Sparkle (15 page)

Eddie looked down at his shoulder. He pulled his pajamas aside. The red handprint was light pink. Definitely fading, thanks to Shiny Gold. The stinging was bearable. He rubbed it a little as he went over to his dresser to get his clothes for the day.

He’d had violent reactions to being touched in the past, but no one had ever marked him like that. It was troubling, but he wouldn’t divide his concentration working to figure it out.

Eddie started to put on his socks before he noticed that they didn’t match. He was momentarily transfixed as he realized they were the same color and the same brand, but one was much older than the other. They were definitely members of separate pairs. He looked in his drawer to find the other unmatched pair and correct the problem.

They weren’t there. They must be in the wash.

Eddie could feel a thin whine of agitation surge at the back of his brain as he found himself being drawn into this problem. He had to let that go.

After a brief stillness, he solved the problem by setting the mismatched socks carefully aside and putting on an entirely different pair. Then he noticed his pants. The ones he had worn when he’d cleaned up— mostly cleaned up—the Silver house. They were neatly folded and lying on top of his dresser drawer. They hadn’t been washed. Why had he put them there instead of in the laundry?

“Put them on.” It was Lucy Silver’s voice and she was standing right behind him. “You have to make the catch.”

Eddie didn’t want this today. He especially didn’t want to turn around. He stood rooted to the spot for a moment, resisting the urge to fly off in a new direction with all his stubborn strength.

“Just put them on. That’s all you have to do today. Then I’ll be quiet. I promise.”

Eddie checked his own breathing. It was shallow and erratic. In, out. In, out. There was only one solution.

“Uh huh,” he said. “Okay.”

The hardest thing about it was that he could feel the pants had been worn before, but once the rest of his clothes were on Eddie did his best to drown that sensation out and start the day like any other Sunday. He cleaned the basement. He used a push-type carpet sweeper on the rug, so as not to wake Joe.

His job now was simple but extremely challenging. All he had to do was keep his mind clear, as empty as possible. He had to make space for the dream to do its work deep in his mind. He had to keep his intentions clear: make things right with Jolie. If there was other work to be done, work around Mom or Lucy, it would have to wait in line. He could only do one big thing at a time.

He focused his attention entirely on the moment. He listened carefully to the sound the sweeper made on the carpet. He smelled the difference in the room as the dust rose and floated. He felt his hand’s firm connection with the sweeper’s handle, and the weight of his feet on the floor. He counted the strokes of the carpet sweeper, and noted how effective each stroke was.

After a while the separation between sight, smell, touch, taste, sound, himself, the room, and the dirt began to waver. Not as much as when he was cleaning up blood, but enough to spread a definite sense of well-being and relief through his body, which had become tense and stiff after Lucy had shown up.

Time was never a problem when Eddie felt this way. He knew when it was time without looking at a clock. He put the sweeper away and went upstairs to the kitchen. He had a glass of water. Approximately sixteen ounces, just like every morning, all in one long pull.

He flipped on the coffeemaker. As usual, he had put the coffee in the filter and poured in the water before going downstairs last night. He waited silently, watching, listening, and smelling, while the coffee dripped into the pot. When the water was done dripping, he poured a precise mug-full, added three perfectly level teaspoons of sugar, and headed upstairs to Joe’s room.

Eddie stood at the foot of Joe’s bed and listened to him snore. Eddie liked this time with Joe. Joe had a complicated face. Eddie felt comfortable staring at it only when Joe was sleeping. He stared until Joe’s coffee wouldn’t be hot enough if he waited any longer.

For the second morning in a row, Eddie hurled Joe’s folded pants at his head.

Joe woke up coughing. He brushed the pants aside and sat up slowly. He automatically lit a Pall Mall. “Morning, Eddie.” Eddie handed him his coffee. “Thanks. Ready for the game, huh?” Joe coughed again.

Joe’s question caused something to click in Eddie’s head. It made him feel very much better—light inside.

“Gonna…make the catch, Joe,” Eddie said it without thinking, without even realizing he’d said it.

Joe looked at him strangely and let out a raspy laugh. He’d never heard that one before.

Eddie didn’t know why Joe laughed, but it felt right. It was like a gift, the only kind of surprise that was almost always safe. The day was starting to sparkle.

