Rule Nine: Keep Your Wits and Reason in the Vehicle at All Times
When the game was officially called; coach was basically suspended in an animated anger.
He played the unsportsman-like-douche bag and was conveniently missing when we gathered resentfully to exchange “high fives” in the line up—it felt so childlike and my dignity was squished further and further with every sweaty palm that hit mine deliberately too hard.
I stood just behind Matt, and brought up the rear of the team—I internally winced whenever the shuffle turned to a standstill and my hapless hobble had to stop. I was running completely on autopilot and every velocity change reminded me that my life was indeed happening.
The last person in line was Albert.
He glowered at me, but a shine of something devious glinted darkly in the pit of his eye. He was slowly staggering. I couldn’t put my finger on the stagger, it was a cross between a drunkard and a man who’d lost his balls and his pride.
I hadn’t moved my hand since I’d put it up to this misery and when it sailed Albert’s way he met it with a slick, wet, smack. The globule of spit that he’d smeared on his fingers stretched in strings from my skin. The bile that rose up in the back of my throat wasn’t frown the disgust of having spit on my hand (c’mon now, I’m a man), but a seething hatred.
I pushed it deep into the pit of my stomach and shook the droplets off; grimacing and clenching my other hand into a fist to prevent myself from doing something I’d regret immediately afterwards.
“I think I could kill a puppy,” Matt waited for me near the side of the fence, a sour note making his voice pitch higher than normal.
“That makes two of us.” I wasn’t firing on all cylinders right about now, neither was Matt. It wasn’t exactly a wonderful combination.
We were close to the bleachers and though noise was a different kind of loud; a chattering loud. The metal clank of people swarming down the stairs and the hundreds of conversations all simultaneously ejaculated across my brain. I didn’t look around to see the actual movement going on, but I knew what would be happening.
Grams and Gramps would look towards me, see the desolation groping at my features and after a gentle squeeze on her shoulder, Grams would consent to leave it and follow Gramps towards her 2003 Escalade.
We had three cars in the family; Grams, Gramps and a renegade Volkswagen bus that hadn’t seen fit to move since the Civil Rights Movement. Any other married couple that qualified for both AARP and the Holiday Inn Senior discount owned a single vehicle and drove it only often enough to get baking ingredients of the grandkids. It was some kind of elderly revolution from what I gathered. My grandparents definitely held a rebellious nature; maybe that’s where I’d inherited my no nonsense pitching skills.
“That pitcher is practically shagging you with his eyes,” the comment didn’t sound like something Matt would ever say and when I turned to raise my eyebrows at him I saw Liz watching me intently instead. I have no idea how I could’ve mistaken that voice; they weren’t even the same gender.
“What?”
“That lousy pitcher. Look,” she pointed bluntly at him and I slowly turned, meeting his gaze from across the field. His team was huddled around their coach, but he was, propelled by the same swagger he’d used in the lineup, coming judiciously towards me.
“What the fuck does he want?” That was unquestionably Matt.
“I dunno.” I answered gradually, biting my lip.
“He looks like a dog that’s been struck on the nose. Maybe rabid. I wouldn’t go near him Art.” I didn’t look at Liz to see the worry crease her face, I just held up a hand.
“His bark’s worse than his bite.” I didn’t know if that was strictly true, the look he was giving me conveyed a different picture, but I couldn’t back down a challenge when it walked up to me and tapped me on the shoulder.
“Coach is gathering the rest of the team already. He’s not worth it.”
“It’s not going to take long.” I threw my mitt onto the ground decisively and closed the thirty meters between us with quick even strides. Purposeful. That’s what I was going for.
I didn’t spare a glance behind me to see if Liz or Matt had choosen to follow.
“What do you want?” The words were out of my mouth before I even looked him in the eye. He lolled his head to one side, making hideous popping noises issue from his spine.
“Just came to congratulate you.”
I didn’t know what game he was playing. I cautiously let my hands swing loosely at my sides, just in case. “Thanks.”
“Your throw,” he whistled softly. “I haven’t seen anything like it. Good pitch, kid.”
I didn’t miss the last word that he’d thrown in there; kid. I forced my composure to remain steady. “Yeah, good curveball.”
“You mocking me or something?”
“No.” I could see why he’d think that though.
“Too bad you lost anyway.”
