the valley

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June, 1962

I opened the door to my new bedroom, finally relieved I would no longer have to share a bed with my mother.

For the past few years, we had lived in a small apartment with only two rooms; one for my 13 year old brother, Scotty, and one for me and my Mom. My father had left us about five years prior to our moving to the San Fernando Valley. By "left us" I mean he went to heaven, I guess.

I had grown used to it being just us three, but the idea of having a father – even if he was just a stepfather – was appealing enough for me. Sort of.

I took a breath, taking it all in.

The room smelled like a mixture of old paint and dust. On each of two walls there were two windows, big enough to crawl through. The closet was average sized, not super small, but definitely not big, either.

I stepped further into the room, the hardwood floors hardly making a sound. The floors in our apartment had been creaky and agitating. These new floors were a blessing. I'd have to sweep the dust though.

"Sheila!"

It was Bill.

"Sheila, your mother is calling you!"

I sighed in exasperation at the constant nagging of my mother, but ran out of the house to see what she wanted, none-the-less. On the way out, I remember, I nearly ran into Bill.

"Hey, watch it young lady! Girls your age shouldn't be running around like that. Hurry out and go help your mother."

Only rolling my eyes once I was past him, I walked to the back of the car and my mother handed me a box.

"Sheila, I thought I told you to leave these things behind?" she scolded, stacking another box on top of my box of clothes, a few pairs of jeans on top.

"Mom–" I started, getting ready to state my point.

"Don't bother arguing it, I know you won't listen, just put the things in your room."

"Okay," I silenced, walking back through the front door. I walked through the hall to my room and placed the two boxes on the floor, and went back to help my mother finish unpacking.

✱ ✱ ✱ ✱

Nearly two hours later it was just about lunchtime. Scotty had been forced to "help" Bill carry some of the heavier furniture into the house, although, I'm sure, I would've been much more capable. Scotty was younger by two years. Besides, he was never much of a tough guy anyways.

As he tried to carry my mattress into the house, he struggled to get it up the steps. Bill, frustratedly told him to get out of the way, that he would do it himself.

Honestly, Bill really got on my nerves.

Despite being a girl, I was strong. Not that being a girl means you're not strong, but stereotypically that's what people thought. I don't mean in just the physical strength way. I'd been through a lot.

I watched Scotty's face sink as his helplessness was acknowledged, then turned towards the street to close the trunk of Bill's car.

At that moment, Benny Rodriguez walked down the sidewalk on the opposite side of the street. We made eye contact for no more than a second.

I didn't know it yet, but he'd introduce Scotty and I to the most important thing we'd become a part of that summer – The Sandlot.

Disclaimer

Okay, hey! I'd just like to point out that I know some of the events and quotes are out of place. I want to keep them because, let's face it, they're gold. But I want to put my own twist on the Sandlot, so please don't hate on me for changing scenes and swapping them around. Votes and comments are always appreciated, as well as constructive criticism. Thanks for reading!!!

𝑺𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒆𝒓 𝒐𝒇 𝑺𝒊𝒙𝒕𝒚-𝑻𝒘𝒐 | b. rodriguezWhere stories live. Discover now