by Ben Clabaugh
CHAPTER 4
Each ensuing day David spent with Shelton revealed more of Shelton’s oddities. He had no interest in board or card games—or rather his mother would not allow him to play ‘games of chance,’ and he never watched TV. He didn’t know how to throw or catch a ball or play any sports, and he didn’t own a bike. All he wanted to do was go outside and do crazy stuff—not regular crazy stuff like lighting farts or playing ding-dong-ditch-it on the neighbors, but stuff like with the ant hill, or scattering little bits of cloth and wire to help the birds build sturdy nests.
Shelton loved animals. Not just dogs and cats, but everything, and he treated them like he treated people. Once David asked Shelton why he sniffed dogs’ butts. He said he was just being polite and introducing himself. Each night, David would watch and wait, hoping, praying, that his mom would forget to call Shelton’s mom, and each night he went to bed disappointed, dreading the next day.
One night, David’s dad came home in time for dinner. He was smiling for a change and actually seemed relaxed. He announced he had a surprise, which immediately put David on his guard. The past year or so had seen a number of surprises, none of them good. David ate slowly, tuning out most of what his parents talked about. He realized he was actually getting used to this place and dreaded the idea of more upheaval. He tuned in when he heard his dad say, “… tickets?” He was looking at David, an uncertain smile on his face.
“Huh?” David asked.
“I said I got the company tickets to the Royals game this Saturday—three seats. Whaddya think?”
David almost said, “That’s it?” but his dad looked so enthusiastic, proud even, he held his tongue.
“Great,” David said, trying to sound happy.
“Um,” David’s mother began. “I’ve got an open house I can’t miss, this weekend.” Then her eyes slid to David and she smiled. “Why don’t you ask Shelton?”
“Oh no,” David said, shaking his head. “Shelton hates baseball. No, I don’t think he’d want to go. Plus, his mom doesn’t like him to leave the house.”
“Nonsense,” his mom said, getting up from the table, “You just leave her to me.”
She went into the kitchen to make the call, returning a few minutes later looking amused. “Well, that was strange,” she said.
“What?” Dad asked.
“Well, I asked Shirley if Shelton could go to a ball game with you two, and she asked, ‘What kind of game?’” David and his father exchanged glances.
“I told her it was a baseball game, and do you know what she said?”
David shrugged. His dad shook his head.
“She said Shelton doesn’t play baseball. I explained that they weren’t going to play, they were going to watch. She still didn’t get it. ‘Watch who?’ I couldn’t tell whether she was putting me on or not!”
“What’d you say then?” his Dad prompted.
“I had to explain that it was professional baseball. The stadium was in the city, just off of I-70, and that’s where the Major League baseball team played. All she said was ‘Well, ok. If you think it’s all right.’ Then she hung up.”
David’s mom sat back down and sipped her tea, looking amazed. “Honestly! It’s as if they’re from another country, or something.”
They looked at David. “Well.… yeah,” he said, changing the ‘duh’ he had meant to say at the last instant. He said nothing more and sat, hoping that maybe they would finally catch on.
David’s mom shrugged and went back to her dessert. “It’s settled, then,” she said. David slumped in his chair.
“Well, do you think he really wants to go, or would we just be dragging him along?” David’s father asked.
“He’s not really a sports fan,” David said, thinking of the first time he had tried to get Shelton to play catch. After first having to explain what it meant to “play catch,” then finding out Shelton didn’t own a glove, David had almost hopped back on his bike for another try with the kids in the park. He found one of his old gloves in the garage only to discover Shelton didn’t know how to throw or catch. David tried to show him, but his advice to “keep your eye on the ball” ended badly. He had to admit, though, Shelton was a tough kid.
As long as David was throwing and Shelton was missing and running after the ball, he seemed amused. But when he finally succeeded in catching a ball in his glove without the ball first glancing off his body, he handed the ball and glove back to David, said, “That was fun,” and sat down on the patio. David tried to explain that the point was to keep throwing the ball back and forth, and how he and his friends from Indianapolis used to spend hours playing catch in the street.
“Why?” Shelton had asked, looking incredulous.
David was stumped. Why did he enjoy standing in the street throwing a baseball, or a football, or anything else for that matter, back and forth—back and forth—for hours at time?
“Well,” he ventured, finally, “Because it’s fun.”
Shelton rubbed the red swelling just under his left eye and said, “Oh,” unconvinced.
