Isn't It Time to Make Juice?

I asked sam to teach me how to pitch an imaginary baseball, knowing this request would gratify him. He often referenced his years as a handed pitcher in high school. E had taken pride in my not throwing like a girl, though that was all i was. On the day he taught me to throw, we settled on to the love seat and i recount the full story of my dad's diminishment. There was little emotion in my telling. I told the story in therapy and in meetings, and in the early stages of past relationships, at the juncture where hoped they might become more serious, the feeling was sucked out. The bare facts remaining, like the fibre disgorged by