Me, Mop, and the Moondance Kid

by Walter Dean Myers

  “Not bad,” she said. “Why do you ask?”

  “Just wondered,” I said.

  I figured she was. That's why she could hit the ball so well. She knew all about those angles that Jim was always talking about. My problem was, I wasn't good in arithmetic. I wondered if Peaches was good in arithmetic. I mean, you can never tell, right?

  We won a game¡ At first I thought sure we were going to lose because Jim wasn't there and Maria had to coach us. But everything turned out okay. The Pumas got up first. They've got these cool-looking uniforms and they all act cool. They got six runs in the first inning and I thought it was all over. But then we got four runs. The next inning they got three runs, and we got three runs. The third inning they didn't get any runs and we didn't get any runs.

  Okay, so who's up first in the fourth inning and gets on base? Me¡ I hit the ball to their shortstop and he threw it to first base, but it bounced off the first baseman's chest and I was safe. Then Brian gets up and hits a home run¡ It was the first great hit ever made by our team. And it tied the score.

  We got all the way up to the end of the fifth inning with the score tied 11 to 11. There was only one more inning to go and we were going to get up last. Talk about nervous¡

  They scored only one run in the top of the sixth. It was 12 to 11, their favor. Their coach kept on saying that all they had to do was to keep us from scoring and they would win. Well, Joey DeLea gets up first and gets a walk. Then Frank hits a pop-up, but their shortstop drops the ball. You got two guys on base and up comes Mop. Maria gives her the sign to bunt.

  “It's a bunt!” This big voice comes out of the stands.

  I turn and I see it's Rocky from the Eagles. Right next to him is Mr. Treaster. The guy's always hanging around.

  Then the Pumas’ coach calls time out and talks to his infield. I'm getting so nervous, I don't know what to do. I know Brian is up next, and since he can hit almost as good as me I think we got a chance even if Mop makes an out.

  When we start to play again, their third baseman and their first baseman get real close in case Mop bunts. Mop sees them in close like that and looks at Maria. Maria gives the bunt sign again.

  Their pitcher jerks around a lot when he throws the ball and you can hardly tell when he's going to let it go. He jerks around and pitches the ball. The first pitch almost hits Mop in the head. She gives that guy a look you wouldn't believe¡

  “It's a bunt!” Rocky's still yelling out from the stands.

  The guy throws again and Mop hits a line drive right at him. He just gets out of the way and the ball goes into the outfield. Joey and Frank come in and the game is over. We win¡

  After the game everybody was slapping hands and giving each other high-fives and everything. Maria was smiling and she and Mop kind of ran toward each other and I thought they were going to hug or something. Then they stopped at the last minute and Mop gave Maria a high-five.

  You know how it feels to win like that? It feels good¡ It feels so good, I was still smiling when I got home.

  “How did the game go?” Dad asked.

  “We won!”

  “How did you do?”

  “I won too,” I said.

  “Did you get any hits?”

  “I got on base once,” I said. “And I scored one run.”

  “Oh.” It was the littlest oh you ever heard in your entire life.

  “How'd the Moondance Kid do?” he asked Moon-dance.

  “I got three hits but I missed one ball,” Moondance said. “It bounced right off my glove.”

  “Hey, three hits, that's okay,” Dad said. “All right!”

  I didn't even remember Moondance getting three hits, but then I thought about it real hard and I remembered every time he got up. He got four hits. I told him that and he said one of them was an error. Maria told him that.

  She didn't tell me anything. I guess because I didn't get any real hits.

  I asked Mom if she could figure out why I didn't get any hits. She said she didn't know why and I told her about Jim's angles and how I wasn't too good at math. She said she didn't think that was the reason.

  You know what I think? I read someplace where there are day people and night people. The day people do things better in the daytime, while the night people do things better at night. We play all our games in the day and I think I might be a night people.

  Come to think of it, I'm pretty sure I'm a night people.

