Tackle football in Schreiber’s backyard comes to me upon the back of this chilled wind. Overheated under a double layer of overworn sweats. Gardening gloves used so not to compromise grip. Always rummaging under his grapevine for a long punt. Teams never chosen by the greenest.
We hated our loved friends and siblings as opponents. And when dinner was ready for one, we’d all disperse.
“Hey guys! Let’s play again tomorrow!”
Soon some kids from the other neighborhood came to play. Greggie broke his leg backwards and Schreiber’s backyard became a field free from ruts. Schreiber became a retired biology teacher one year later.
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