17x02: Why I Hate Baseball
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Growing up, I lived in a small farmhouse set on two acres. Although it wasn't a working farm, we did have an assortment of animals over the years. My mother was a vet and also spent a lot of spare time rehoming and caring for sick, abused, and neglected animals. It was a peaceful place, with the happy hum of birdsong and wildlife reminding you that you weren't in a city. There was a walking trail through the wooded area behind our property. During the warmer months, tourists, hikers, and campers would frequently use it. I was a bookworm, and I used to spend a lot of time in our barn. It was set toward the back of the property along the fence line. It was quiet. Tending to the animals and reading all my books in there took up a lot of my time.
So I would often hear people talking and laughing as they traversed along this trail. When I was 10 years old, I would usually return home from school about an hour before my mother finished work. I was a mature kid, and she knew that she could trust me to catch the bus home and start my chores. On this day, I hopped off of the school bus, let myself in the front gate, and trudged up the dirt driveway to the house. Once inside, I fixed myself an after-school snack, a good old-fashioned PB&J with a glass of milk. Then I took my snack out the back door and made my way toward the barn. I knew my afternoon routine like the back of my own hand. Right at that very second, our dogs should have been running up to greet me as they usually did.
They were usually barking and circling around my legs with their butts wiggling happily, but on this day I couldn't see them anywhere. I called for them, but they didn't come. I did hear muffled barking up from the barn. That was really weird, because we never locked them in the barn. During the day, they were outside, and at night, they slept inside with us. I put my snack down on top of an old tree stump nearby and went to open the barn to check on the dogs. The three of them rushed out and greeted me happily. They were fine. From the door, I quickly glanced around the interior of the barn. There was no one there. It was quiet as usual. I figured maybe my mother had locked them in there that morning for some reason, or maybe the wind had blown the barn door shut when the dogs happened to be inside.
Either way, I wasn't too concerned. I simply retrieved my snack and settled on a hay bale inside. The dog sat at my feet as I shared little bits of my sandwich with them. Then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw a tall, skinny guy with long, messy, gray hair walk straight by the entrance to the barn. I could hear him making strange babbling sounds. It sounded like he was speaking in tongues, the way that people do when they're going to church. Oddly enough, my dogs barely reacted. They looked back at the door, wagged their tails a couple of times, and focused their attention back on my sandwich. This wasn't normal. My dogs would usually react to a stranger on the property. A tiny bit of fear settled into my stomach.
not too much because I was a kid and my dog seemed happy enough. I then tiptoed to the doorway to peek around it. I wanted to get a better look at him. He was really tall and so skinny that his ribs and spine were visibly jutting out. His hair was disheveled and so was his beard. He was bent over our chicken coop, searching eggs, I assumed. He pulled an egg out and ceased babbling as he studied it for the longest time. He said something to the egg that I couldn't hear, then put the whole thing in his mouth and chomped down on it. The yellow yolk ran down his chin and neck. I could see him grinding his jaw to crunch down on the shell.
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