The Buffalo Nickel Five Stories of Short Fiction

by Lance Allen

Yes

  You are as beautiful today as the day I first set eyes on you. The Lord saw fit to bless me in many ways but none greater than you. The only regret I have is leaving you first. I wish it were you saying good by that way I could carry the mantle. I am sorry for that.

  Don’t be silly. I’ll be okay.

  I know you will.

  Are you okay?

  Just tired. Will you sit with me a moment longer?

  You know I will never leave.

  Ginger put her right hand on his and slowly with her left, lovingly caressed the remaining strands of hair on his head. For a moment she closed her eyes and saw them as teenagers lying on a blanket under a tree out in the middle of Travis’s Farm pasture. The day was stretching into early evening and the cows had long since returned to the barn. Harold was scheduled to ship out to basic training in the morning and it was their last chance to be together. At the time neither knew if this would be their final tender moment together so they lingered longer than they may have. Neither said much to the other, both in deep contemplation, thinking about a life that might be or a memory to recall about a life cut short.

  Harold lay comfortably and cherished Ginger’s slender fingers carefully sliding between strands of hair, the slightest scratch from her carefully groomed nails. The subtle sensation of loves first caress lulled him into a soft sleep and she chuckled to herself when the first minor eruptions of snoring were heard. At the time she couldn’t place the feelings she had for Harold, she was so young and naïve.

  But today, some decades later, as he lay dying beside her, she realized why she had been given to this man, and he to her. From each was born a life which separately would not have come to pass. On the eve of the day before he was to leave her she was apprehensive not knowing if he would ever return. But now she sat and was no longer pensive, her purpose had been fulfilled and now she too was ready to wish him well and see him off with the same love and understanding.

  A lifetime together has shown her the meaning of true love and the rewards from trusting yourself to the bonds of another. Ginger felt blessed with the gifts she had been presented and knew her remaining days would be spent joyously recounting her time with the greatest love of her life. She would miss Harold but she knew someday they would be reunited.

  Ginger opened her eyes and looked down at her husband. His eyes were closed, his brow unfurrowed, his lips were pursed but not tightly. All color had drained from his face, leaving him a complexion of soft putty. His breathing became labored but he didn’t struggle. The aura that had been about him just moments before was gone; although the machines said he was still alive, Ginger knew he was gone. She leaned in and kissed him on the forehead.

  A heavy heart knows the joy of love. I may cry but they are tears of joy. Until we meet again, I’ll be forever in your wake.

  Who’s to Blame

  JC Montero was born early one morning in late October. In the mountains above town snow fell, dusting the pines and black walnuts, scattering the distant stretches of brown lingering beneath. Soon the landscape would be blanketed with the first snowfall of the season, restoring a peaceful calm to the surrounding area, chasing off, for the moment, the resurgent heat of a late Indian summer, ushering in the captive moments of winters grip and the solitude carried in its wake.

  The first child of Wesley and Janet Montero, Justin Christopher, or JC, arrived in the family trailer 3 days after delivery. Wesley Montero had little in the way of an education. He had graduated from high school but that had more to do with his prowess on the football field than in the classroom. He wasn’t able to make it through any of the standardized placement tests which might have brought him a low level scholarship and a chance at some success. His struggles with reading also kept him out of any junior college programs. His athletic skills had earned him a flashy childhood but any reward as a result of those skills vanished before they were fully realized.

  Janet Montero had fallen in love with Wesley the moment she arrived on campus as a wide eyed freshman. She was more developed than most of the other girls her age which made her stick out from the rest. It wasn’t long before she was seated with Wesley at lunch in the cafeteria or hanging out alongside his locker in between classes. Janet possessed some intellect but the boy crazy in her allowed her scholarly achievements to erode to the point she was nearly expelled for cutting classes once Wesley had graduated.

  Not long after the start of her junior year, she felt a pain in her side while she was trying not to fall asleep in English class. The pain grew and grew and before she knew what happened, she had vomited all over the floor. The other kids in her area, repulsed by the smell scattered as if she were on fire. The teacher, Mrs. Glassman, assisted her to the nurse’s office. At some point she had fainted. When she came to, the nurse, a younger woman by the name of Jane Harper, was standing over her and smiling, wiping her brow with a damp towel.

  When was your last period sweetheart?

  Janet couldn’t remember. And she wasn’t sure why she needed to remember. What an odd thing to ask. And then the panic set in.

  Why do you want to know about my period?

  I am not a doctor but if I were I would say there is a good possibility, likelihood, you are pregnant.

  Impossible! How could that have happened? She had sex with Wesley sure but he always said he didn’t do that inside of her. He promised her he hadn’t ever done that.

  How can I be sure?

  You can take a test. They sell them at the drug store. Just pee on the stick and see what color the stick changes. The instructions will tell you what to look for. Do you have any one you can take with you?

  Wesley had gotten a job after high school with a local construction company. He mostly did labor type work, digging holes, moving trash, carrying lumber. All the grunt work was left up to him and his 20 year old shoulders. He didn’t earn much but he had been able to rent a two-bedroom trailer in the trailer park on the edge of town. Of course all the stereo-types about the place were true but he was 20 and fit in just fine.

