Beanball (9 page)

Real clothes, not hospital gowns.

 

My mouth was already watering at the thought

of Mom's cooking, and of actually sitting at the dinner table,

instead of eating off a hospital tray.

 

I realized I'd never really appreciated home before,

not the way a person should.

 

I realized how close I'd come

to never seeing home again.

I knew Luke would be going home today.

He told me so the last time I saw him, three days ago.

What I didn't expect is that he'd call me

and ask me to go to the movies with him Friday night.

He said he wanted to celebrate his homecoming,

and he wanted to share it with me

because I'd been there for him and kept his spirits up.

 

He didn't actually tell me he liked me

or say that he wanted me to be his girlfriend or anything.

But that's okay.

 

I'm going to the movies with Luke Wallace.

When Luke asked if I'd play catch with him later today,

I couldn't help but think of when we first

played catch together years ago.

In the beginning, he missed most all of my tosses.

But it didn't take long before his mitt was like a magnet.

Missing a ball was inconceivable to him.

Anything he could get to, he could catch,

and his ability to judge the flight of a ball was uncanny.

 

I wondered which Luke I'd see today,

the beginner or the magician.

I was scared to try,

but I finally did it: I threw some with Dad.

 

When I followed his first soft throw

all the way into my glove

and somehow caught it clean,

it was like seeing a rainbow after a dark storm.

I'd been afraid I wouldn't be able

to catch the ball at all.

 

We threw for maybe ten minutes,

normal warm-up type throws.

Even though I caught most of them,

it was hard having to concentrate

and watch the ball all the way.

I felt as if I were wishing it into my mitt.

 

And all the time I was thinking:

catching easy lobs is one thing;

fly balls, that'll be another story.

It's so wonderful having Luke home—

and not only home, but, praise the Lord,

having him home with a big smile on his face.

When I think how close we came to losing everything . . .

 

I'm the luckiest of mothers.

I waited until it was dark; then I walked the eight blocks

to the school baseball field.

It was my first time there since that pitch.

I wanted to make sure I was alone,

because I didn't know how I'd feel.

I didn't know if I'd bawl like a baby

or curse

or who knows what.

But I had to go there.

 

I had this crazy idea that it was all a bad dream,

that if I went to the field, some kind of time warp

would transport me back to the moment before the pitch.

I'd focus on Kyle's hand,

and when it came forward and released the ball,

I'd fall in the dirt and let the pitch sail harmlessly by.

 

I'd almost convinced myself I could make it happen.

 

The moon was full when I walked into the batter's box.

I saw the mound clearly.

I didn't bawl, and I didn't curse.

 

But I knew right off it hadn't been a dream.

I tried to phone Luke before going over to see him.

His dad said that he'd left a few minutes earlier,

that he'd said he felt like taking a walk.

I figured there were two places where Luke might be.

I didn't include Sarah's house.

I'm not sure exactly where she lives,

but I know it's not within walking distance.

And since Luke hadn't stopped at my house,

I went to the other place.

 

He was standing at home plate when I got there.

I stayed in the shadows where he couldn't see me

and watched as he slowly walked to first base.

He stepped on it and went on to second.

Then he kept going, right out into center field.

He walked to within ten feet of the fence,

turned, and looked back toward the infield.

 

When I left, he was still standing there.

I had Andy hit me fly balls today.

It was tough.

After playing catch with Dad yesterday

and catching most of his throws,

I'd hoped it would be easier.

 

It was only Andy and me.

I didn't want anybody else watching us,

in case I made a fool of myself.

 

I caught most of the high, lazy flies.

But not the line drives.

No matter how hard I tried to focus,

a lot of them got past me before I could react.

 

I realize I'll never have the knack

for judging balls the way I did before.

Before, the batter swung and I
knew.

Now, the batter swings and I
hope.

Luke asked me if I'd drive him to Compton

so he could talk to Dawkins.

I told him I'd drop him off and come back later,

if he wanted a private conversation.

But he said no,

there wasn't anything he planned to say

that I couldn't hear.

 

So I sat with them and drank one of the sodas

Dawkins brought out.

I hadn't seen him since the game.

