Gaming

Spitting On Battery Acid

“Have you seen my?” The question floats above the gurgling sound of the kid crawling across the floor.

She looked at me, smirking, and answered “I don’t think I have seen it since we left New York.” I knew why she smirked, this question, slash conversation, has been repeated many times.

“I need to pay more attention to things when we move.” This I say quietly hoping to be ignored. Its bad enough when she’s right, but worse when I have to admit it. “Are there still boxes downstairs that haven’t been opened since New York?” It had been at least three years since the fantasy land of New York became only fantasy.

“Possibly. I don’t know, I haven’t been down there in a while. You know what, I really don’t like our basement.” The memory of her last visit betrayed itself in a small frown and a shudder.

“I’ll be back in a while.” Smiling I bumble off, looking forward to the dread of going through all those old boxes, hoping to find that thing I had lost, probably forever, in the move from New York. It all looked pretty bleak; we have moved twice since New York and probably threw out or lost this box or that.

The basement is as small and damp as the last time I went looking for some random object. The spiders were bigger, I think. It is a small room with a really ugly set of stairs, wooden and crooked. The room is all cement and plumbing. Boxes were up on two by fours, water seeping into boxes usually destroys the contents. I glance around, looking for the square that promised, through age, to carry my hope. I reach out and move a box containing my old Playstation and the corresponding games slash accessories. I stop to look at the old games and remember so much, most memories are filled with my brother beating me in this game or that. With the memory of my brother and the Playstation come other memories. One time when I was pretty young I was given a baseball glove, by my mom, my very first. I had just joined peewee. My brother, who usually was too old and too cool to hang out with me, took me out back and we threw that little baseball for hours. I loved it. Peewee turned out to be pretty boring, but I grew to love baseball when I got to play in little league. Unfortunately the other kids had a bit more talent, because by sophomore year I hardly ever played. If only my classmates still pitched like they did in little league. I still loved the game though. A long time late, while in the Navy, a buddy of mine convinced me to buy a new glove. We decided we would join a softball team. It was fun. They pitch a little slower in softball. The glove I bought tax free at the NEX was beautiful. I didn’t love it as I did my first glove, but I loved the idea and memory of it.

I have always been a sucker for playstation and got hooked to it since childhood. I would pass my time playing games on it which I thought was far more entertaining than homework and calling over friends to give me company was an added bonus. A rather useful pastime compared to what I used to search for situs online judi terbaik but eventually got over the temptation after realizing the repercussions of gambling and its long term side effects.

As I finally set the Playstation box down I open the box underneath. It’s unlabeled. On top are a couple random pieces of cloth, bed sheets given by my aunt for our wedding, why would a newly wed couple like plaid? As I move the bed sheets I catch a glimpse of a dark leather thing. Excited I reach down and pull a very beautiful baseball glove. I’m immediately enamored and thanking God for His graciousness and foresight. I slowly, because any great moment like this has to be down with reverence, clarity, and as slow as we can physically move. I slowly slip the glove on and the reverence is broken by a glove that almost immediately starts to cut of circulation. It’s tiny. Its very small. At that moment, heartbroken, I remember that I had hit a huge growth spurt while I was in the Navy. It didn’t fit when I lived in New York.

In slight despair I put the sheets back, why plaid? I stack the Playstation box. Slowly I wander upstairs, when I get to the kitchen to explain what happened I notice the kid crawling and gurgling, immediately my mind shifts to God and what He’s done for me. My wife is standing by the sink looking at me, a sad smile, she knows it didn’t go well. “I don’t understand it, I was so sure of finding my glove. I never expected to find it and still be disappointed.”

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