“I really don’t feel like the loser in this situation.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“If I would’ve pitched the entire game, we would’ve won.” It didn’t sound that conceded in my mind; but coming out, I realized that it was.
“In your dreams.”
“Nice come back. Real original.”
He shoved me. I don’t think he had a creative bone in his body.
“Look. This is stupid. I’m not gonna shove you back. I’m not going to get in a fight and risk getting benched for next game too. Go find some other outlet to lay in to.”
“Taking the high road?”
“What of it?”
“A little prick afraid to throw a punch, aren’t you?”
“I’m not afraid to throw anything; in fact, I think you could use a few pointers.”
He gave a single harsh laugh; like a morose gavel. “Oh yeah? I can show you mine right now, why don’t we see who comes out the winner.”
“Don’t. You already bruised your ego enough today.”
That did it. The contortion of his face changed from that of displeasure to pure unadulterated hate. I don’t know why I was goading him—it seemed like a source of amusement and anger channeling at the time—but seeing his expression now, I fell back a step. My hands were trembling, but I didn’t know if it was in anticipation or dread.
“You’re gonna fucking pay.” His barrage was stopped before it started by the voice of an angel.
Okay, so it was Liz and the term angel probably referred to the angel of death.
“What the hell?” She sounded belligerent and I knew some of the wrath was directed at me. The shaking was definitely neither of the above; it was fear. Her eyes swiveled to me, “thought you had this under control. What’s going on here?”
Albert answered, rolling back on the balls of his feet. “Pretty boy here wants me to show him some of his moves.”
“Moves? You from a fucking eighties movie?” I spat on the ground and a trickle of sweat rolled coldly down the nape of my neck. The warning sirens were ringing harshly in my head; I pushed them aside with a swipe of my hand on my jersey. They had a soft tenderness to them from the tight clench I’d fixed them in earlier.
He lunged the same exact moment Liz stepped between us, stretching her arms out like wings. The shock of her suddenly being between us wasn’t enough to slow Albert. The blow hit her in the stomach and she fell gasping, to the ground.
“What the fuck did you do?” I yelled horrified. Albert’s eyes were wide and he muttered “shit” under his breath, clearly not expecting to punch a girl. I didn’t wait for him to apologize, I pulled my fist back to hit him, but was beaten to the punch line.
The entirety of thin, slender Liz, slammed the fucker to the ground. I didn’t see her get up from the ground, but I could still see the dimple of her body in the moist grass.
“Bastard!” His face swung sideways when she punched him. The blood that flowed out of his nose was instantaneous and bright red. “Thinking with your fucking balls and your fucking testosterone!” Her elbow indented into his stomach.
There were two parts of my brain heckling each other; one part was concerned for Liz (it wanted me to grab her and hold her really tight until her heart began to slow from its hyperventilating pattern) the other wanted to pry Liz from his body and tear Albert’s trachea out and wrap it around his head like a bandanna (and I thought Matt had anger issues).
I followed neither of these; I stood, hands elevated in postmortem indecision, frozen by her thighs locked around his chest.
Albert fished his hands out from their awkward prison under his own body and shoved Liz, rolling on top of her and grinding her shoulder blades into the grass. Her chest rose more rapidly and her eyes glazed over with an insipid primitive fear of capture.
“Crazy bitch!” Red dripped down his face and splattered on her cheek. She shifted her head back and forth and kicked her legs vainly up, clawing at the only portion of arm she could reach.
“Get off of me!!!” Liz screwed her lips together and spat right onto the broken portion of his nose. The saliva mixed with the blood and it shown even brighter in the sunlight that had just now snuck out from behind the clouds.
The anger that had flickered because of the outlandish turn of events came back in full force. Their shortstop guy was closet to us and was only fifteen feet away when I hurled myself at Liz’s tormentor.
I hit him hard, though I didn’t hear anything crack.
He thumped off Liz and we rolled onto the edge of gravel that marked the diamond. I don’t know who threw the first punch or who drew the first blood, it was just a torrent of grunts, kicks, punches. I felt people pulling on my arms and I attempted to break free, at least I got one satisfying kick in his gut before they peeled me off of him.
“Calm it, Heart!” The umpire put his hand on my chest and I blew angry steam at him.
“Fucker punched Liz!” I neglected to say that I had been the one who had been taunted in the first place.
“We’ll sort it out. Don’t lose your head.”