  Mop missed the next game and we lost it. She was taking care of Taffy. She's the only one at the Academy who really knows how to take care of Taffy. I don't know how she knows how to take care of a baby llama, but she does. She said that the only thing wrong with Taffy was that she missed her mother. The new kid at the Academy, Artemis, said that Mop looked like a mama llama anyway. He thought that was pretty cool until Mop gave him a fat

  UP Jim was missing a lot of practices because of his job, but that was okay because Maria was a good coach. You didn't have to remember angles and things with her like

  you did with Jim.

  When Maria found out that Mop was missing the game, she called up another girl, named Taisha, to take her place. Taisha came to practice, but she said she didn't like playing baseball that much.

  “So how come you put your name down for the team?” Taisha lived down the street from me and I was walking her home.

  “My uncle told my mother it would be good for me,” she said.

  “How come he said that if you don't like it?”

  “ ‘Cause that's what he do,” she said. “He gives people advice.”

  “That's his job?”

  “Uh-uh,” Taisha said. “That's just what he do, that's all.”

  “So you going to play?” I had to find out so I could tell Mop in case there was going to be trouble.

  “If I don't, that guy, what's his name—Jim—said I could be a cheerleader.”

  “You going to do that?”

  “Maybe,” Taisha said. “People like cheerleaders a lot.”

  Two days later me and Mop were on the field sitting in the stands and I told her about Taisha.

  “She cute?” Mop asked.

  “She's okay,” I said.

  “And Jim said she could be a cheerleader?”

  “That's what Taisha told me,” I said. “She said she might be a cheerleader because everybody likes them.”

  “I ain't being no cheerleader. I don't care if everybody hates me,” Mop said. She took a deep breath, deeper than maybe I had ever seen anybody take, and then let it out again.

  “What's wrong?”

  “Everything,” she said. “I don't think I'm going to get adopted. I think I'm going to have to go out to Riverhead.”

  “You'll get adopted,” I said. “And even if you do have to go out to Riverhead, you'll be okay.”

  “No, I won't,” she said. “Here I am trying to be the best ball player around and soon's I miss a game they get somebody to take my place. They'd better get their act together pretty quick.”

  Mop started for the Academy and I sat in the stands. When you know somebody a long time, like me and Mop knew each other, you hate to see them sad because you know just how sad feels for them.

  So she's sad and I'm sad. I'm thinking about what's going to happen to her, and if we're going to be friends if she has to move to Riverhead. Then somebody sits next to me and I look up and it's Mr. Treaster and on the other side of him is Rocky.

  “So how you doing?” he asked.

  “All right,” I said. I really didn't want to talk to him.

  “How's that team of yours doing?”

  “We won a game,” I said.

  “I heard, I heard,” he said. “Congratulations!”

  He reached out and shook my hand.

  “Thanks.”

  “This is a good league,” Mr. Treaster said. “Lot of good young ball players in it.”

  “I guess so.”

  “You hear about that new kid on the Colts?”

  “
No.”

  “He played for Bayonne last year,” Rocky said. “Hit about four-fifty, with twenty home runs.”

  “Nobody hits twenty home runs,” I said.

  “This kid did. He could probably ruin the Elks all by himself,” Mr. Treaster said.

  “He really hit twenty home runs?”

  “It was in all the papers in Bayonne,” Rocky said.

  “You think the Colts might even win first place?” I asked.

  “Beat us?” Mr. Treaster laughed. “No way!”

  “I just wondered.”

  I watched as Peaches shuffled along the gate toward the entrance to the ball field. He came through the gate and looked around, as if he was searching for something.

  “It's a shame they don't lock the gates to keep people like that out of the park,” Mr. Treaster said.

  “I thought he was one of the Elks.” Rocky picked up a stone and threw it toward the outfield.

  “Say, you know what I thought would be one heck of a joke,” Mr. Treaster said. “We should steal all of the Colts’ signs and every time we played them we'd use the same signs as they did.”

