After Forever

by Krystal McLaughlin

  He wheeled the bike down the steps and closed the hatch door. He ran inside to the cellar. Locking the hatch door from the inside, he hid his money, tossed in a load of laundry and went upstairs to shower. He figured he had roughly half an hour before they’d return, providing the chief let them out.

  When he was finished, he looked in the fridge. His aunt had made a roast, but Bottles knew better than to eat any of it. Instead, he made a boloney sandwich and headed to the cellar. After swapping the load of laundry, he went back upstairs with a book and sat on the porch.

  Sure enough, the red ’57 Chevy pulled into the driveway. Aunt Louise did not look happy. Neither did his cousins.

  Stomping up the porch steps, Aunt Louise stopped long enough to tell him to put that book away and that supper would be ready in fifteen minutes. Then she turned to her boys and ordered them inside.

  During dinner, someone knocked at the door. Bottles opened it.

  “Mr. Myers? Come in.”

  When Louise saw it was a man, she ran her fingers in her hair, pinched her cheeks, and shifted her breasts for maximum exposure.

  “Who is it, Ralphie?” she screeched.

  “It’s Mr. Myers from the hardware store.”

  “How nice of you to visit.” She placed a hand on her hip and practically shoved her bosom in his face.

  He stepped back. “Actually, I came to ask Bot--, I mean Ralph, if he would help me tomorrow.”

  “Oh,” she screeched again, “Is this about his job?”

  “No, ma’am. I was just wondering if he could help me carry a few boxes.”

  “Sure I can, Mr. Myers. Be glad to.”

  “Thanks. Oh,” he reached into his jacket pocket. “I also wondered if you and a couple wall rats would like a few tickets to the first playoff game against the Madison Muskrats tomorrow at five o’clock.”

  Bottles eyes lit up, just before Louse reached over and snatched them from the man’s hand.

  “How very kind of you.” She counted them. “There’s only three.”

  “That’s all I could get.”

  “Well the boys and I thank you.”

  Bottles’ eyes teared. “What about me?”

  “What about you, Ralphie?” Jimmy sneered.

  “Don’t worry, son. I’ll try to get another one, for you .”

  “Thank you, sir. What time did you need me tomorrow?”

  “Can you be at the store by four o’clock?”

  He nodded.

  Mr. Myers turned. “Enjoy the game tomorrow. Be sure to keep your tickets stubs,” he added. “There’s going to be prizes. Free hotdogs, too. Be sure to be there early.

  Bottles watched Bernie pull out, then ran inside. “Why do you want the tickets? You don’t even like baseball.”

  “So?” The three of them laughed at the boy. “Free food and prizes. And Ralphie? After you finish helping that man carry the boxes, you come straight home. I’ll have some chores for you.

  He glared at them and ran to the cellar.

  ~*~

  Bottles arrived at the hardware store by four o’clock as requested. The bell above the door jingled when he entered.

  Mr. Myers had a box packed on the counter. It contained the signed baseball, the album of photos and the other stuff that was on display.

  “Would you carry that to my car, Bottles? I have something else to get. Just put it in the back seat.”

  “Sure thing.” The boy slid the box in the car and went back inside. He did not see his cousins standing across the street watching.

  Jimmy nudged his brother. They went over to the car and looked inside. Opening the door, they removed the photos out of the album and took them along with the signed baseball. They closed the door and looked around. No one saw them. They casually walked towards the stadium.

  Inside, Mr. Myers waited with a box for Bottles. “Here.”

  “What’s this?”

  “Open it.”

  The boy took the lid off the box. “What is it?”

  “You don’t expect to be a bat boy wearing jeans, do you?”

  “A bat boy? Me?” His eyes opened wide. “I’m going to be a bat boy for the Raccoons?” He hugged the man and started crying. “No one ever did anything so nice for me. I don’t know how to thank you.”

  “You can thank me by having fun. You deserve it, Bottles. Do you want to leave your bike here?”

  Bottles sobered. “I have to be home before my aunt is.”

  “Okay. You ride over to the stadium and I’ll take the uniform and meet you there.”

