Personal Narrative: Someone Else's Cleats

Decent Essays
Someone Else’s Cleats “CHARLES!!! Wake up, you got a game today!”, my wife Beverly screamed. My bed has never felt more comfortable. I know it’s only a pull-out couch, but I love it. I lay in bed some more because I don’t want to get up and deal with nothing today. “CHARLES! Hurry up!” Beverly screeches. I know that if I stay any longer she will come get me, so I gather the courage and jump out of bed. My feet make a huge thud as my enormous figure lands heavily on the weak wooden floor. It’s hot and steamy durin’ this time of July, which always brings me back to my wretched days of working on the plantation. I walk over slowly and struggle to open the worn old window. A nice breeze flows in and I can smell the Magnolia flowers bloomin’ in…show more content…
It read Monroe Monarchs across the chest in a red cursive lettering. I moved to this house in New Orleans three years ago with Beverly when I signed with e Monarchs. My used, old cotton uniform felt like hundreds of fuzzy termites buryin’ themselves into my skin. My socks were old and worn and I couldn't get over the thought that someone else sweated and played in them. My pants almost reached my thick, tired ankles and they were so baggy I felt as if I were gonna be blown away by the wind. My hat rested on the top of my head like a small crown. It didn’t make me feel like no Monarch. Now I smell the food, sizzling away, as Beverly is whistling a tune while cookin’ breakfast. It was scrambled eggs and bacon, my favorite combination. Beverly knows how much I love them eggs and she makes ‘em for me everyday before a game. I hustle down the creaky old stairs and attack breakfast like a hungry gator. Beverly knows I enjoy it, but I always tell her how good it is anyway. Now that I have eaten, it’s time to head out to the game. I got my worn out, smelly, leather baseball glove and I put my size 11 Spalding baseball cleats on. They were also made of leather, with real sharp, metal spikes on the bottom. The field is walkin’ distance away from my house so I begin to head out. I jam my hands in my pockets with my thumbs hangin’ out and kick the same little round rock all the way down the street as I usually do and think about how lucky I am to be makin’ a livin’ just by playin’
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