He is one big dude—

even bigger than I'd remembered.

 

As he and Luke talked,

I couldn't help thinking how we had a great season,

even without Luke,

but Compton fell apart after Dawkins left their team.

 

I wonder why.

Luke Wallace phoned me yesterday

and said he wanted to see me.

How could I say no? I owe him that much.

I owe him whatever he asks of me.

 

One of his buddies drove him over today.

We sat out in my yard for almost an hour.

Luke said he was going to work out all summer

to get himself back in shape.

He said he planned to play everything next year—

football, basketball, baseball.

He said he was going to try, at least.

 

He asked where I'd be going to college,

and I told him. I didn't tell him

I wouldn't be playing baseball there.

 

He said, “I know they'll be glad

to have you pitching for them.”

He said, “I hope you have a great season.”

 

After he left, I got out my duffle bag,

the one with all my baseball gear.

I didn't know if I could bring myself

to open it, but I finally did.

I took out a baseball

and wrapped my fingers around the seams.

 

I held it for a long time.

By the time I got home from the hospital,

there were just two weeks of classes left.

My folks talked to Principal Jenks,

and he said I didn't have to go back to school

unless I wanted to. I was glad of that.

 

There's not much wrong with my face now.

I look normal, and I don't have to

wear an eye patch or anything.

But with final exams coming up,

it would've been too distracting

for me to show up at school.

Not just for me, but for the other kids, too.

 

My teachers had been sending me assignments.

I guess I did enough of them to get by.

I'd gotten some good class notes

from Andy and Sarah and a few other kids.

And while I was in the hospital,

Mom had read my textbooks out loud to me.

 

It was cool, too, what Jenks did:

he collected all my final exams from my teachers,

and he told Mom she could let me take them at home

under her supervision.

 

I passed all my classes with a C or better.

At least those are the grades my teachers gave me.

Nobody said as much, but maybe it was their gift

to try to compensate for the loss of my eye.

I didn't ask for that kind of gift,

but if that's what it was, I'm grateful.

“Sometimes I feel guilty,” I said to my dad.

“If Luke hadn't gotten hurt,

we probably wouldn't be dating now.”

Dad just smiled and shook his head.

 

He said that Luke's injury

had nothing to do with us starting to date.

He said, “I see the way that boy looks at you,

the way he brightens up when you come into the room.

He would have noticed you soon enough.

His accident was bad luck, no doubt of that.

But it's lucky for him he found you.”

 

Well, what can I say? He's my dad;

he gets carried away sometimes.

But I think he's right.

Luke and I would have found each other eventually.

We can talk to each other, really talk.

And we make each other laugh.

If we were together because either one of us

felt pity or some sense of obligation, I'd know.

We're together because we like each other.

A lot.

 

I don't know what the future holds,

but the present is plenty nice.

I'm happy with that.

Andy Keller phoned me and asked

if I'd like to go to a movie with him

and Sarah and Luke.

I was so excited, I barely hung up the phone

before I started whooping,

and Mom gave me that look of hers—

that slight shake of the head and the half smile.

 

Andy Keller!

All spring I've been hoping he'd ask me out.

Luke and I have been working out together

almost every day since school ended—

running, lifting weights, throwing.

 

Usually Clarissa practices with us.

I have to admit: for a twelve-year-old,

she's pretty darn good.

She's almost as good at catching fly balls now

as Luke is.

In a way, that's sad;

but I tell myself it's because

Clarissa is showing real talent,

not because Luke is so much worse

than he was before he got hurt.

 

It's obvious that catching a fly ball

is work for Luke now.

He just can't glide under the ball like he used to.

But he's improving every day,

and even though he says

he'll never be as good as he once was,

I'd never bet against the guy.

 

Not against Luke.

Not against the Wizard.

G
ENE
F
EHLER
(1940–2013) was a widely published poet whose work has appeared in children's books, poetry collections, textbooks—and more than 300 different magazines. He was also the author of seven books, including two for adults that feature interviews with former major league baseball players.
Beanball
was his first novel. An avid softball player, he lived with his wife, Polly, in Seneca, South Carolina until his death. His website is
www.genefehler.com
.