Narrative Essay-Final Draft
Field of Dreams
The cool evening air whistled past my ears as dusk settled down around me. The constant pounding of my black Nikes hit the gravel like an Indian drum as I sprinted down the dark country road. A shallow noise could be heard in front of me. Peering through the night, I saw my brother standing with a puzzled look, "What took you so long fatty?" (My brother enjoyed cracking jokes about my pre-pubescent baby fat, much to my dismay.) We had been on top of monument hill for hours searching for equipment we could use for our newly planned baseball field.
Within a few days we had all we needed to complete our masterpiece: three tires for bases, a small two by four for a pitching rubber, a lid to a plastic five gallon bucket for home and a homemade backstop to keep the ball from running off into the open field behind us.
The placement was perfect. We lived in a smaller singlewide house near a large bean field. The natural sloping of the ground made it almost the perfect angle to play with only two players so chasing a run-away ball would be at a minimum. We placed the tires in a large diamond shape closely resembling the bases on a baseball field. Then, after hoisting up the backstop, we began to play.
For months we played, every day, just out of shear love for the game. Our rules were simple; one of us would stand on the rubber and heave the ball towards a painted square on the backstop. We were able to get three strikes before we were out. If the player was to reach first base but could not advance to second he...