Nostalgia Machinery #2
Downhill, we were playing Chinese baseball. At age
12 we were always playing Chinese baseball. Always
and only downhill because that’s where the baseball
diamond was. All of us, the same grade, the same.
One team was short a member: Tomaz pronounced
Thomas. Andrew was at bat, Jon was pitcher.
Natasha, Chris and Liam: bases loaded. The cage
rattled, fingers wrapped around links. Jon pitched,
Andrew swung his leg, and the ball flew sharply to the
left. A foul. But no one went after the ball because
Mrs. T was now coming down the downhill ramp. A
troubled look on her face, hesitant steps. Forgetting
the game, we approached her. She approached us
approaching her. We all expected the worst. We
whispered: Tomaz is dead. Tomaz is dead. That’s
why he’s not here. He’s dead, he’s dead, he’s dead.
We held our breaths. Mrs. T said she had something
to tell us. That today was a very sad day, a tragic day.
Marie asked if Tomaz was dead, is he dead. “What,
no…A plane has flown into the twin towers and the
pentagon.” But we didn’t know what this meant. We
still wondered for the rest of the day if Tomaz was
PHILIP MILETIC is currently a research assistant at Brock University. His poetry has been featured in ditch, magazine and his fiction has been featured in the Danforth Review. He lives in Grimsby, Ontario.
READ AND LISTEN
Issue 2 Playlist