Don't Jinx It! A Little-Leaguer's Superstitions

by John Keenan

Errrrrrrrrrrrrrr! Minutes later, I jammed on the brakes and did another jumping dismount. Cooooshhhhhh! The bike hitting the sidewalk outside Pat’s deli made a loud noise. I ran inside and looked up at the clock, 5:34. I’ll make it! (The field was only a ten-minute ride away.)

  I grabbed a pack of Ding Dongs on the fly and went right for the soda case. While I felt for the coldest Mountain Dew, I soaked up the cool refrigerated air against my sweaty body.

  I heard the door slam and a curly-orange haired kid in a blue superman shirt and red shorts burst into the store. He was small, maybe nine-years old.

  I know him! While trying to place where, I thought of Dr. Seuss. I wonder if the Cat in the Hat knows you’re out without Thing 2?

  That thought, that hesitation, would cost me. Thing 1 beat me to the counter.

  “Pack of baseball cards.” He ordered. “And I’ll take the rest of them fish!”

  “Hey!” I protested. “I was here first.”

  “Bull crap!” He said.

  I recognize that bull crap! He was our paperboy’s little brother; he usually tagged along the route saying ‘bull crap this’ and ‘bull crap that’! It was his favorite phrase for sure. His name was Danny or Donny or something like that.

  “You can’t just cut in front of people like that!” I said.

  “Don’t gimme none of that bull crap! You were getting a soda. Huh, Pat?”

  Behind the counter, Pat shrugged. She had long ago given up arbitrating disputes between customers. She was short, fat, and old. She spoke very little and moved slow; she made everything look like a herculean task. When she turned the gummy fish jar upside down, shaking out the last few fish into a plastic sandwich bag – it seemed to exhaust her and it made me think of the Jinx.

  The kid dropped a fistful of coins, mostly pennies, on the counter. It made a big dull metallic splat. Pat started counting the money – one cent at a time.

  “Pat, please tell me you have more in the back?” I asked with a desperate voice.

  Pat nodded and that made me feel better. I was losing time, but at least I would get my fish. I looked at the wall clock: 5:36.

  When Pat was done, Thing 1 scooped up the leftover pennies and looked at me. “Now, it’s your turn, dufus!” He said and walked away.

 

  Cha-ching! The drawer of the cash register opened and Pat dropped each coin into its proper slot. After about twenty chink-chink-chinks, she slammed the drawer shut and finally looked at me.

  “I need twelve fish as fast as possible please!” I said.

  “We’re out!” she said.

  “What?” My voice cracked like Peter Brady. “You said you had more?”

  “I did?”

  “Yes you did. I asked you if you had more and you nodded your head like this.” I mimicked her nod from earlier.

  Pat shrugged.

  “What about in back?” I asked – now in full panic mode.

  She shook her head no. “He got the last one.” She motioned with her head toward the kid. The door slammed shut behind him.

  “Ahhhh!” My blood began to boil. “This is not happening!” I put a dollar down for the soda and Ding Dongs; I didn’t wait for the forty cents change because Pat was too slow and I needed to get those fish – quick.

  Outside of the deli, I yelled out to Thing 1. “Hey Danny!”

  The kid turned around. “My name is Donny, dufus!”

  I saw him chomping away at some of the fish. My stomach churned.

  “Sorry. Hey… Do you remember me?” I said. “You’re our paperboy.”

  I was trying to flatter him. At best he was a mild help to his brother and more likely an irritant forced upon him by his mom.

  “I know who you are, so what!” He said.

  “Today’s your lucky day Donny!”

  “How’s that?” He said.

  “I’ll give you a buck for 12 of those fish.” I tried to sound like I was offering him a deal of a lifetime.

  “No deal.”

  “Come on!” I snapped. I thought about knocking him down and taking them, but I didn’t – I’m no bully! “Ok, I’ll give you two bucks.” I waved two bills in the air. “That’s fifteen cents a piece.”

  “It’s more like seventeen cents… dummy!”

  “What?” I started to do the math in my head and then gave up. “Whatever, the bottom line is I need those fish!”

  He gave me a funny look for a second and then counter-offered. “Three dollars!”

  “You paid a penny a piece!” I was outraged at him and at everything that had happened to me in the last hour.

  “That’s my price.” He said. “Take it or leave it.”

  “Okay, okay you little shyster!” I heard my mom say that to a door-to-door salesman – I figured it fit even though I didn’t really know what the word meant.

  I held out my last three dollars. When he grabbed for it, I pulled back. “Let’s see those fish first.”

  The kid gave me a weird vibe and I wasn’t taking any chances. Donny smiled; he had red jelly bits stuck to almost every tooth. He seemed to enjoy the fact that I didn’t trust him. He began counting out the fish in the plastic bag with a whisper. “Seven, eight, nine…”

  “Do you gotta touch every single one?” I said.

  “You want twelve? I’m counting twelve!” He said.

  I cringed, thinking about where those grubby little fingers may have been.

  “Twelve on the dot!”

  We traded the sandwich bag for the money, simultaneously.

  “Thanks!” I walked toward my bike counting the fish… nine, ten, eleven! Wait a minute. I quickly counted again. “Hey, there’s only eleven here!” I turned quickly.

  “Sucker…” He said. Fifteen feet away Donny’s devilish smirk should have been a warning of his evil intentions. He stuck his arm up in the air and showed me two fish in his hand – like a soccer referee giving a player a red-card (or in this case two little red-cards). I took one step toward him and he bit the tops off and laughed his head off.

  I charged him.

  Donny stopped laughing and ran, but didn’t get far. A few yards away I caught him; I grabbed his hand just in time to stop him from eating the remaining nubs, but he kept trying. He laughed as we wrestled to the ground. Partially chewed jelly bits spewed from his mouth with each chuckle; I felt the wet gummy shrapnel hitting my cheeks, but I didn’t dare let go of his hand to wipe them off. If I did, those fish would be gone forever and my hitting streak officially jinxed.

  I was too strong for him; when I wedged my elbow into his throat it prevented any chance of him getting his mouth near his hand. He groaned and started to choke. I felt him weakening and I made my move. As I pried back his fingers one at a time, he coughed out a scream; “help” (cough), “help” (cough), help me!” Nobody came to his rescue; Finally, he broke; the fish fell to the ground, first one, then the other; I pushed him away and scooped them up off the sidewalk.

  “Ha! Take that you little brat.”

  He wheezed and coughed and when he caught his breath, he yelled, “That’s bull crap, I’m gonna tell your mom.

  “Oh yeah?” I said as an idea popped into my head. “Do and I’ll tell your brother about the tip money I saw you pocket.”

  His expression changed; he tilted his head and squinted his eyes, like he was sizing me up and wondering how much I knew. I knew nothing of course. It was a bluff – but my educated guess must have hit the mark, because Thing 1 walked away without a peep; I didn’t even get a ‘that’s bull crap!’ out of him. Too bad I hadn’t thought of it sooner. I could have saved myself three dollars.

  It was a pleasant surprise to see that the little booger had actually bitten off one head and one tail – so I did in fact have an anatomically complete fish. I blew on ‘em once, popped ‘em into my mouth and hoped Thing 1 wasn’t a nose picker!

  Either way, I dodged another jinx.