An hour later, Joe and Eddie were in the van on the way to Safeco Field. Eddie counted the passing cars. Only the ones that passed them going in the opposite direction got counted. Cars had letters and numbers on their license plates. Trucks had only numbers. Every time he saw a truck, he’d add and reduce the license plates to keep his head clear: 22357 equals 2+2+3+5+7 equals 19 equals 1+9 equals 10 equals 1+0 equals 1. Joe smoked, drank his fourth cup of coffee, and thought about LaVonne. His head hurt.

“You know LaVonne, the girl who works at the Ravenna?” Joe was surprised to hear himself speak.

Eddie kept looking out his window. He heard Joe talking but didn’t catch what he’d said.

“She came over last night, Eddie. That’s why I asked you go to bed early. Eddie?”

“Uh-huh,” Eddie said. “Okay.”

“You remember LaVonne?”

“Uh-huh.” Of course he remembered LaVonne. Joe wanted an answer. Eddie stopped counting, concentrated hard, and spoke slowly but with little hesitation, although the words were new. “Your girlfriend.”

“What?” Eddie didn’t come up with new phrases all that often. This was the second one this morning, and it was a doozy. “What? Jesus, Eddie. What makes you think—” Joe forced himself to stop. Getting pissed wasn’t going to do any good, and he obviously wasn’t going to get a satisfactory response from Eddie no matter what he asked. “Never mind. Just forget about it. Jesus, Eddie.”

“Uh-huh. Okay.” Eddie liked LaVonne. He also knew that Joe liked her, and that she liked him. He wouldn’t have been able to explain how he knew, but the fact that LaVonne had come to see Joe seemed quite natural. But it didn’t excuse Joe from forgetting to say good night.

It was interesting, though. A little too interesting. Joe’s attempt at conversation was a distraction. Eddie looked back out the window and resumed his counting.

Joe didn’t feel like talking any more, either.

They had terrific seats: lower box section 131, practically right behind home plate. Joe didn’t mind spending money on decent seats. He probably could’ve swung season tickets, but he actually liked watching games from a different perspective each time.

“These are sweet,” he said, as he followed Eddie down row twenty-three. If anything could take Joe’s mind off what an ass he’d made of himself with LaVonne, it was a game against the Yanks. He sat down quickly and started scribbling in his notebook.

Eddie pulled a clean cloth and his Shiny Gold out of his bag. He carefully wiped his seat. The guy next to him watched. Eddie sat down, then held up the Shiny Gold bottle for him to see. “Shiny Gold,” he said.

“Yeah, right,” the guy said. “Cool. Haven’t seen that stuff for a while.”

“Man-sized mess,” Eddie said.

“I remember that. ‘If you got a mess too big to hold, blahblah blahblah blahblah.’” Even though he didn’t remember the words, the guy could hold a tune.

“Uh-huh. Okay.”

Joe looked over. Is Eddie talking to someone? Weird.

The overcast and scattered clouds were rapidly burning off. It was going to be warm. The sun came from behind a cloud and shone on Eddie’s face. Something was bubbling up in his consciousness. He barely had time to put on his sunglasses and baseball glove—the same one he’d had all his life—before his eyes closed and started to flutter rapidly under the lids. Eddie sank down into a waking dream.

He was in front of his parents’ house, playing catch with Joe. They were young. Real young.

They were playing with their only real regulation ball. Their dad had caught it at a Pilots game one time. Joe was throwing pop flies and grounders. Throwing them hard. Eddie was out of breath, but he was getting them all.

He wished they could’ve gone to the park. But Dad was in charge because Mom was at work, and Dad said no. He was drinking beer and watching TV. He was in a bad mood, so they had to stay in the yard.

“Okay, Eddie!” Joe said. “I bet you can’t get this.”

Joe threw a hard, bouncing grounder. No problem. Eddie felt as though he could’ve gotten it with his eyes closed, but he kept them open. He always kept his eyes on the ball. He scooped it up and threw it back to Joe in one sweet motion.

“Good job,” Joe said. “You won’t make this catch.”

Something was wrong. Joe hadn’t thrown it yet, but Eddie stopped dead in his tracks.

“Joe! Wait!” Eddie yelled as loud as he could. But it was too late.

Joe winged it high, hard, and wild. Eddie jumped with all his might, but it was way too high. It smashed through a big window and into their living room.

“Damn it!” They both heard Dad’s muffled yell. Joe looked at Eddie. Eddie looked at the front door.

“Crap,” Joe said.

“Shut up, Joe,” Eddie said.

