by Jack Gantos
When we got into the car Dad had his speech all prepared. “We’re going to play like pros. With dignity. No tape players, no dogs, no phone calls, no rolling the ball to the plate, no weird stuff. Just pure baseball played by the rules.”
“Do the rules really say no dogs allowed on the mound?” I asked.
“Don’t question me, Joey,” Dad snapped. “I’m a little tense and I have no patience for your shenanigans. So just do what I tell you and nothing more. You got that?”
“Dad,” I said. “I’m not having fun.”
“Get used to it,” he replied. “Life isn’t fun when all day long you can’t do anything but mess up.”
I wanted to say something back but I had such a bad case of the jitters that I zippered my lips because I was sure if I spoke it would be messed up and Dad would get even more tense.
By the time we arrived the parking lot was jampacked and the stands were full. The towers full of lights were so bright that when I looked up at them my eyes jerked over to one side like when you yank your hand back from touching something too hot. I looked over at the green grass and it seemed to cool my eyes down, as if dipping my hand in ice water.
“There he is,” Leezy announced when she saw me coming, “the king of the hill.” Then she gave me a hug. “I’ve been thinking about you all day. Hope your dad didn’t make you wash the walls. When he’s nervous he is a cleaning fool.”
I smiled. “I just cleaned myself,” I said.
“Joey!” someone called out. I looked up into the stands and it was Grandma. She held Pablo up. He was wearing his lucky belly sweater. “Good luck!” she yelled, then looked away to cough.
“Come on,” Dad said, and steered me toward the mound. “We have business to complete.”
I followed him out to the mound, where he turned and put his hand on my shoulder.
“Caveman,” he whispered, “don’t let me down. I hate losing. Just hate it. Guys like us—you know, guys who have had their hard times—want to be winners too. Some lucky people are born winners. But you and I have to go out there and earn it. You know what I mean, son?”
“I do,” I said. And I did. I knew everything there was to know about learning how to be a winner the hard way. I knew it down into my toes. And now I was with my dad and he was saying things to me about wanting to be a winner that I always felt but had never said to anyone. And here we were, wanting to be winners together. I had him and he had me and we were so alike it was as if I had a giant twin. I didn’t want to let him down and I was hoping and praying that I could just get through this one last game before I unraveled at the seams like a baseball that had been smacked around one too many times.
Dad fit the new ball into my hand. Then he rolled up his sleeve and pointed to his tattoo. “You’re undefeated, let’s keep it that way,” he said. “This is a championship game. I want you to cover first, cover home, and catch pop-ups.”
“I’ll try,” I said. “I’ll give it my best.” Then I pulled up my shirt and showed him the tattoos I had drawn on with a pen.
He was puzzled. “What are they?” he asked.
“Patches,” I said, poking them. “They’ll keep me calm.”
He frowned. “The only thing you need is determination,” he said. “Now hunker down and beat these guys.”
The umpire stepped forward and brushed off the plate and the crowd began to roar. “Batter up,” he called as he adjusted his chest protector and mask. Dad trotted toward the dugout and our catcher punched his fist into his glove.
“Come on, Pigza. Blow ’em away!” he hollered.
I looked at the catcher’s mitt and nowhere else because I had the feeling if I started to look around my mind would wander off so I just threw as hard as I could and before long it was three up and three down.
Our team didn’t score either and I was right back on the mound. I reared back and let one fly. But right away I could tell there was something wrong because I was trying to throw a strike and the ball went over the umpire’s head. The catcher jumped up and threw it back to me. I gripped the ball and it felt like a jumping bean in my hand. I looked up at the full moon. It was big and round and solid. “Come on, Joey,” I whispered. “Don’t crack up.” Then I looked back at the catcher. He smacked his glove.
“Put ’er right in here,” he shouted. “Come on, Pigza.”
I did and the batter hit it in the gap for a double. Right away Dad was yelling, “Lucky hit! Come on, Joey. Hunker down!”
“Focus,” I said to myself as I circled around the mound. “Just take it easy and focus.”
I listened but the ball didn’t. I walked the next two batters and loaded the bases and Dad was hollering stuff from the side but I wouldn’t even look at him.
On the next pitch I got lucky and the batter hit into a double play that drove in a run and the following batter hit a fly ball to the outfield.
When I returned to the dugout I pulled my hat down over my face and tried not to hear a thing—not Dad or Leezy or even Grandma and Pablo. Inside my head there was a hissing sound like someone had poked a hole in me and whatever control was left inside was leaking out.
“You’re up, Joey,” Dad hollered.
As I grabbed my bat Dad dropped down on one knee and put his hand on my shoulder. He looked me in the eyes. “I want you to stand real close to the plate. That might help with your hitting and if a ball happens to come at you, just turn your back on it.”
“Won’t that hurt?”
“Not for long. Just take one for the team,” Dad said. “Now suck it up and let him plunk you.”
“Batter up!” the ump called, and I ran over to the plate and got real close and lifted the bat up over my shoulders. The pitcher reared back and let it go and I thought it was coming for my head so I dropped down on the ground.
“Strike one,” the ump hollered.