  “Then they would know what you were going to do,” I said.

  “Sure, but that way it would all be equal,” Mr. Treaster said. “They'd know our signs and we'd know theirs. What do you think, Rocky?”

  “Yeah, that'd be fun,” Rocky said.

  “Hey, what are those letters they call you by?”

  “TJ.”

  “You ever go to the Colts’ practice, T.J.?”

  “Sometimes. Sometimes they practice just before we do.”

  “You ought to get their signs and write them down, you know.”

  “I don't think that's right,” I said.

  “He's chicken,” Rocky said.

  “He's just nervous,” Mr. Treaster said.

  “Don't you guys know that baseball is supposed to be fun?” Mr. Treaster asked.

  “We have fun,” I said. I got up and jumped down into the field.

  “Hey, RJ., where you going?” Mr. Treaster called after me.

  “T.J.,” I called back. “Not RJ.”

  “Well, where you running off to, T.J.?”

  “Gotta go home,” I said.

  “Yeah, that figures,” Rocky called.

  I got near the gate and Peaches was leaning on it. He smelled bad. He looked at me and I looked at him and our eyes met for a while. Then he turned away and looked over toward the outfield. I turned away and went through the gate.

  I liked Peaches. Maybe not a lot, the way you liked a friend, more like somebody you just knew a lot about. I felt that way about the kids at the Academy too. I liked them even if I didn't know them too well. In a way Peaches was like the kids in the Academy.

  Maria called the next Wednesday to say that the practice had been canceled.

  “You hear about the new kid on the Colts?” I asked her.

  “Yes, I did. He's supposed to be pretty good,” Maria said. “But what it really means is that the teams will be more balanced. That's going to give us a better chance.”

  Moondance and I went to the ballpark but there was a Pee-Wee game going on so we went over near the playground.

  “What do you want to practice?” I asked.

  “Let's practice catching,” Moondance said.

  That was cool with me. We both made believe we were outfielders and began throwing the ball to each other. Only thing was, Moondance could throw the ball farther than I could. I could stand near the fire hydrant, the one with the top painted yellow, and throw the ball almost to where the statue was. The statue was a soldier who had been in some war, only somebody had broken his gun off.

  I threw the ball to Moondance and he missed it. He missed it by maybe fifteen feet. I figured he really needed the practice more than me. Then he threw it. Right over my head. He threw it from the statue all the way past the fire hydrant to a park bench.

  I wasn't mad or anything, but Moondance is a lot smaller than me and he threw the ball farther. So I wound up and threw it with all my might. It went from the fire hydrant almost past the soldier. Moondance missed it again, but not by much this time.

  “Hold it for a minute!” I called to him.

  He held the ball and I watched the trees to make sure the wind wasn't blowing. I saw that in a karate movie once. This guy watched the trees to see if the wind was blowing and then as soon as the wind stopped he shot an arrow right through a keyhole and into the heart of the bad guy.

  When I was sure the wind wasn't blowing to help him, I told him to throw. He threw it past the bench¡

  Okay, so we switched positions. I threw it from the statue. It almost reached the bench. Then he threw it way past me.

  He could just throw the ball farther than I could. That was it. I couldn't figure out how he could do that, but he could.

  There's a road right through the park, and who comes driving along it but Sister Carmelita. Mop is with her.

  Moondance and me went over to the car.

  “You guys want to come with me or you want to stay in the park?” Sister Carmelita asked.

  “We'll stay in the park,” Mop answered for us, sliding out of the car. “Unless you need us.”

  “I know these streets pretty well,” Sister Carmelita said. “I grew up on Gifford, just five blocks from here.”

  We watched Sister Carmelita drive away.

  “She's going around the neighborhood seeing how the parish can help the needy,” Mop said. “What are you guys doing?”

  “Catching,” I said. “You know Moondance can throw farther than me?”

  “That's cause he's lopsided,” Mop said. “Put your feet close together, hold both your arms out, and close your eyes.”