“He already did,” Coach was walking slowly over to the ruckus. His gate was even, but his eyes weren’t. “What happened?”
It was Liz who answered. She coughed loudly and sat up in the grass. “He was defending me.”
“Miss Gray, what are you doing on the field?” Coach knew Liz well, but they had never had a fond relationship.
“Defending Art.”
“You just said he was defending you?”
“I was defending him while he was defending me.” She scowled at him. My eyes raked her body, there were no obvious injuries and the blood on her face was his. When she made to stand up, I clearly saw her wince though and rub her hand across the back of her right shoulder.
Interrupting Coach didn’t fare well for me, but I couldn’t stop the words from spilling out. “You okay?”
Liz rolled her eyes at me and nodded sharply. “Yeah, no thanks to that asshole.” She walked directly up to Coach, and although she was a good head shorter than him, she met his glare without blinking. “If you want to know what happened, ask him.” She jerked her head at Albert. “I think his bad pitching gave him a case of retardation.”
“Watch your mouth blondie.” Wild eyed, like a girl who’d just given her virginity to a drunken night, Albert snapped his mouth shut when she wheeled back at him.
“You blind? I’m a red head.”
“He’s not worth it Liz—“
She cut me off. “Art. This is mostly your fault, so don’t you dare—“
“My fault?” I shrugged and Matt and Winston reluctantly let me go. “I wasn’t the one that started throwing punches.”
“You encouraged him!”
“I did not! You saw him; he was looking for any reason to start a fight.”
“And you just had to go up and talk to him didn’t you? Curious little cat, aren’t you?” Her snarkiness somehow made me want to smile, even though I was angry at her, even though I was pissed she’d fought a guy for me, I couldn’t stop it.
“Whatever,” I managed to scramble out.
“Both of you, shut up.” Coach glowered at Albert, and then the umpire. “Take this piece of shite over to his bloody team, and don’t you fuckin’ let him go until he’s good and secure on that bus.”
The umpire looked slightly put out that he was being spoken to in such a way, but after a couple of seconds to speculate, figured that it would be better to obey and question later.
He didn’t really need to constrain Albert ( I think he’d given up at that point), but kept his fingers wrapped around his wrist as a comforting precaution.
I watched them walk halfway across the field before Coach cleared his throat loudly.
“Don’t say a damn thing,” he said when I opened my mouth. I wasn’t offended, but kind of wanted to shit my pants in terror. “At least you won that one, right Heart?” He said sarcastically. “I want to see everyone here, six o’clock. Laps. They can thank you.”
Coach enjoyed trying to instill team pandemonium. I don’t know why—wasn’t he supposed to employ team bonding exercises?—but it didn’t surprise me.
He didn’t say anything else, just stared down at his clipboard, straightened his cap and began to walk past us to his car—parked in the far staff parking lot, though he didn’t even teach at the school.
I guess it was up to me to break the news to the team.
I turned to Matt and urgently sought his attention.
“Grams and Gramps didn’t see, right?” I asked Matt softly and he looked me over, a crease of pity rippling around the corner of his eyes.
“No. They left.”
I let out a breath walked the twenty seconds to retrieve my mitt. “Good.”
“Want me to tell the team?”
“Nah, I got it.”
“They’re gonna find out,” Liz interrupted. She was still slightly angry at me. I sighed, just another thing I’d done wrong today. “Your grandparents.” And yesterday too…
I cleared my throat. And then abruptly changed the subject, trying to think of anything to appease Liz. “Liz. Movie night tonight.”
“Why would I want to watch a movie with you?”
“Because it’s either that or go to Cousin Vinster with Matt.”
“You act like I don’t have a social life outside of you two.”
“You don’t.”
“Bitch.”
“Is that a yes?”
“It’s a maybe.”
We were within proximity of the rest of the team. They all faithfully looked up at me, knowing what was going to come out of my mouth before I even opened it. “So scored us first class tickets to six o’clock practice.” I said weakly.
“First class and everything?” Henry faked exuberance and it broke some of the building tension.
“Yup,” I answered gratefully.
“We would’ve had a sixer anyway,” Winston scooped up his bat and threw it in his bag. “Heart just gave him a boner of an idea.”
“Why’d we get the only Coach in the division that’s a fucking headcase?” Glassman tartly pulled his backpack strap on his shoulders and tightened one of them.
“Luck,” Henry said.
Matt made a face, “lucky little fuckers, that’s what we are.”
