Читать книгу The Last Summer - Chan Howell - Страница 12

Truce

On April 30, 1994, I witnessed Wyatt’s abilities for the first time. He did not disappoint. We had a makeup game due to a weekday rainout. Duckworth, Drake, and I would face Wyatt and the Castaways on a Saturday afternoon. My parents agreed to let the new kid in town stay over for the night, but first, he was my opponent.

My parents would miss my game since they had already planned on going to Whitley’s soccer match. Whitley had outgrown the Swansville soccer team. She was well-known in the area as the best player, and every travel team begged my parents for her services. She was already soccer royalty. She played for a team out of Charlotte called the Queen City Elite. They contended for the state title each year.

The game was at the field behind Swansville Elementary. No one liked playing at the inferior field. It once served as the high school field fifty years earlier. It was a forgotten place and looked abandoned until the spring. The school’s maintenance men only spent one day each spring cutting the grass and weed eating. Each year that passed, the treacherous left field fence boundary grew. The border was marked by yellow “caution” tape that warned the left fielder expanded each year. The maintenance men were responsible for the encroaching left field fence. Time was taking over the old field.

The left field fence was old and dilapidated; if a ball rolled near it, the umpire was forced to give ground rule double. All the left fielder had to do was throw up his hands as the ball approached the old fence. The rule was modeled after the ground rule double rule at Wrigley field, when a ball disappeared in the ivy-covered fence. Everyone had heard the rumor of a kid being impelled by one of its jagged edges. It reminded me of a fortress long past its days of being a stronghold. Years earlier, an overprotective mother pushed for the rule change as a precaution. It was the place inside the park home runs died. Many times a ball was left among the ruins rather than for one to attempt to navigate the rusted aluminum to retrieve it.

The old fence was covered in controversy each season. One year prior, a ground rule double cost Drake a chance at taking down Alex and Travis Harrison. The giant prevailed when Drake was left stranded at second base. Drake would’ve easily scored and tied the game. Duckworth claimed he had Travis and Coach Alex on the ropes. He still mumbled about the game a year later.

Drake would not start the game since he only had one inning available to pitch. Duckworth was not worried about the Castaways other than Wyatt. He started our second-best pitcher, an eleven-year-old named Leland. Anytime Leland pitched, the game would be close. Leland was chubby, and the only thing slower than his speed to first base was his fastball. He was not a bad pitcher, but he was far from dominant. Most players overswung at his slow fastball, and the game was dominated by ground balls.

The first two Castaways hit ground balls, and our third baseman misplayed them both. Wyatt would bat with no open base except third. Leland could not pitch around all the myths we had heard since Wyatt’s arrival just weeks prior. Leland looked back at Drake for reassurance. Drake nodded as if he were a mother telling her child it was okay to get a piece of candy. Wyatt shouted back to one of his teammates as he stepped in the batter’s box. He nodded in agreement to the inaudible message. Wyatt hit a mammoth home run on the first pitch he saw. Wyatt trotted by me at second base and said, “Get used to that.” I could not think of a clever response before he was gone. Drake backed up to the outfield grass as Wyatt stared at him as he jogged by the quiet shortstop. Wyatt told Drake, “I would be speechless, too, after that bomb.” We were already down 3–0 after the top of the first inning. We countered and scored five runs in the bottom half of the inning. After three innings, Drake and I led 7–3.

Wyatt’s best teammate was my friend Mitch O’Neal. He made straight As, and all our parents thought he was an amazing kid. No one spoke an ill word of him. Mitch and I had a lot in common. We were both marginal players until we were twelve. Mitch had played in the shadow of a couple of Alex’s and Travis’s championship teams. He was unprotected during the redraft; otherwise, he would have been in right field for the Blue Devils. He usually batted at the back of the order, but he was given a new baseball life once he left the shadows and played alongside Wyatt.

Wyatt’s confidence rubbed off on him, and he began to hit. Wyatt took Mitch under his wing and made him a better baseball player but also gave him the grand tour of detention. Wyatt began to get Mitch involved in his antics. Wyatt showed Mitch how to master the bunt. Mitch wizardly placed bunts perfectly down the line, and he benefited from Wyatt’s home runs. Mitch bragged for Wyatt each morning at school.

Mitch spent most of the year playing baseball, basketball, and soccer as a way to let his single mom get a break. Mitch and his younger brother, Mikey, practically raised themselves since their mom, Sherry, worked every part-time job she could find. Mitch and Mikey were both great students despite being left alone most of the time. I stayed at their house one Saturday night, and Mitch made a homemade soup for the three of us. I could not even turn on the stove without being reprimanded.