  CHAPTER 8

  The afternoon was perfect. At the stadium, Bottles ate as many hotdogs as he wanted and got to meet all the players, including manager, Joe Kiski. The boy was in awe, but once the game started, he was all business.

  As games go, it was one for the record book. It was tied at zero, going into the seventh inning. Both teams had hits, but no runs. The first drawing was held after singing ‘Take me out to the Ball Game.’

  “Will the holder of ticket number: Section 237, seat 14 come to the main concession stand to claim your prize.”

  By then, Myers and Joe Kiski discovered most of the prizes were missing. Luckily, Joe had some extra photos in his office and the drawings went off without a hitch. The only prize not immediately available was the signed baseball originally on display.

  Kiski had an extra one, but he was going to give it to Bottles.

  “The boy will have to wait. Who could have taken the stuff?”

  “I don’t know, Joe, but it wasn’t the boy. He was with me.”

  “We’ll have to question him.”

  “I know, Joe. I know. But wait until after the game. Let the boy enjoy himself.”

  The game continued. Eighth inning, no score. Ninth inning, no score. Tenth inning, the tide changed. The muskrats had nothing. Then the Raccoons were up. A couple of singles had players at first and second. Left fielder Jeff Smithers, stole third. The next two batters struck out. Then ‘Ranting’ Hank Rickles strode to the plate.

  He swung at the first pitch. Strike one. He swung at the second pitch. Strike two.

  Bottles couldn’t contain himself. “Relax, Hank.,” he yelled out. “Relax.”

  The batter smiled at the boy and settled in. He was not going to fall for another fast pitch. Ball one. Ball two. Ball three, a full count. The winning run was at third base.

  Rickles settled the bat on his shoulder and stared at the pitcher, who wound up and released the ball. It flew fast and straight. Rickles waited until the last possible second and swung.

  THWACK!

  Rickles knew. Bottles knew. Everyone knew. They were on their feet. It was a home run. The ball sailed over the far wall. Smithers stepped on the home plate. Kemper rounded third and ran home. Rickles jogged around the bases, stepping squarely on home plate.

  The game was over. Three zip. Game one went to the Raccoons.

  Bottles, meanwhile, knew he had to get home. Not bothering to change, he hopped on his bike and pedaled as fast as he could. His other clothes were in the basket on his bike.

  He put the bike down the cellar steps and ran through the house. Locking his bike in, he hurriedly changed and looked to see what chores he had to do. He didn’t see anything, so he went down to his room and locked the door.

  He heard his aunt and cousins upstairs.

  “Ralphie?” his aunt screeched.

  He waited for her second scream, then went upstairs. Faking a yawn, he asked, “Who won?”

  “We did,” Biff said.

  “Were you here the whole time?” she squinted at him.

  “No,” he confessed. “I hung around outside the back wall and watched until they sang Take Me out to the Ball Game. Then I came home. I’m sorry. I had to watch some of the game. Did you win anything?”

  “No,” Jimmy slapped the table. “Wish we did.”

  Bottles shook his head. “Why?”

  The boy sneered at him. “Because we’d have something and
you wouldn’t.”

  Bottles shrugged. “Well, you don’t. I’m going to bed.” He turned and left them standing in the kitchen.

  Near noon the next day, Bernie Myers and Joe Kiski paid Bottles a visit. The boy was on the porch. He waved and stood to greet them.

  “Bottles,” Mr. Myers began. “I have some bad news. There was a theft.”

  “Did someone rob your store?”

  “No, son. Not exactly. Someone stole the photos and the baseball yesterday. Where did you put the box?”

  His eyes opened wide. “What? How? When? I put the box in the back seat exactly like you said to.”

  Joe asked, “Did you see anyone lurking around?”

  “No, sir. I went back inside the store to see if there was anything else to carry. You know,” he addressed Bernie, “like you asked me to. Who would steal baseball stuff? Unless…”

  Bottles stopped and looked towards the house.

  Myers caught the glance. “You don’t think?”

  Bottles shrugged.