  He rose early in the morning, usually before sunrise and was home late afternoon, just before the roads became clogged with the 9-5pm gang. Wesley was sure he could do better but given the circumstances, he made due. His girl was prettier than any of his friends’ girls, he had a truck, beat up or not it was still his, and he had a place to call his own.

  There hadn’t been a particular thought in Wesley’s head all that day. He had just gone on with his business and never minded the world around him. The foreman had him humping bundles of shingles up a ladder most of the day and his back was killing him. There were a few left over beers in the fridge and he was looking forward to kicking back putting his feet up and watching the game on his little Motorola.

  Life has a way of changing things and today was one of those days.

  Wesley pulled into the drive-way beside his trailer and parked the truck. Clouds flew by overhead in no set pattern or discernable shape; a row of sparrows squawked at one another along the power-lines which crisscrossed the neighborhood; a dog was announcing he had heard Wesley come home and to remind him not to come into his yard. The grass was beginning to creep up the side of the trailer; he would get out the trimmer later, maybe, and fix that. For now he wanted one of those cold beers.

  Hey babe I’m home

  Janet was seated on the edge of the couch, forearms pressed tightly to her thighs, her hands cradled the top of her head and she was slowly rocking back and forth sobbing. The sight of her so upset instantly lit a fire in Wesley and he rushed to her side and caressed the back of her neck.

  Babe what’s the matter?

  There hadn’t been a single occasion prior to this day that had prepared him for the words she was about to speak. They had been together for almost three years now, without so much as a day in between they had not seen each other. Janet may have been the one who sought him out but his affection for her had grown over time to the point he couldn’t see himself
without her. She was the love of his life and he meant to do right by her no matter what.

  I’m pregnant!

  Although they didn’t have much in the way of material possessions, JC and his young parents had love and a connection to each other that drew the unhappiness out of the situation and made each day a wonderful experience. Wesley worked hard everyday and brought home a steady paycheck. Janet did her best to keep up with the energetic little boy. She had dropped out of high school but hadn’t decided anything about going back. Her world had been turned on end when JC was born and she didn’t seem interested in any of the things she had left behind in school.

  Over time, JC grew from an active toddler to a rambunctious and precocious little boy. He had a sharp wit, a dazzling smile and a tenderness unlike any found in a boy his age. He would be outside playing in the yard and come across dandelions and think how nice it would be to collect them and give the would-be flowers to his mother. And that’s what he did. And when the little boy would rush inside and hold out his little bouquet and say these are for you mommy, Janet would burst into tears to which JC would inquire as to why and she would simply say:

  Darlin you are sweeter than pie, softer than silk and sharper than an arrow. You are mine and I love you.

  When JC was 8 his father signed him up for little league. At first he was hesitant to go but he knew there would be other boys from his school there and soon discovered baseball was a wonderful game. It didn’t take long for JC to shine in his new favorite activity. He was able to hit the ball further than the rest of the boys and his feet carried him faster than theirs did too. Wesley stood back and watched smiling because of the gift he had given to his son. He may not have a great job or a big house but he had given his son his athletic ability and for that he was proud.

  In the summer of his 12th year of life, JC was the clean up hitter and short stop for the 12 year old All-start team representing his county. The team had already won many games, thanks in no small part to the heroics of JC. In one game he had single handedly turned a triple play on a ball that would have scored the winning run. Another game saw JC hit a three run home run in the bottom of the last inning to achieve a walk-off victory that sealed the county championship.

  Presently, the team was on the road playing last years state champs. The game had gone back and forth, each team scoring and then playing loose defense, allowing the other team to come right back. With the score tied and the top of the last inning coming up, the coach came to JC and said, what do you think kid, can you pitch the bottom half of the inning?

  Sure thing coach! And just to make sure nothing goes wrong, I’m gonna hit a homerun too.

  Without as much as a nervous laugh, JC walked to the plate with one man on and two outs and drove the third pitch he saw to left center and a two run lead. His father, not knowing the prediction his son had made, screamed in triumph and pumped his fist in the air, that’s my boy!

  The boy’s legend was just beginning to grow when he stepped out on the mound. He wasn’t the tallest kid out there or the strongest. But what he lacked in size he made up for in tenacity and spunk. The characteristics he displayed while up there on the mound were skills no coach could teach. There wasn’t a video in existence which could explain how to turn your kid into a player of this ilk. JC was in a league of his own and those who were in attendance that day knew it.

  Without as much as a bead of sweat on his head or a speck of dust on his jersey, JC Montero looked deep inside and pulled out a story for the ages. See, before this moment JC had never pitched in a game before, not even warm up throws during batting practice. Anyone who knew him, or of him, understood his game to be that of a power-hitting infielder with a knack for stealing bases and running down short fly balls. There was no scouting report out there which said this kid knew how to pitch. The world was about to find out.

  With a look of determination, the first hitter settled into the batters box, digging in his left foot and steadying his right leg. The bat hung just above his shoulders and circled ever so slightly in anticipation of the first pitch. He never saw it coming. Thwap!

