BurningMonkey
TheMan In TheMirror
- Joined
- Jan 21, 2014
- Posts
- 4,861
It was late at night when Bill and Ron stumbled into the house, or rather it was early in the morning. They’d gone out drinking after the game, which was their custom, and neither was feeling their best at the moment.
“I still say that triple in the bottom of the fifth was a mistake. That guy missed the bag when he was rounding second, and should have been out…” Ron was saying loudly, continuing the argument they’d had since getting in the car to come home.
“Shh! Fer chrissake, Ron, keep it down! Both of my kids are upstairs asleep, and Steve has to get up early in the morning. And so do you,” Bill said. He was tired, and a still a little drunk, and the bed would feel good, if a little empty. Gloria, his long-suffering wife, knew what weekends were like when Ron and Bill got together and had wisely taken herself off to a friend’s house for the night.
They’d been friends for many years, since before Bill met Gloria even, and both were avid baseball fans. Somewhere along the line they’d decided it would be neat to attend a game at every major league ballpark before they died. Ticket prices being what they were, they decided that they would pick one ballpark to visit together each summer. This year’s game had been not far from Bill’s house, so he had proposed that Ron crash in his spare bedroom and they drive to the park, rather than get a room which was their usual custom. Ron had agreed, and so here they were.
“Your room is the first one on the left,” Bill said, “right across the hall from Sasha’s. Go on up and sleep it off, ya big stupid prick. And be quiet, okay?” They used suck casual insults between them all the time, so Ron was not in the least impressed. “Sure, sure…” he answered, waving vaguely. “Whatever you want, asshole—but the Reds would have won if that umpire wasn’t blind. I’m just sayin’…”
“Oh, just go,” Bill answered wearily.
So Ron went. Up the stairs, trying to be quiet but not succeeding all that well, he found the room and fumbled for the light switch. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he managed to get his shoes and pants off, but decided, “Fuck it," and stretched out on the bedspread in his underwear, not bothering to pull the covers back; it was a warm enough night that he didn’t feel he needed them. He tucked his head into the pillow and drifted off to sleep, thinking about his flight tomorrow back to his home far away, and already planning for next year’s trip and game.
He never noticed that he had neglected to close his door.
“I still say that triple in the bottom of the fifth was a mistake. That guy missed the bag when he was rounding second, and should have been out…” Ron was saying loudly, continuing the argument they’d had since getting in the car to come home.
“Shh! Fer chrissake, Ron, keep it down! Both of my kids are upstairs asleep, and Steve has to get up early in the morning. And so do you,” Bill said. He was tired, and a still a little drunk, and the bed would feel good, if a little empty. Gloria, his long-suffering wife, knew what weekends were like when Ron and Bill got together and had wisely taken herself off to a friend’s house for the night.
They’d been friends for many years, since before Bill met Gloria even, and both were avid baseball fans. Somewhere along the line they’d decided it would be neat to attend a game at every major league ballpark before they died. Ticket prices being what they were, they decided that they would pick one ballpark to visit together each summer. This year’s game had been not far from Bill’s house, so he had proposed that Ron crash in his spare bedroom and they drive to the park, rather than get a room which was their usual custom. Ron had agreed, and so here they were.
“Your room is the first one on the left,” Bill said, “right across the hall from Sasha’s. Go on up and sleep it off, ya big stupid prick. And be quiet, okay?” They used suck casual insults between them all the time, so Ron was not in the least impressed. “Sure, sure…” he answered, waving vaguely. “Whatever you want, asshole—but the Reds would have won if that umpire wasn’t blind. I’m just sayin’…”
“Oh, just go,” Bill answered wearily.
So Ron went. Up the stairs, trying to be quiet but not succeeding all that well, he found the room and fumbled for the light switch. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he managed to get his shoes and pants off, but decided, “Fuck it," and stretched out on the bedspread in his underwear, not bothering to pull the covers back; it was a warm enough night that he didn’t feel he needed them. He tucked his head into the pillow and drifted off to sleep, thinking about his flight tomorrow back to his home far away, and already planning for next year’s trip and game.
He never noticed that he had neglected to close his door.