And every once in a while, a kid on his team would ask, “Coach Brooks, were you ever really good?”
“You’re me,” Brooks said.
He didn’t take a car. He walked—through the Skagit Valley tulip fields, past the outlet malls of Marysville, across the floating bridge into Seattle. He slept in bus shelters and behind churches. People offered him rides. He always said no. He told himself he was walking toward something, but really, he was walking away from the person who had stopped throwing. brooks oosterhout
On the tenth day, he reached Portland. The address from the postmark was an old minor league stadium, half-abandoned, its outfield grass overgrown. A chain-link gate hung open. He walked in. And every once in a while, a kid
The garage had a single window that faced a dying apple tree. Brooks kept a glove on a hook by the door. Not for nostalgia. He said it was to remind himself that some things end without closure. He slept in bus shelters and behind churches
And every once in a while, a kid on his team would ask, “Coach Brooks, were you ever really good?”
“You’re me,” Brooks said.
He didn’t take a car. He walked—through the Skagit Valley tulip fields, past the outlet malls of Marysville, across the floating bridge into Seattle. He slept in bus shelters and behind churches. People offered him rides. He always said no. He told himself he was walking toward something, but really, he was walking away from the person who had stopped throwing.
On the tenth day, he reached Portland. The address from the postmark was an old minor league stadium, half-abandoned, its outfield grass overgrown. A chain-link gate hung open. He walked in.
The garage had a single window that faced a dying apple tree. Brooks kept a glove on a hook by the door. Not for nostalgia. He said it was to remind himself that some things end without closure.
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