  In a louder voice, Myers said, “Bottles, I’m afraid you’re going to have to talk to the police.” He held the boy’s arm.

  “Wha—what? I didn’t. I wouldn’t.”

  “Sorry son. You have to come with us.” Joe added.

  Louise and the boys heard the noise and went out on the porch.

  “What’s going on here?”

  “Aunt Louise—they think I stole a baseball and some pictures.”

  Jimmy nudged his brother. “So that’s where these came from? He accused Bottles. “I can’t believe you’d stoop so low to steal from your friends. You should be arrested.”

  Biff handed a bag to Bernie.

  Myers opened it. Inside were the missing items. “Where did you find them?” He asked the boys.

  “They were in his bike basket.”

  “I see,” Kiski said. “And you’ll swear to that?”

  “Yes sir. Found them last night.”

  Bottles eyes narrowed, but his lips turned into a grin. “Oh really? When last night?”

  “After you went to bed.” Biff turned to Jimmy. “It was after he went to bed, right?”

  “Yeah. That’s right.”

  “Hmmm. That’s strange. I locked my bike in the cellar last night. My bike is locked up every night. You couldn’t have found them in the basket because they weren’t there.”

  The boys looked at each other. Biff punched Jimmy in the arm. “You are so stupid.”

  “Do you have a telephone?”

  “Of course,” Louise said. “It’s on the wall by the cellar door.”

  “May I use it?” Not waiting for an answer, Myers walked into the house. Everyone followed.

  “Mable? Ring the police chief for me.”

  Jimmy looked at his brother. They started to sneak out, but Joe had a firm grip on both of them.

  “No you don’t, boys. You’re not going anywhere.”

  The phone rang. “Bill, it’s Bernie Myers. You had better get out to Bottles’ house. I think we caught ourselves a couple of thieves.”

  Joe turned to Louise. “Do you know where your brother is?”

  She nodded meekly. “He sent a letter with his contact information.”

  “Get it for me.”

  He took the letter from her hand and picked up the phone. “Mable, ring up Hudson 67948.”

  The next half hour was a blur to Bottles.

  Bill Owens, Raytown’s police chief drove up in his police car, with the red light flashing. After sitting the brothers down, they confessed to stealing the baseball merchandise and revealed their plans to frame their cousin. They confessed to stealing Bottles money. They even confessed to other minor thefts that had not yet been discovered.

  He drove off with the boys in the back of the police car, leaving Louise in tears.

  Bottles dad called back and, after a conversation with Joe Kiski, which included a job offer, he decided to return home on the afternoon bus.

  Bernie Myers and Joe Kiski apologized to Bottles for even doubting his integrity.

  Everyone left, leaving a stressed Louise and a very relieved Bottles alone at home.

  The boy felt sorry for his aunt and poured her a glass of cold lemonade. “Here, Aunt Louise. Maybe this will help. Do you want a boloney sandwich? I’m going to have one.”

  She looked at her nephew. “Thank you, Bottles, for the lemonade. But let me fix lunch for the two of us. You sit right here.”

  He sat at the table and watched his aunt. He wanted to say something, but words escaped him. They ate in silence.

  “Why don’t you go lay down Aunt Louise, I’ll do the dishes.” Bottles finished, then went outside to wait for the afternoon bus. When he saw his dad walking up the drive, he ran to greet him.

  Life went back to normal for Bottles. He went back to collecting empties to cash in. He moved out of the cellar and back into his old bedroom. With his dad working at the ball field, the boy spent a lot more time there and eventually became a full time bat boy.

  Louise became a changed woman. She moved into the small bedroom. The cousins spent time in the system for their theft. While there, they were charged with several unsolved crimes in Pottsville.

  As endings go, everyone lived happily ever after.

  ~*~

  The two men were quiet, then they broke out in deep laughter.

  Slapping his knee, the reporter said, “You had us going there. That was a far-fetched story. But things like that don’t happen in real life to real people.”

  The executive shrugged. “Believe what you will, gentlemen, but it is the truth.” The man looked at his watch. “I hate to cut this short, but I have a meeting in a few minutes. Did you want any more pictures for your article?”

