Five things you wish you'd written

One of the great "Oh, your life peaked early? Too BAD!" stories, ever.

 

I went back and dusted off my old "Short Story Masterpieces" book and re-read Shaw's story last night. I had to type up one of my favorite paragraphs; this part always gives me chills.

"The sun had gone down and the sky was green behind the stadium and he laughed quietly to himself as he looked at the stadium, rearing above the trees, and knew that on Saturday when the 70,000 voices roared as the team came running onto the field, part of the enormous salute would be for him. He walked slowly, listening to the gravel crunch satisfactorily under his shoes in the still twilight, feeling his clothes swing lightly against his skin, breathing the thin evening air, feeling the wind more softly in his damp hair, wonderfully cool behind his ears and the nape of his neck.

Louise was waiting for him at the road, in her car. The top was down and he noticed her all over again, as he always did when he saw her, how pretty she was, the rough blonde hair and the large, inquiring eyes and the bright mouth, smiling now.

She threw the door open. "Were you good today?" she asked.

"Pretty good," he said. He climbed in, sank luxuriously into the soft leather, stretched his legs far out. He smiled, thinking of the eighty yards.

"Pretty damn good."