stickball

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Friday Fictioneers – Me and Julio

(Author’s note: I had to take some time away to rejuve my spirit and come back with new ideas. That, and the graduation of my niece and soon-to-be enlistment into the US Navy, took a lot of my time and patience. I am now back to do more work! Here we go!)

© Dale Rogerson

Me and Julio

by Miles H. Rost

“Hey, Ma! I’m headin’ next door!”
I shut the door behind me and ran my 12-year old body down the stairs and 30 feet to my friend Julio’s doorstep. I could see Ma leaning out of the upstairs window.

“Be home when the lights come on. It’s Nona’s spaghetti tonight!”
“Got it!”

Julio ran out the door before I could knock.
“Who we playing tonight, Julio?”
“57th Street Brazos. Haven’t lost a stick game since last July.”
“Looks like we gotta up our game.”

We ran down the street towards St. Andrews School. Tonight, we’ll defeat the Brazos real good.

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Friday Fictioneers – Dance Hall Days (Short Story)

(Author’s note: Took last week off due to the fires in Oregon. Back today. Enjoy!”)

© Roger Bultot

Dance Hall Days

by Miles H. Rost

Stickball.

A staple of New York youth. A way for the kids of the neighborhood to have fun and forge long lasting friendships.

When us kids needed to hash out things, we didn’t take to our fists. We took to the sticks. Whoever ended up scoring the most, or when our moms called us in after the sun went down, they would carry the day.

Once we moved to the west coast, there was no more stickball. You moved up to the sandlots. The skills learned translated well for the batting, but the running killed us.

We were still friends.