“I love this positive attitude,” Liz chirped in, settling down on the bench, vaguely watching all the guys gather their things together. “We gotta channel it into some of those pep rallies.” This received by a bunch of grumbles and a couple of curses.
“You coming to practice tomorrow, Liz?” Chevy had a bit of a crush on Liz, though God wouldn’t even be able to tell you why.
She screwed up her nose distastefully, but nodded. “Yeah. Art and Matt aren’t going to get up themselves.”
“That’s pretty cool; you know—coming to all our practices, even though you don’t have to.”
“It’s not for you, Chevy,” I couldn’t help myself from growling.
Liz shot me a look, but I ignored her and puttered with my sport’s bag zippers.
“Yeah,” she finally responded. “Bummer they don’t have a girl’s baseball team, right?”
“They have softball.” Chevy responded.
Liz hated softball.
“There’s a reason they call it soft ball and it’s not because the actual ball is soft. It’s for pussies.” She’d said when I pointed out that when we got to high school that next year, she’d be able to try out.
“Liz, you’re a girl. You have a pussy.” I’d responded and the scathing look she’d given me was engrained in my memory.
“Why do guys call a vagina a pussy anyway?”
“Because it’s furry, like a pussycat.”
“Mines not.”
“What?”
“I wax.”
“You’re a virgin, why on earth do you need to wax?”
“You don’t need a man in order to wax. I clean my vagina for me, thank you very much.”
I remember that conversation very well. But it had made me feel like a temporary creeper; because I kind of wanted to pull Liz’s pants down and see for myself. I wasn’t sure if it was a normal guy reaction or not, so I’d brushed it off. I was fourteen anyway; what was I supposed to think at fourteen? The closest I’d ever gotten to seeing a vagina was typing ‘naked girls’ into the Google search bar (which, if you’ve tried it, gives you scant results at best).
Thinking about it now, my dick tightened slightly.
This was absolutely ridiculous! What was it thinking? Pent up sexual frustration? I hadn’t seasoned the meat for at least two days (if you know what I mean). Whenever I’d tried images of Kansas were drawn up in my vision; Lisa had disappeared deep into the folds of worry. I was sick and tired of its attitude—we needed to have a good long talk.
“Earth to Art,” Matt snapped his fingers in front of my face. “Want to walk?”
The confusion was quickly erased from my face when I noticed the rest of the team was pretty much dispersed; Liz was still perched on the bench, legs crossed, arms hugging herself. Chevy was gone.
“Sorry, just spaced.”
“What were you thinkin’ about?” Liz used the hand I offered to pull herself up and then fell in step with me—letting go of my hand almost the instant she had both feet planted on the ground.
“Why are your fingers cold?” I asked changing the subject.
“Cold Blooded.”
“I’m Hot Blooded, want to check it and see?”
“What was that supposed to be, a pickup line?”
“I dunno. Did it sound like one?”
“It had potential.”
I opened my mouth to say something about Foreigner, but instead said; “you still mad at me?”
“Nah. That kid’s sure a douche bag. You shouldn’t have instigated him though.”
“Kind of hard to do when he was asking for it.”
“Did you see the look on his face when I punched him.”
“Priceless. Did you see the look of his face after you punched him?”
“I hope I bruised it.”
“I hope you broke it.”
Liz laughed. “You think he’ll say a girl did it?”
“An Amazon warrior woman maybe.”
“With breastplate armor as large as textbooks.”
“And hands the size of meat cleavers.”
“No, the hands were meat cleavers.”
“And her breasts squirted molten lava.”
We were both giggling (okay, she was giggling, I was man laughing) when we reached Matt’s car. The sky was turning into an orangey fuchsia and he threw his bag in the trunk.
“You two sound like idiots.”
“If you join the club, we could be the three stooges.” Liz booted me from shotgun and locked the door before I could yank it open again.
“Yeah,” I answered after an awkward length pause, rattling the interior of the car when I clambered in the backseat after my bag. “You can be Curly, Liz.”
“Curly was by far the most loved,” she said after a moment of consideration, “so I guess it fits.”
“Curly was also, fat, nearly bald and had a stroke,” Matt butted in, clearly seeing where I was going.
“I think he’s hot.” She turned the dial of the radio up so that nobody could answer her and then shot me a winning smile.
I looked out the window to hide the spreading grin across my face.