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Portentous
Henry was the pitcher on our softball team. He couldn't run for toffee but he had a solid underarm slow pitch that he could vary the speed and angle of pretty well and one other thing going for him; his "game on" face.
Stick Henry fifty feet in front of any batter and his face took on the kind of impassive expression that really psyched the opposition out. John's arm, my speed and Deborah's catching glove were all advantages sure, but Henry's face was a showstopper. I once asked him what he was thinking about when he was pitching and he replied;
"Nuthin' man, just... nuthin'."
And then one day the wind changed during a pitch. We called time out and gathered at the mound, watching Henry as he prodded at his cheeks and tried to relax his face from the "game on" expression. His brow seemed to have become heavy as lead, his cheeks gaunt and sunken, and his eyes burned with emotive intensity and everything he said had a funereal quality like it was the end of the world.
"I can't smile" he said and several women burst into tears for no apparent reason. After a sombre silence we conceded the match.
Nobody spoke in the minivan on the ride home. I sat in the passenger seat and saw a tear trickle down Deborah's face before she took hold of the wheel and looked about to wrench it to one side as we crossed the Zimmerman bridge. I grabbed the wheel and kept it steady.
"What the hell are you doing?!"
"I can't take it! He's stuck like that forever, just like my mother warned me! He's just so serious!"
They were divorced within a month on grounds of irreconcilable facial expressions. You couldn't tell how Henry felt about the whole thing because he still had that austere, sober expression etched into his face. And then one day we introduced him to Poker-faced Patty and things started to look up.
Nov. 7.2006