  Strike one

  The kid at the plate couldn’t believe what just happened. When the ball snapped in the glove chills raced down his spine and all color left his face. His hands began to tremble. The catcher fired the ball back to JC who gripped the ball in his glove and rubbed it into his palm. The batter looked nervously down to the third base coach praying he didn’t see the bunt sign. He breathed a momentary sigh of relief when the coach signaled to hit away. It hardly mattered; he didn’t see that one coming either. Thwap!

  Strike two

  The catcher stood and soft tossed the ball back to JC, quickly clapping his free hand to his glove in consideration of what he had just caught. The hitter turned to the catcher with a look of confusion mixed with fear. The catcher just smiled and wished the batter luck. The kid at the plate swallowed hard and dug in, chocking up a little on the bat. Maybe he could get the head of the bat through the zone quick enough to make some kind of contact and hope for an error. That wasn’t going to happen.

  JC looked long into the mitt of the catcher. He shook off the first sign, one finger straight down and wiggled to the left. He shook off the second sign, one finger straight down and wiggled to the right. He shook off the third sign, one finger straight down and wiggled in place. Finally the catcher flashed two fingers, dangling, and JC nodded. The batter was ready, feet dug in, hands in position, eyes on the pitcher. JC came set, went into his windup and then uncurled, his arm arcing over his head his hand opening slightly before his extension reached full.

  The batter had only a second to react before he found himself diving to the ground in a dusty heap, knowing full well if he hadn’t bailed out he would have been wearing a shiner for a week.

  As he rolled over and came to a stop in a dusty cloud he barely heard the umpire yell strike three. In disbelief he craned his neck towards the catcher as he squeezed the ball and saw exactly what the ump had seen. A perfect pitch! A 12 to 6 curve ball which buckled his knees. The hitter, now a strike out victim, picked himself up off the ground and dusted himself off.

  Walking back to the dugout, he looked out towards the mound and was surprised to see a kid who looked like he was being forced to wear a suit and go to confession. Not a hint of excitement; not a sign of joy. He was all business and for that, he was scared for his teammates who had to follow them.

  The next two hitters fared no better, with the exception of the last kid who managed to foul off two of the offerings. But in the end neither of them were any match for JC and his teammates.

  When the final out was recorded everyone rushed the mound and triumphantly surrounded the kid who had just pitched a perfect inning on route to winning the town’s first ever state championship. In the stands Wesley and Janet hugged as they jumped up and down joyfully celebrating their son’s accomplishment. Two prouder parents did not exist on that day.

  After the game, the family went out for pizza and milkshakes at JC’s favorite place. Everyone who had heard of what happened that day came over to congratulate him on a great game and a tremendous season. JC was happy that he and his team had won the game. He was excited he had been a part of something so special. But what pleased him the most was the look in his father’s eyes any time he glanced over at him.

  JC may have only been 12 but he could see the ever expanding admiration this man had for his son. He sensed they were connected in a way many fathers and sons are not. They shared a bond in sports, a birth-rite for some, a burden for others. JC was glad he had done right by his father and wished for nothing but more of the same.

  That night as he crawled into bed, weary from the days emotionally charged events, he looked one last time at the trophy he and his teammates had been presented. There was a golden baseball player perched on top in the final motions of swinging a bat. On the bottom, etched in gold letters were the words State Champions. He beamed from ear to
ear at the sight of it. Before he reached over to turn out his light he called out for his father.

  Yeah JC

  Did I do good today Dad

  Did you do good? My boy you did great. Your mother and me are real proud of you.

  You like my trophy?

  Very much. You earned it out there. Now I want you to enjoy it. This is a memory no one can take away from you. I’m proud of you JC. Now get some sleep.

  Good night Dad

  Good night buddy.

  Hey Dad

  Yeah

  I love you

  I love you too son

  The following few years carried with them additional successful little league tournaments, different teams scattered across the state. He took his games on the road with traveling teams compiling wins and life experiences which were second to none. Most times his mom and dad would make the trips to watch their son excel on the baseball diamond, all the while growing into a model son and all around good kid. His confidence level was not only high on the field of play but also in the classroom. He seemed to have the drive to succeed in no matter what he did.

  By his sophomore year in high school, JC had already made an appearance on the varsity team, mostly as a relief pitcher. His dogged determination and powerful arm earned him second team all league honors as a freshman, which for the time had been unprecedented. All cylinders were clicking and the sky seemed to be the limit. The coaches had discussed working him into the starting rotation in only his second season. This accomplishment carried with it praise and worthy accolades. But, as with anything, there existed a level of discontent among a few who were determined to be heard.

  Zachary Everman grew up in the shadow of JC from the time they both stepped foot on the baseball field. Zack was a few weeks younger and seemingly a step slower in almost every regard. In the beginning, Zack was indifferent to the talents of his teammate and part time friend. Other team members were in awe of JC’s talents and treated him as if he were a living breathing major leaguer. When JC had hit the walk-off homer in the game leading up to the state championship game, Zack was in the group who hoisted JC up on their shoulders and paraded him off the field in well deserved hero fashion.