Their mom, Sherry, cleaned new construction homes by the lake; thus, she missed almost all our weekend tournaments. She recruited Patti Hartley to help her clean. The two moms had a bond, and each hoped their sons would help each other with their weaknesses. Wyatt trusted Mitch, and their unlikely bond paid off for both boys. Wyatt protected Mitch in the same way he protected me. Wyatt resurrected something in Mitch that had been gone for a few years.

Mitch lived in a run-down double-wide trailer on an old dirt road heading toward the lake. His driveway was the unofficial landmark of where Swansville’s Brown Water ended and the big water began. Mitch and Mikey were the only two students given the option to choose which middle school they would attend in the fall. Mikey chose Stoney Creek Middle School. Mikey wanted all the things the big-water people were promising. We did not need to convince Mitch to stay behind. Mitch chose Swansville Middle School. He did not want to follow Travis to the shiny, new school.

Mitch O’Neal pitched for only the second time in his career. He did a valiant job, but he could not stop Drake. Drake drove in four runs and even hit his own towering home run. Leland loaded the bases in the top of the fourth with only one out when Wyatt walked to the plate. Duckworth reluctantly did not bring in Drake to face the new kid. I was nervous, and my chest pounded in anticipation of something special. Duckworth brought in Tate Thompson, our third-best pitcher. Duckworth hoped Tate’s southpaw delivery could neutralize Wyatt. Duckworth believed we would still score a few more runs if necessary.

Tate warmed up while Wyatt blew bubbles, unconcerned with his next opponent. The midday sun felt like late summer, and everyone was sweating. I stood at second base, conflicted. I wanted to win, but I also wanted everyone to see what my new friend was capable of. Tate shocked everyone and jumped ahead, throwing Wyatt two curveballs before he wasted two more intentional pitches off the plate. Tate hoped Wyatt would chase a pitch out of the strike zone. The count ran 2–2. Wyatt jumped on the third pitch despite it being well out of the strike zone. Wyatt hated walks nearly as much as strikeouts. The pitch sailed over the left fielder’s head. The ball headed for the perilous left field fence. Our left fielder threw up his hands to signal the ball was consumed among the high grass surrounding the treacherous fence. Umpire Smelly Kelly shouted, then gave the signal for a ground-rule double. He sent Wyatt back to second base. The game was put in slow motion as everyone returned to the previous base.

The umpire was affectionately known as Smelly Kelly. He was fair and by the book. Almost everyone in town knew him. He worked at the town dump. The story was, Smelly Kelly was valedictorian of his graduating class but his family had no money to send him to college, so he took a job at the dump to save money. A decade later, he was still at the dump, and he was regulated to waving everyone in to just drop off their garbage. Duckworth knew him better than anyone. It was common to see Duckworth chatting the young man up with his arm around him, like he was lecturing him on life. Duckworth once said, “That kid is too damn smart to only sit at the dump all day.”

Smelly Kelly stared at Wyatt, waiting for the twelve-year-old to defy his ruling. Wyatt slowly walked back to second base. He made a gesture of disgust, then clapped his hands as if he had just witnessed a performance. The adults and Smelly Kelly began to notice Wyatt’s outlandish behavior. The umpire focused on Wyatt’s next moves. No one from the Castaways knew to object other than Wyatt. Patti shouted, “What a joke!” and the crowd was silent as Smelly Kelly threatened to throw the single mom out of the game. Wyatt’s faced turned red with embarrassment and anger. He would have scored on an inside-the-park home run without a doubt. The Castaways would have had the lead. Wyatt did everything he could think of to distract the pitcher, in hopes of causing a wild pitch. Tate struck out Mitch, then the next batter bounced to Drake to end the inning. The inning and threat were over. The score was 7–5.

The bottom of the fourth was much quicker than anyone anticipated. I bounced out weakly to first base. Drake popped up to the center fielder. The Castaways had a glimmer of hope heading into the fifth. Tate finished off the Castaways easily with three weakly hit ground balls. Drake gobbled them up. We scored another run in the bottom of the inning, giving us a lead of 8–5 heading into the sixth inning.

Duckworth let Tate start the sixth inning. It was a bad idea. Tate was getting tired. Duckworth was trying to groom Tate into something more. The first two batters reached before he inserted Drake. Drake’s first pitch sailed over the catcher’s head, and both runners advanced. Wyatt unceremoniously stared at Drake, waiting to face one of the league’s best pitchers. Wyatt blew a bubble that burst, and the gum remnants stuck to the bill of his helmet. Drake struck at his first batter, but due to a dropped third strike, the bases were now loaded with no outs.

