Read The Memory of Running for Free Online Page A

with his sons family now and
     was a tremen- dous burden. He wore a baseball uniform all day, cleats included, and on
     many occasions, when he felt he had taken a sufficient lead and the pitcher had let his
     concentration wane, Jimmy Boylston stole kitchen. If you were Jimmys son, Jimmy Jr., or
     his sons wife, you would not find the run and slide funny. Baseball was life and death to
     Jimmy Boylston. It was everything.
    What would happen was that Jimmy would be in the TV room watching his soap operas, and
     something would set him off. Hed slowly get up, take a lead, and crouch. Now, if you
     caught him in the crouch, he could be talked back to his recliner in front of the TV. But
     if he had the time to set, you were screwed. When he used to steal for the old Providence
     Steamrollers, and even later with Pops Socony club, he was quiet as a mouse until he
     exploded for second. Hed let out a ferocious Yaaaaa! that lasted for fifty or sixty feet.
     Old age had robbed Jimmy of his speed, stripped that ballsy head- first, lightning plunge
     from his arsenal, but time had not eroded the electric Yaaaaa! From the TV room, through
     the living room, and onto the off-white center tile of the kitchen, time turned in on
     itself.
    Aw, fuck. Well, goddamn it. Now, shit, stammered Jimmy, squeezing my hand with both of
     his. His gray uniform had thin red stripes. It was baggy and worn but newly laundered. He
     wore his pants high and his red socks high, too. His head seemed to swim in the blue
     Steamroller cap.
    Goddamn it to shit. Fuck, he explained softly.
    Thanks for coming, Jimmy. This is my Aunt Paula and Uncle Count.
    Jesus, huh? Fuck, fuck, fuck. He nodded comfortingly. Jimmy scraped at the rug with his
     cleats. Dad just had to come, Jimmy Jr. said behind him. Were so
    sorry about your folks. Fuck. Shit. Fuck, Jimmy agreed solemnly. Cmon, Dad. At least,
     Jimmy said, at least, at least, at least. One good thing.
    One good thing! Jimmys eyes welled, and he set his jaw. At least those fucking Boston Red
     Sox wont be breaking your fathers heart anymore.
    Youre right, Jimmy. Well . . . He paused and drew a deep, wheezing breath. Fuck. Jimmy and
     Jimmy Jr. moved on, past Mom and Pop. He looked
    wonderful in his chess gray home uniform. He didnt take his hat off, but that was okay. He
     had permission. The big steal was coming soon, and he knew it right down to his cleats.
     Hed meet Mr. Grim Reaper feetfirst at blazing speed, with those sharpened cleats about
     chest high. Like my pop said, you just had to respect him.
    After about an hour and a half, I took a break. Count had started telling little jokes to
     his friends, and while me and Aunt Paula were shooting people through the line with just a
     couple of words, Count stood there like a buddha, holding on to their hands and not
     letting go until he finished. Hed lean forward, pretend to look around to make sure no one
     was watching, then let out one of his classics.
    There were these two fags. . . . These fags got into a cab. . . . There was this fag
     priest. . . . Two fags were in a bar. . . . Four fags were on a boat. . . . Train full of
     fags going to a convention. . . .
    Count carried something like 300 pounds on his five-foot-eight body. Im a slob, okay, 279
     pounds, five-eleven, cant breathe half the time, a belly with a separate life and
     everything, but next to Count I was slim. Not slim, okay, but just another fat guy. Count
     was a higher order of porker. Hed crossed the line that says forget holding in your belly,
     forget buying smaller clothes, forget everything, baby, and be proud. Count would set
     those two little feet on the ground, and you knew he wasnt going anywhere. My pop would
     always laugh and tell Mom that Count would outlive him. He never believed it, though,
     never. Now Count was seventy-one, 300 pounds, pure New York cheesecake blood, and standing
     over my pop telling jokes.
    Im coming? I thought