Memory #6

I went to Dad's baseball games a couple of times. Once it was in the early evening, and once it was at night. The whole thing feels surreal and isolated because, to a little kid, the immediate surroundings were the only surroundings: the patchy and appealing face of a tiny hill; the smell of dirt and wet grass; the sickly halos of ten or twelve lights high in the air.

For a couple of minutes, once, I stood and tried to figure out what was happening in the game, but was baffled and quickly abandoned it.

I remember making a necklace from dandelions. Must have learned that from Jenny. I also liked to sneak around beneath the bleachers, which were the bare metal kind used outdoors, and were always a bit cold to the touch.

I felt so very by myself, like no one was watching me or telling me what to do (and I guess they often weren't), almost like no one was there except me. I was a little lonely, but I kind of liked it.