Austin James: Playing for His Life (Entry 42)
Austin was up at the crack of dawn and, as he promised he would, he
called home. The phone had barely finished its first ring when his
father picked up. Austin smiled, knowing his father was hanging by the
phone waiting for his call.
They talked only briefly, about yesterday’s drive and the rest of the
way to Florida. Austin’s folks were heading to his Aunt Barbara’s for
the day, and were excited. They hadn’t seen each other in a while, and
Austin’s Uncle Len was a laugh riot. He and Philip could break up a
room for hours together.
Austin pulled off to grab a salt bagel with cream cheese and some
coffee, and was on the road. It was peaceful, a bright orange sun low
in the sky, few others on the road. He turned the radio on briefly,
then turned it back off. He was enjoying the silence. For the first
time in weeks he felt relaxed and at ease, despite the challenge ahead
of him.
His drive had been uneventful as of shortly after noon, when he
realized he had to stop for gas. He had just entered Georgia, and the
Great White Hope needed a refill. At the state’s second exit, Austin
saw smoke. Figuring following its trail would lead him to something
resembling civilization, he pulled off the Interstate and down the ramp.
The road was fields on both sides. Before long, the pavement ended, and
the Galaxie was kicking up gravel and rocks beneath its tires, dirt
looking like smoke behind it’s heavy frame as the true smoke from ahead
drew closer.
Sure enough, the smoke led to a gas station. Only, the station wasn’t
the cause of the smoke. As Austin neared, a crowd of about a dozen
stood in the middle of the road, hooting and hollering, flames visible
between them and through their legs. They were circling a fire on its
last legs.
Austin pulled into the gas station, a one-pump white-shingled setup.
The Galaxie came to a rest with a crumble of Earth beneath it. In
desperate need of a piss, Austin was soon out of the car and walking
toward the restroom on the building’s side when he noticed through an
opening in the crowd what was being burned: American flags.
He hurried into the bathroom, shaking his head at what he’d just seen. Why he thought to himself. For what purpose.
He stood at the urinal, half full with ice, feeling better by the
second. There are few times a man is more relaxed than when he’s
relieving himself. And as such, what occurs around him at that time is
crystal clear.
The crowd was getting closer, their calls of “No War” and “Peace Now”
loud but hollow, at least to Austin, who recalled it was these similar
sorts who damn near killed him at the military recruitment center weeks
ago.
Then, suddenly, the noise stopped.
Austin zipped up and made his way to the door. A step outside put him
square in the firing line of eyes of the now silent crowd, a circle
around the Galaxie, smoke from the ashen pile in the middle of the road
wafting over them.
“A Yankee, huh?” one of the crowd slowly spit out. “Now what the hell brings you into these parts.”
Austin knew what brought him there. What he didn’t know was what would get him out.
Austin James: Playing For His Life (Baseball
Fiction) 