From a shoes standpoint, downtown Danville was a mistake. The real stores had moved out to the edge of town or wherever the local malls, K-Marts and Wal-Marts had been built, and the traditional shopping area consisted of little specialty stores. A store selling dollhouse furniture and one that sold stained glass. A Christian book store and a place that sold uniforms. A coin store, comic book store, Salvation Army resale store, antique stores, a baseball card store, a "Rescue Services" thrift store, plus the local office of the Daily Item, the local cable TV office, and so on.

Would they sell shoes at the uniform store? Real shoes and not shoes for nurses? I didn't go inside, but looked in the window. A woman came out of the store and I called out to her, "Ma'am?" An attractive woman in her forties who ignored me and walked across the street.

I looked somewhat disreputable of course, with my wet shoes and muddy pants, but I didn't think I looked like a bum. I followed her, caught up with her and asked her "Is there a shoe store around here?"

She reacted with alarm, made violent gestures with her hands, and backed away from me. Her response startled me and I quickly said "Excuse me," and walked away from her before she could accuse me of assault.

I felt humiliated. My car was a block away. I went to it without even checking the Salvation Army resale store to see if they had shoes.

I got in the car and started driving in the direction I'd just come from, and spotted her again, on the sidewalk with a younger woman, gesturing with her hands, no doubt telling her about the man who'd been bothering her. As the other one gestured back, I shielded my face so she wouldn't recognize me.

Scram. Vamoose. Beat it. Run run run as fast as you can. I bought shoes on my way out of town. Found a store, ran in, made the purchase, put them on, and was soon speeding west on I-80 again.

Spirit woes. Guilt. Running away from Deirdre had brought me down and I had the Spirit blues, the Spirit of Baseball Past and Present blues. Mean and dirty and low down.

It affected my driving.

I drove with a heavy foot, but stopped at rest areas whenever they came up. Sat in my car without getting out. Watched travelers return to their cars after using the john or purchasing vending machine snacks or walking pets. They had business elsewhere and didn't linger in the parking lot but took the wheel and scooted on down the road while I remained in my rented vehicle.

Drive fast and stop frequently, that was my strategy. I didn't want to reach my destination until after the All Star game.

I felt diminished by the idea that a good-looking woman would be afraid of me and thought of different things I could have said.

            Please forgive me if I startled you, lady, but....
            I had a mishap on the river and perhaps you could help me?
            Listen! I'm not a bum, I'm a respectable citizen, I own a baseball
               team in fact, and....
            I'm from out of town and I'd like some advice or directions on how
               to find the nearest shoe store....

She had short blonde hair, hazel eyes, an expression of surprise, an expression of fright, an expression that changed whenever I replayed the scene in my mind. She had come out of the uniform store so she must be a nurse, right? Or a waitress?

But nurses and waitresses like people, and this woman did not like me. It was like she had stepped in something disgusting and had just discovered it-- that's the kind of look she gave me.

Why, dammit, why? I'm not some odious being! Thoughts like this came off and on, about every thirty or forty miles.

When I pulled into a rest area I'd note how many miles I'd traveled since my last stop and think how I was that much further away from the Spirit of Baseball Present. Skipping out on Dee might be cowardly, but it made more sense than letting her take me to Dempseys Grove, where she'd plunk me down at Diamond #4 and force me to watch the entire Colts and Cubs game.

Jordan would bat, play second, pitch one-third of a frame, while Mike would be there for his son.

Just like Al O'Ryan had been there for Mike.

I've heard it already, Dee. Don't need to hear it again.

That's what I told myself, that I didn't need Dee. But I also knew that I did need her.

My son hurt me, he said terrible things, and I know he isn't going to apologize, and I don't expect him to apologize, but don't I deserve an apology? That's what I wanted to ask Deirdre. Help me, spirit. I need guidance. Don't tell me it's all my fault, just tell me what will work, what I can do to get him to be there for me.

The look on that woman's face. The rage in Mike's voice. That's what my nervous breakdown consisted of. Knowing that two people believed the world would be a better place without John Courtland. One of them a total stranger, the other my one and only child.

I listened to the All Star game on my car radio, timed my driving and rest stops and eating so that the stars had finished playing by the time I arrived home in Central City.

And then came insight.

It didn't matter what I said to the woman in Danville. Her reaction would have been the same no matter what I said.

She was deaf.

That's what she was telling me when she waved her arms around. She couldn't hear me. I thought she was just waving her arms around, but she was talking in sign language.

And when she was with the other woman on the sidewalk, she was talking in sign language. The other woman was answering her in sign language.

That's how I came out of my nervous breakdown.

If that's what it was.