by Ben Clabaugh
Thinking back about that game, David remembered two things most vividly. He remembered the feeling he got bumping shoulders with his dad as they talked about the game, the players, the crowd, everything. It was the first time in a long time that he had felt his dad was really present. The tight bundle nestled perpetually just below and behind David’s ribcage seemed to loosen. He felt like he could breathe fully once again.
The other thing he remembered was Shelton. He was so excited but not about the game. He watched the crowd. He could not sit still, especially when there was cheering. His constant waving brought every vendor from the deck. He had brought his own money and he seemed determined not to disappoint a single person. He passed his sticky dollars to David to give to the vendor, and David would pass back first a bag of peanuts, then another hot-dog, then a frosted malt, and finally cotton candy. The cotton candy seemed to slow him down, and the smile began to fade from his face. He managed to finish it then smiled at David wanly. His hand shot to his mouth as he both hic-coughed and burped at the same time. He grimaced, gulped, swallowed, grimaced again and sagged into his seat, his hand over his stomach.
They left right after the seventh inning stretch, as David’s dad put it, ‘Beat the traffic,’ but David thought it was to get Shelton home. He was looking pale, and the corners of his mouth curled downward in a look David recognized as about a three out of five on the erp-o-meter.
They got into the car and had just pulled out of the parking lot when Shelton’s eyes bugged and he clamped both hands over his mouth. David’s dad yanked the car onto the side of the road, and David reached across to open Shelton’s door. Shelton leaned out and a fountain of pink foam rocketed from his mouth, arching over the door sill and splattering onto the asphalt. David caught sight of bits of peanut shell—Shelton ate the whole peanut without cracking them open—before turning his head away and holding his nose. Shelton heaved productively three or four more times, sat back in his seat, eyes closed, and groaned. Within minutes he was asleep with his mouth hanging open, venting his putrid breath into the car. They drove the rest of the way home with the windows open.