  The photographer scanned through the photos he took. “I’d like a couple more with you posing over by those awards.”

  The executive nodded and stood in front of the shelf filled with plaques and trophies.

  “Perfect.” He took the shots. “Thanks. That should do it for me.”

  “Did you have any more questions?” he addressed the other man.

  “No, sir. I’m sure I have all the information I need. I’ll email you a copy of the final draft.”

  The men shook hands.

  He watched out the window as the men got to their car. The photographer scanned the last shots. He did a double take. Tapping the reporter on the shoulder, he handed over the camera. The second man looked at the image, then both looked up at the man in the window.

  The executive smiled and touched two fingers to his forehead. On his way to his meeting, Ralph Steadway stopped at the shelf and straightened an empty soda bottle and a taped baseball holder containing a scraped, dirty autographed ball. He smiled and closed his office door.

  BIO:

  Cindy Bartolotta hails from a small town nestled in the winding Monongahela Valley, south of Pittsburgh. A writer for years, she had two short stories published in the Tribune Review’s Focus Magazine, several entries in Metamorphosis, a literary journal 2006-2007, published by the Pleasant Hill’s Public Library, and won several minor prizes in the 24-Hour writing contest. She creates a monthly word search puzzle for the Senior Times. Most recently Cindy had a short horror story, The Jailer, published in a horror anthology, Pleasant Dreams, available at Amazon. Always writing, her debut novel, Beyond the Border, should be out this fall.

  To contact Cindy, email her at synlab1@yahoo.com

  Visit her blog, Traveler With an Idle Mind, at http://synlab.blogspot.com

  Blurb for Beyond the Border:

  After a school sponsored Halloween party, teacher Lizzie Grant returns home to find kids at the far edges of her property. Determined to chase them away before they cause mischief, Lizzie runs after them and sprains her ankle. Searching for help, she encounters a re-enactment village unlike any other.

  When the on-site doctor splints her ankle, she’s unable to get a ride home and spends the night. When she awakens th
e next morning, she’s pain free and her injury healed. Wandering through the village, she is caught up in the Festival preparations and offers to help. After the banquet, the Festival takes a bizarre turn. Confused, she spends a second night there.

  Once Lizzie discovers the truth about the village, will she be able to solve the mystery or will she be forever doomed to remain in Marsh’s Landing?

  TRAPPED

  By Twinkle (Sugandha) Varshney

  ©2013 by Twinkle (Sugandha) Varshney

  What we have is all we want but we realize it only when it’s gone

  What we have is enough for us but now all we can do is moan!

  Tears were rolling down my cheek to fall into void and I was speculating if they could run just as far that I do not remember that I was in pain, that I was ever wounded, that I have lost my reason to live and to breathe anymore. If I could let the inexorable pain cramming out of my fractured soul swirl into a tide of time, then probably it would stop hurting eventually.

  I can look through their innocuous face, with my closed eyes but when I opened them I was left with nothing more than the repent and embarrassment. The vicious fact that I was the reason for all this chaos was piercing every cell of mine making me regret for being such an evil. I was like the scoundrel chameleon stepmother of the century old fairy tales who ended in her dreadful fate, a life worse than hell stuck in her own trap of uncouth moves.

  The sugary sore memories were flushing around encumbering my heart with guilt and I was lost.

  (1)

  The day I saw Angel and Little I decided to have them with me forever. The way Angel was gnawing my thumb and Little holding that doll in one of her hand and her frock with other, the innocence in their sad brown eyes was penetrating my soul screaming to me their miserable past. It seemed like after amassing the ache the misery of whole world god has created those serene placid eyes. There was a lot of pain and charm floating in them that one could not resuscitate themselves from doting them. Their poignant story had made my heart elegy and I still cannot believe the abyss these little buds have gone through in such an unripen age. After the disheartening dismal of their parents they were adopted by an old disingenuous lady who dispirited and dispelled them from every possible happiness. These fearless nascent agile kids subjugated that felonious witch and set themselves free.