Read Online No Pit So Deep: The Cody Musket Story by James Nathaniel Miller II - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: James Nathaniel Miller II
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chair beneath her or the stinging carpet burns. Could he hear her pounding heart?
His gritty voice finally spit it out. “I’m sorry. I’m not good at sayin’ stuff. I just don’t often see a face that — What I mean is, mostly I’m just around ballplayers with faces about as soft as a steer’s butt, that’s all.”
She wanted to laugh and wanted to cry, but which first? How could he have said that with a straight face? But the straight face seemed to be his natural one. Was it part of his act? In what way would he surprise her next?
“You got a needle and thread?”
“What?” she asked. “Needle and thread?”
“Sure. Can you stitch up my arm?”
“Your arm? Ahhh, I get it. You’re kidding of course.”
“I been sewed up by worse. Don’t want to get infected. Can’t go to a hospital.”
She stared at him like a child who had just discovered the ninth wonder of the world. S eriously?
They walked toward the exit. Inviting a stranger to her apartment? It was a first. But was he a stranger? He was so seemly, even after the way she had treated him. Why hadn’t he just walked away?
“I live a few blocks from here. We should take a cab. Your identity is our secret.” She took his arm as they walked. “So what was her name — the girl from Erie?”
“Maxine T. Dillahogan.”
Sore Feet and Blue Eyes
It was a short taxi ride to the Mayfield Tower where Brandi lived. Clouds had dissipated. From the window of the cab, they looked across the Allegheny toward a picturesque sunset of blue, red, purple and orange.
They walked through the front door of her stately third-floor apartment just as the sun finally sank. Their shoes were wet so Brandi tossed her flip-flops into the corner and Cody left his tennis shoes by the door.
He took one glance at Brandi’s apartment and told her she would be a sitting duck if she didn’t move out. An amateur intruder could render her security system useless.
“Would you mind if I take a quick shower?” Brandi was apologetic. “I’m not sure I got all the blood out of my hair in the ladies’ room at the mall.”
“Not a problem. I’ll just chill for a few.”
Brandi left the room, and then returned immediately holding a man-size XXL pullover shirt in her hand.
“By the way, your Pirates shirt has blood on the front. I’ll throw it in the washer for you before I step into the shower. Meanwhile, you can wear this.”
She tossed him the pullover. It was knee-length and light blue with the words “I Love The Son” written across the front in white letters. “I wear this around the apartment, and sleep in it sometimes."
“Okay, I’m cool with that.”
He disappeared into the kitchen.
“Cody?” What’s he doing?
A moment later, he reappeared wearing her pullover and displaying a sheepish expression. He shrugged and handed her the Pirates shirt.
She walked to the washer shaking her head. Is he that shy? Most guys would relish the opportunity to show off pectorals that bulge the top of a shirt the way his do.
Cody seated himself on her sofa, removed his right sock and began to scratch until his foot bled. He put his sock back on when he realized he was doing himself bodily harm. He walked to the kitchen to wash blood from his fingernails and then returned to the sofa, leaned his head back, and prayed the angry itch would go away.
In a few minutes, she came back with wet hair, carrying first-aid materials to treat his knife wound. She had exchanged her jersey for a pink blouse and wore red Stanford University Athletic Department knee-length shorts.
She cleaned the wound on his arm and began to cover it with a new bandage.
“Wait,” he said. “Don’t you think it’ll need stitches before you wrap it again?”
“Don't joke, okay?” She put her hands on her hips, hoping this was nothing more than his dry humor.
“Not joking. Can’t go to a clinic tonight. Are you up for it?”
She lost the grin. Really?
She went back to her bedroom and
His gritty voice finally spit it out. “I’m sorry. I’m not good at sayin’ stuff. I just don’t often see a face that — What I mean is, mostly I’m just around ballplayers with faces about as soft as a steer’s butt, that’s all.”
She wanted to laugh and wanted to cry, but which first? How could he have said that with a straight face? But the straight face seemed to be his natural one. Was it part of his act? In what way would he surprise her next?
“You got a needle and thread?”
“What?” she asked. “Needle and thread?”
“Sure. Can you stitch up my arm?”
“Your arm? Ahhh, I get it. You’re kidding of course.”
“I been sewed up by worse. Don’t want to get infected. Can’t go to a hospital.”
She stared at him like a child who had just discovered the ninth wonder of the world. S eriously?
They walked toward the exit. Inviting a stranger to her apartment? It was a first. But was he a stranger? He was so seemly, even after the way she had treated him. Why hadn’t he just walked away?
“I live a few blocks from here. We should take a cab. Your identity is our secret.” She took his arm as they walked. “So what was her name — the girl from Erie?”
“Maxine T. Dillahogan.”
Sore Feet and Blue Eyes
It was a short taxi ride to the Mayfield Tower where Brandi lived. Clouds had dissipated. From the window of the cab, they looked across the Allegheny toward a picturesque sunset of blue, red, purple and orange.
They walked through the front door of her stately third-floor apartment just as the sun finally sank. Their shoes were wet so Brandi tossed her flip-flops into the corner and Cody left his tennis shoes by the door.
He took one glance at Brandi’s apartment and told her she would be a sitting duck if she didn’t move out. An amateur intruder could render her security system useless.
“Would you mind if I take a quick shower?” Brandi was apologetic. “I’m not sure I got all the blood out of my hair in the ladies’ room at the mall.”
“Not a problem. I’ll just chill for a few.”
Brandi left the room, and then returned immediately holding a man-size XXL pullover shirt in her hand.
“By the way, your Pirates shirt has blood on the front. I’ll throw it in the washer for you before I step into the shower. Meanwhile, you can wear this.”
She tossed him the pullover. It was knee-length and light blue with the words “I Love The Son” written across the front in white letters. “I wear this around the apartment, and sleep in it sometimes."
“Okay, I’m cool with that.”
He disappeared into the kitchen.
“Cody?” What’s he doing?
A moment later, he reappeared wearing her pullover and displaying a sheepish expression. He shrugged and handed her the Pirates shirt.
She walked to the washer shaking her head. Is he that shy? Most guys would relish the opportunity to show off pectorals that bulge the top of a shirt the way his do.
Cody seated himself on her sofa, removed his right sock and began to scratch until his foot bled. He put his sock back on when he realized he was doing himself bodily harm. He walked to the kitchen to wash blood from his fingernails and then returned to the sofa, leaned his head back, and prayed the angry itch would go away.
In a few minutes, she came back with wet hair, carrying first-aid materials to treat his knife wound. She had exchanged her jersey for a pink blouse and wore red Stanford University Athletic Department knee-length shorts.
She cleaned the wound on his arm and began to cover it with a new bandage.
“Wait,” he said. “Don’t you think it’ll need stitches before you wrap it again?”
“Don't joke, okay?” She put her hands on her hips, hoping this was nothing more than his dry humor.
“Not joking. Can’t go to a clinic tonight. Are you up for it?”
She lost the grin. Really?
She went back to her bedroom and
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