Duckworth called time. He shamefully walked to the mound. He called the infield in to meet him. Drake barely acknowledged his father. Duckworth said, “Do y’all want to win?” and of course we all empathically agreed, “Yes!” Drake’s eyes shot up to his father, and he nodded without his father saying a word. Duckworth and Drake were both terrified of what was standing in the batter’s box. Wyatt stared down Drake. He was ready to be challenged for the first time since moving to Swansville.

Our catcher stood up to the boos of Patti Hartley and the confused Castaway parents. Wyatt would be walked with the bases loaded. Wyatt was befuddled, and he pointed his bat directly at Duckworth. Smelly Kelly warned Wyatt. Wyatt mockingly laughed at the unheard-of situation. He looked for guidance from his uncle. Jacob stood with his arms crossed, knowing Duckworth’s decision was to win the game and not to play the game. Wyatt walked on four pitches and earned his cheapest RBI of the season. Wyatt tried everything he could think of to somehow will the rest of the Castaways into getting one more hit. Wyatt clapped his hands and shouted insults at Drake. He loudly proclaimed, “I am not playing the Red Raiders! Y’all are the cowards!” Our fans shouted back at Wyatt from the bleachers. Wyatt was turning into a villain and a victim at the same time. Smelly Kelly let Wyatt shout insults due to the precarious situation. Drake ignored Wyatt while he struck out the next three batters. We won 8–6, but it did not feel like a win.

Wyatt did not leave the dugout to shake our hands; he nonchalantly just packed up his equipment. Duckworth sought out Wyatt, but Wyatt avoided him. Wyatt shouted as the second game started, “It’s not fair!” so loudly his voice squealed. Everyone’s attention was drawn to the new kid and his postgame antics. Everyone at the old field took notice of Wyatt, and their negative opinions formed quickly. I was thankful my mom and dad were not at the game. Smelly Kelly delayed the next game to tell Patti she needed to get Wyatt away from the field. His uncle had already disappeared. Duckworth showed Smelly Kelly back to the field as he went to apologize to Wyatt. Wyatt walked away from Duckworth as fast as possible.

Wyatt packed his bag in my grandmother’s car. He was still agitated with the fairness of being walked with the base loaded. Wyatt’s mom had given up trying to console him. She said, “It’s just a game.” Wyatt coldly stared at his mother. She must’ve known it meant more to him, and her eyes rolled up to the bright sun. My grandmother just sat quietly and watched his antics. She had witnessed similar behavior from my sister when rare losses found Whitley.

Whitley was notorious for complaining about her games. In her eyes, the referees were always out to get her. The referees were just as much as her opponent as the other team. Last fall, she was ejected for arguing with the referee. She complained so much on the way home my mom made her walk over a mile in the drizzling rain. My mom warned Whitley to stop grumbling or she could walk the rest of the way. Whitley’s response was, “Now everyone thinks I am some type of villain.” My mom pulled the car over, then said, “Get out. I’ll be the villain today.” I said nothing. She did not object, and she walked home. My dad was furious with my mother. My parents loudly argued until my soggy sister walked in the back door. Both my mom and dad hugged her as if she had been missing. Wyatt was nearly throwing the same type of tantrum.

Duckworth finally reached the distraught twelve-year-old and his mother. Duckworth introduced himself to Patti. Patti looked like she was guilty of an atrocity but Duckworth’s eyes revealed the real truth. He apologized to them both. I stood and listened as Duckworth told Patti, “Wyatt is not like anything I have ever seen.” Duckworth went on to say, “I only walked him to selfishly win, and I am ashamed.”

Patti told the old coach, “I understand, but it is the child’s game, not the adults’. Don’t you know how to just have fun?” She was right, and Duckworth hung his head.

Neither Wyatt nor Patti knew all that Duckworth had taught us and how he had sacrificed winning to teach everyone the game. In my eyes, he was the epitome of integrity. He could do no wrong, but to Wyatt, Duckworth was just another greedy coach. Duckworth knew this season he had a chance at a championship, and if he had pitched to Wyatt, this season’s opportunity would have slipped away. Duckworth’s opportunities for a championship were fading as Drake was growing up. Wyatt lashed out at Duckworth and called him a coward. Duckworth nodded in agreement as he extended his hand, then Duckworth handed Wyatt the game ball. The old coach and the new kid shook hands as if they were calling a truce.

Duckworth said, “Thank you,” as Wyatt replied, “Until we meet again.”