When I stood up I turned and looked at Dad. He gave me the thumbs-up.
I inched even closer to the plate and dug my feet into the dirt. The pitcher went into his windup and let the ball fly. I turned my face away and squeezed my eyes together and the ball slammed off my helmet. I went tumbling backward and rolled across the ground. The ump dashed over and put his hand on my shoulder. “You okay?” he asked, and he looked scared.
I looked up at him. The funny thing was that I think the hit on my head was good for me. It hurt so much I could hardly think of anything else except for Dad, who started to trot toward me, and when I saw him coming I jumped up and ran down the first-base line. “I’m okay!” I kept shouting to the ump. “I’m fine. Play ball!”
“Yeah, he’s okay,” I heard Dad say. “He’s got a head like concrete.”
The next batter was the right fielder. The pitcher must have been shaken up more than me because he threw one in there that the batter turned on and blasted out over the fence. I let out a cheer and skipped to second and turned and ran backward to third and was going to walk on my hands all the way to home but when I rounded third base Dad slapped me on the butt and growled, “Stop your clownin’.” So I settled down and trotted to the plate. I stood there and when the right fielder touched home he said, “Way to take one for the team or we’d just be tied.”
I smiled like a goon but when I walked back to the dugout Leezy made a big fuss over my head and started to rub it. I pulled away and when I looked over at Dad he winked at me and I smiled. The side of my head was sore but it didn’t matter because we were ahead and all I had to do was hold the lead and we’d win.
Our next batter hit a ground ball out and I went back to the mound. I took a deep breath and looked up into the night. The moon looked like a shiny splatmark in the sky. Then I reared back and threw the ball. It hit the batter on the shoulder before he could duck. As he trotted toward first I left the mound and ran over to meet him.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t mean it.”
“It’s okay,” he replied, rubbing his shoulder. “I’m fine.”
“It was an a
ccident,” I said. Then I felt Dad’s hand on my shoulder. He steered me back toward the mound.
“Don’t ever say you are sorry,” he insisted. “They hit you first.”
“I think something is wrong with me,” I said.
“Don’t disappoint me, Joey. Don’t be a Humpty Dumpty on me and crack up.”
“I’m not Humpty Dumpty,” I said, shuffling my feet. “I’m just me.”
“Then suck it up. A real champion doesn’t make excuses.” And he stomped back to the dugout.
I threw another pitch and hit another batter.
“You’re losing control!” Dad barked. “Get a grip!”
The coach on the other team started yelling that I was hitting batters on purpose and the ump came out to the mound.
“Are you okay?” he asked. “Did that hit on the head knock you silly?”
“It was nothing,” I said. “I’m just a little nervous.”
By then Dad came running up. “He’s fine,” he said to the ump.
“I’m talking to the boy,” the ump said. “You go back to the coach’s box.”
The funny thing is that as I was falling apart I looked over at Dad walking away with his arms swinging over his head and I felt as though his problem was my fault and if I could pull it together and win the game then he would pull together too.
After the ump settled everyone down he returned to his spot behind the plate and yelled, “Now, play ball!”
I reared back and let it fly. The ball went on a line directly into the stands. A few people scattered.
“Don’t make me come out to the mound again,” Dad shouted, “or I’ll change more than just pitchers! I’ll change your whole attitude! Now throw strikes!”
The catcher tossed me another and I reared back and let it go. It must have popped a car window in the parking lot because I heard glass flying and then I saw Dad run toward me with his face all pinched with anger. I didn’t wait to see what he would do. I dropped my glove and ran toward the outfield. I passed the second baseman, passed the right fielder, and climbed the chain-link fence. At the top of the fence I looked back over my shoulder. All the players were in their positions. They hadn’t moved an inch except to turn their heads in my direction. I figured Dad would be right behind me, and he would have been except that Leezy was standing in front of him with her hands on his shoulders.
“Get back here and finish the mess you started, you retard!” he shouted, and pointed at me. “Get back here before I have to track you down!”
I couldn’t hear what other mean things he was saying but in my mind his giant voice was growling, “Fe Fi Fo Fum! I smell the blood of a little one.” I jumped down from the fence and rolled and stumbled through a rough field and when I reached the road I ran toward a cluster of lights.
14
THE MALL
By the time I got inside the mall there was only one thing on my mind. Call home. But I didn’t have any money. So when no one was looking I ran up to the wishing well and began to scoop all the change out and put it into my hat. It didn’t make me feel good to be stealing other kids’ wishes, but then I thought there must be some nice kid out there who if he knew me would make a wish that I was home with my mom and wouldn’t mind if I used his wish money in the pay phone to make it come true.
After I cleaned out the well I went into the grocery store and handed the cashier my hat full of change. “Can I have quarters for this?” I asked.
She shrugged. “Sure,” she said, and began to count it out. It was mostly pennies and it took her forever.
Once I got the quarters I ran to the pay phone and shoved them all in the slot and dialed the number. As soon as Mom answered I blurted out, “I have to tell you my secret.”
“What, Joey? What’s wrong?”
