I could feel the game, maybe the whole season, slipping out of reach. Not technically, not mathematically, but emotionally. The Dodgers didn’t score again, but they didn’t need to. Final score, eight-zero. The Giants still mired deep in fifth place.
She managed to convince the parents she was sick, and she hardly came out of her room the next two days.
I saw her Monday morning, in the kitchen, barefoot, Woodstock t-shirt, puffy eyes and hair an orange bramble, pulling hot cherry Pop-Tarts out of the toaster, quickly dropping them on a plate.
I felt exposed and I figured she did too. I mumbled good morning, she only nodded. “Heard you’re sick,” I said, but like a question, and I guess I was hoping for some tiny sign that she wanted to talk.