“What?”

“You heard me.” Eddie sounded dead serious.

“I didn’t say anything. And since when do you tell me what to do?”

“Trust me.”

“Why?”

“Trust me, Joe. Just shut up and trust me.”

“Fine.” Joe couldn’t help saying it. He needed someone to tell him what to do, and when Eddie looked at him like that, his little brother always seemed to get his way.

The screen door popped like someone had hit it with a bat. Dad stormed out of the house with the ball in his hand.

Joe and Eddie froze in their tracks.

“Why did you do it?” he said angrily. He was practically shaking. “Why did you do it? Tell me who did it, or you’re both going to get it.” Dad was wearing jeans and a T-shirt, and his tattooed arms looked huge. His square jaw was working as though he was ready to explode.

“It was an accident, Dad,” Joe said, his voice shrill with fear. It hurt Eddie’s ears.

“I told you to shut up, you stupid liar,” Eddie said, angry now.

“Both of you shut up. Now who did it and why?”

He came closer, and Eddie smelled the rank odor of cigarettes and beer. Any time his dad drank during the day, you wanted to stay as far away from him as possible. Both Eddie and Joe had felt his belt for much less.

This time, though, Eddie wasn’t afraid. He was mad.

“Who cares why I did it,” he said. “I can’t take it back.” He felt calm. He was looking between his dad and Joe, at the wall of the house.

Dad looked at the boys for a moment, then he yelled at the top of his lungs and both boys jumped. Dad reared back, and Joe flinched. He thought his dad was going to peg him with the ball.

Instead, Dad threw it as hard as he could into the scraggly woods behind their house. He had an arm. But he lost his balance as he threw it, and slipped and fell on one knee. He cussed and pushed himself up, swaying slightly. Joe and Eddie watched the ball fly high and far, over the trees and away.

“I did it!” Eddie screamed. “Okay, fine! I did it because I wanted to make you mad!”

Dad looked at both of them in turn.

Before Eddie had a chance to say anything more, Dad yanked Joe off his feet and dragged him, sobbing, into the house. Dad’s Seattle Pilots cap fell to the ground.

Eddie picked up the cap and brushed it off. He looked down and noticed his pants were wet.

Eddie opened his eyes. He was rubbing his cap.

He hadn’t made the catch. Everyone got hurt. Joe, Dad, Eddie. Even their house got hurt; one of its windows got busted. And Dad had thrown away their best ball.

Eddie hadn’t remembered it before now. But the memory had been there, waiting silently for this special day. Everybody got hurt. It had been his fault. That ball had been lost for a long, long time.

Finally, Eddie had a chance to make it right.

Everyone stood for the anthem. Joe was still carefully checking out the players, whispering into his mini-cassette recorder. Eddie was totally relaxed, hand on heart. His confidence was complete. It was no longer a challenge to let his senses flow and brim with the sounds, the smells, and the movement on the field and all around, waiting for the sparkling moment he knew was going to come.

The first inning was promising. The first two Yanks struck out. Everyone stood and cheered when the Mariners made a terrific defensive play that ended the Yankees’ at bat. Joe stuck his recorder in his breast pocket. Eddie knew he wouldn’t have to wait much longer.

“I’m going to go get us a couple of hot dogs,” Joe said. “You stay right here, okay?”

Eddie didn’t answer. Joe walked away up the aisle and through the archway at the top.

Ten minutes later, he came back with hot dogs, candy, a Redhook ale, and a Sparkle.

Eddie’s seat, three in from the aisle, was empty. Joe stopped dead, overloaded and befuddled. The guy who had been sitting next to Eddie looked over.

“You see the guy I was with?” Joe stammered.

“He got up right after you left, dude. I thought he went with you.”

Joe didn’t know what to do. Had Eddie gone to the bathroom? That didn’t seem possible. Eddie could hold it forever. “Did you see which way he—”

Joe couldn’t finish his sentence. The crowd roared and everyone jumped up. A-Rod had a big hit. The incredible din quieted slightly for a split second as the home crowd waited to see if the high looping fly was going all the way. It soared up and up, almost out of sight, back toward the right-centerfield fence.

The crowd erupted into even more noise. It was a homer for sure. Joe was getting bumped and jostled, and the part of him that wasn’t on the verge of freaking out about Eddie was as pumped up as everyone else. “YEAH!” he screamed, completely swept away in the moment.