“I haven’t been taking my medicine and I thought I was normal but I’m not and now I’m like my old self and I’m in trouble with Dad and I’m really scared.”
“Slow down,” she said. “Just take a deep breath and let’s take this one step at a time. I thought you were pitching tonight?”
“I was, but then I lost it.” And I told her as fast as I could what happened and the whole time I was looking left and right just expecting Dad to explode into the store and grab me.
“Joey, now listen to me,” Mom said. “I’ll have to borrow the car and then I’ll come get you. It’s going to take some time to do this so you have to wait for me. Where are you?”
“The North Side Mall,” I said. “Where Steel City Sports is.”
“Well, you wait out front for me,” she said. “I’ll be there as fast as I can, license or not. But you know how long the drive is, so it’ll be a while. Okay?”
“Okay,” I said. And when I hung up I ran outside to the front entrance and hid in one of those fancy hedges that spell out Welcome in cursive. I was all squatted down inside the o like a soldier in a foxhole. I peeked out at every car and person. I was so afraid to see Dad and I was so hoping to see Mom. A long time passed and then I saw her. A car drove by and parked under a light and when the door opened I saw a woman with red hair. I jumped out of my hole and started running across the asphalt. “It’s me, it’s me!” I yelled and waved my arms over my head, but as soon as I got close enough my heart stopped. Because it wasn’t Mom. It was Leezy and there I was running toward her with no place to hide.
“Joey?” she said. “What are you doing here? Your father is looking for you everywhere.”
“My mother’s coming to get me,” I said, hopping from one foot to the next. “You won’t tell Dad, will you?”
“Not right away,” she said. “Although he might be on his way to see me. So hurry into the store. You can hide from him in my office while we figure out what to do.” She held both my hands tightly like they were the reins on a wild horse and we started to run.
“Did we win?” I asked.
“No,” she said. “After you went AWOL they put Virgilio in and he couldn’t hold the lead.”
“Well, I didn’t lose,” I said. “When I left we were ahead.”
“Technically,” she said, “you took the loss. The bases were full when you left, and you were responsible for the runners.”
“Oh,” I said. “I thought Dad could still have a perfect record tattooed on his arm.”
“Well, right now I feel like tattooing J-E-R-K on his forehead.”
I smiled because I was a good speller.
“What happened to you on the mound?” she asked as we entered the mall and slowed down.
“I flipped,” I said. “Dad flushed my medicine down the toilet and I became my old self and just went around the bend.”
“I’ll say,” she said, agreeing. “Your dad’s the same way. Right now he’s gone off the deep end himself. He’s got his ups and downs and I’m sure when he wakes up tomorrow he’s going to hate himself for this—but I’m not going to make any excuses for him. He can tell you himself how he feels. Right now, what can I do to help?”
“I already called my mom,” I said. “She’s on her way from Lancaster.”
Leezy looked at her watch. “I figure that’s about three hours,” she said. “Why don’t you hang out in my office. I have a TV in there and you can watch it, and tell me what kind of car your mom has and I’ll watch for her.”
“Please don’t tell Dad where I am,” I said.
“I won’t unless I have to,” she said, and held me to her with her arms around my back. “We don’t want him calling the police. But no matter, I’ll see to it that he doesn’t come here before your mom arrives. I know how to handle your father.” She made a fist and nicked herself across the jaw. “You gotta fight fire with fire,” she said.
I went into the office and for the next three hours I changed the channel about once every second. I wanted to watch everything and I couldn’t get myself to watch any one thing so I just spun through the channels so fast that I nearly watched them all at once and that seemed to keep me in one spot.
&nbs
p; Finally Leezy came in. “Joey,” she said. “Your mom’s out back. Come on.”
I stood up and ran in the direction Leezy pointed. A door was open and I ran out onto a loading dock. Mom was standing in front of the car and I just ran off the edge of the dock and right into her arms and knocked her back against the fender.
“Easy, partner,” she said as I slid down the front of her dress like a cartoon character who had run into a wall.
“You better get going,” Leezy said. “I’m keeping Carter at bay, but you know how unpredictable he can be. And once you guys have gone I’ll call and tell him what’s happened.”
“Thanks,” Mom said.
I turned and waved to Leezy, then hopped up and jumped into the passenger seat. Mom got in and we took off across the parking lot.
“There is a patch in my purse,” she said. “It won’t kick in for a few days, but the sooner we get you started the better.”
I reached in and found it. I ripped open the package and slapped the patch on the back of my arm. She reached over and rubbed the side of my face and it was the best thing I ever felt.
“Who was that woman?” Mom asked.
“Dad’s girlfriend,” I said.
“She must be a saint,” Mom remarked.
“She is,” I said, and I was smiling because she was a saint for me.
“This visit with your dad has been a fiasco,” Mom said, shaking her head.
“It’s not your fault,” I said. “I wanted to see him.”
“And if I didn’t let you see him I thought you’d always blame me for keeping you away. Now you know on your own,” she said.
“But I wanted Dad to work out,” I said quietly. “I wanted the whole family to be together.”
“He blew it again,” she said. “Looks like it’s just you and me.”
