I sat on the porch swing with the old legend again. It had been years and perhaps this was a second chance.
I watched the autumn sun diffract sparkles in the lemonade pitcher sitting on the low wooden table between us.
His old shoulders were stooped and his eyes more tired than I remembered. “Charlie” looked at me kindly if not benignly.
“Charlie” didn’t speak; just sat looking across the fields.
Geese flew over the river to my right and a deer bounded from the cornfield to my left.
I swirled ice in my tall glass of lemonade with a shake of my hand, watching the water condense and roll down the glass dripping onto my blue paper napkin.Birds chirped.
“Conklin?” His gray eyes glistened.
“Conklin?” He leaned towards me.
Okay, this is it. “Yes sir?”
“Conklin, how’s the lemonade?”
Our hero ever hopeful of promotion gets a second chance with one of the big guys.