  “Do what?”

  “Hold both your arms out,” she said, lifting my arms. “And close your eyes.”

  I did it.

  “Why's he doing that?” I could hear Moondance ask.

  “Yeah, how come I'm doing this?”

  “Don't say anything,” Mop said. “Just tell me how you feel.”

  “Stupid,” I said.

  “Yeah, but what else?”

  “That's it. Stupid.”

  “See?” she said.

  I opened my eyes. “See what?”

  “You're pretty much balanced, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Now watch when Moondance tries to do it.”

  Moondance closed his eyes, put his feet together, and held his arms out.

  “How do you feel?” Mop asked him.

  “Okay.”

  “You feel like you might fall over a little?”

  “No.”

  “Not even a little?”

  “Maybe a little,” Moondance said.

  “See?” Mop said.

  “See what?” I asked.

  “Moondance is a little lopsided,” Mop said. “So he's got more weight on one side than he's got on the other. That's why he can throw a ball farther than you can, because he's got more weight on that one side. It's all relative.”

  “You think so?”

  “Yeah, only some people are lopsided but all dogs are lopsided. That's why God gave them tails to balance themselves. You see a dog that acts like he's a little shaky and one thing you notice is that his tail is going back and forth. That's so he can balance himself.”

  “I don't believe that,” I said.

  “You don't have to,” Mop said. “But it's true.”

  Later, we walked toward the Academy and Mop and I talked while Moondance mostly made believe he was an airplane. I told Mop about Mr. Treaster asking me to get the Colts’ signals.

  “You think it was a joke?” I asked.

  “He probably wants to cheat,” Mop said.

  “That's what I figured too.”

  “You know what Maria said?” Mop stopped and looked right at me.

  “What?”

  “I told her I had heard about Taisha being a cheerleader and all and I didn't want
to be no cheerleader. Then I told her I wanted to catch and you know what she said? She said that I was going to catch the next game,” Mop said. “She said that if I wanted to catch, I could catch.”

  “Okay with me.”

  “If Brian says anything, I'm going punch his lights out,” Mop said. “And you gotta watch my back, okay?”

  “Sure.”

  When I got home, I asked Dad if some people had more weight on one side of their body than on the other. He went into a long thing about how everybody was different and how some people might have slightly more weight on one side of the body than on the other. Then I told Moondance he needed a tail. You know what? He liked the idea.

  'm not sure what I want to be when I grow up. Sometimes I think I want to be a baseball player, or maybe a basketball player. But those aren't the kinds of things you can say to grown-ups. You have to say you want to be a doctor, or a lawyer, or a guy who sells insurance. It really doesn't matter what you really want to be, it's what you say you want to be that counts. Parents especially like you saying that you want to be something important. Even if you say you want to be something like the President of the United States, it's okay. As a matter of fact, that's probably a really cool thing to say.

  Sometimes I think I want to be a scientist. I like science in school for one thing, and for another I like to do experiments. There's this one experiment I had been working on for a while with Moondance. It's where you put your hands together with the lights on, turn the lights out, and then open your hand to see if you captured any light. Moondance and I tried it four times and it never worked. But one day, when Moondance had gone to the library to get a book on lizards, I figured out a way it might work.

  I took a Pepsi-Cola bottle and covered it with black paper and then covered the black paper with tape. I covered the whole thing except for the opening on top. Then I put the opening right in front of the light bulb on my lamp.

  The way I figured it, the whole inside of the bottle was filled with light. Then I covered it with the top as quickly as I could and fastened it down tight. After I got that done, I turned the lights off in the room and shut the door so that it was really black. Then I couldn't find the bottle.

  I turned the lights back on, found the bottle, and put it on my bed. Then I turned the lights back off. I found the bottle in the dark and put my eye right near the opening. Then slowly, slowly, I undid the bottle top. I kept my eye right there so if any light came out it would have to hit my eye.