A Midsummer Madness

by Guy Franks

  “Your father.”

  “Wha?!”

  “I’m your father.”

  Dane tried to get up but his legs wouldn’t work. He peered intensely into the darkness and the shadowy features began to coalesce. It was a man wearing a sweater vest. The kind of sweater vest his dad used to wear. “My father?”

  “Dane.”

  “Yes.”

  “Listen to me.”

  Dane was sure it was a dream. Calm down, he told himself. It’s a dream and you’re talking to your dead father. Go with the flow. “I’m listening,” he said loudly.

  “It’s not right to call myself that,” said the shadow in a voice he remembered as his father’s. “I’m not your father.”

  “Yes, you are,” he answered quickly. His father’s ghost was expressing guilt but he would make it better. “I forgive you. It’s all right. Believe me.”

  “Listen to me. I’m not your father.”

  ‘Yes you are. It’s okay.”

  “No, Champ, listen to me. I’m not your father. I’m your step-father.”

  “My what?!” exclaimed Dane. His head was spinning off its axis. He was sure a dream couldn’t tell you anything you didn’t already know but here was a dream doing just that. “What do you mean you’re my step-father?”

  “Simple. I did not father you. I embraced you as my son. Raised you as my son. But I did not father you.”

  “Holy shit!” gasped Dane. Dream and reality ducked behind each other like a fly ball lost in the darkness and then in the lights. “But how? When?”

  “Your mother can tell you.”

  “But why are you telling me this—now?

  “Because it’s the truth and it’s time.” The shadow seemed to step back and raise its hand in a farewell.

  “Wait! Wait!” Dane stammered. “Don’t go. Talk to me some more.”

  “I must go. My time is up.” His father’s ghost took another step back.

  “No, no. Wait! Just tell me one more thing. Why’d you kill yourself?

  “You know the answer to that.”

  “No I don’t. Tell me. Does mom know why? Can she tell me?”

  “Leave her alone. Her pain is great enough. Leave her alone,” said his father’s ghost in a sad, fading voice. The apparition stepped farther back and began to disappear. “Find your real father,” it said, nearly gone.

  “Where? Where is he?”

  “Close… He is close.”

  And with that the shadow disappeared and Dane jumped to his feet. He leapt behind the tombstone and in a frenzy looked about, throwing his arm out into the darkness to try and touch whatever it was. But it was gone and he bent over at the waist with his hands on his knees. He straightened up and took deep breathes in an attempt to clear the confusion and Crown Royal from his head. As his head began to clear he realized it was late and looked at his watch. It was 2:30 in the morning. Way past curfew. He swore to himself and took off running.

  The motel was over two miles away but he set his mind on running the whole way back. Dressed in dark clothes, he sprinted along the empty streets. A patrol car pulled him over after three blocks and he had to show ID and tell the cop who he was. The cop believed him without blinking an eye and told Dane to get into the passenger’s seat.

  A half a block from the motel, the cop pulled over to let him out. “It’s probably past your curfew,” he said with a knowing grin. “You can sneak in from here. Good luck.”

  Dane thanked him and snuck back into his motel room.

  Once in his room he picked up the phone and dialed up his mom. He glanced over at Rosecrans who was asleep. The guy was a heavy sleeper and was currently snoring and Dane ignored him. It rang three times before the receiver came off hook, and he heard fumbling and banging of things on the nightstand.

  “Yes, huh. Hello?” answered his mom in a sleepy voice.

  “Mom. It’s Dane.”

  “Dane? What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine. I’m good… Who’s my father?”

  There was a pause at the other end, and Dane could hear his mom moving in bed. She was probably sitting up. “Your father?” she asked. “What do you mean? You know who your father is. Why are you calling me at this ungodly hour to ask me that? Are you drunk? You sound drunk.

  “No… Well, yes, I was. But I’m pretty sober now.”

  “You don’t sound it. What’s wrong?”

  In the darkness of the motel room, Dane sat on the floor with his back against the bed. Greg was snoring in the background. “I went to visit dad’s grave.”

  “Okay… I’m glad.” Her voice was sincere with no hint of sarcasm. “Is that why you’re so wound up?”

  “Yeah, it is. I was standing out there thinking about the past, thinking about everything, and it hit me. My dad—Brian, your husband—was my step-father. Wasn’t he? Tell me I’m wrong.”

  “Don’t you have a game tomorrow?” she replied in a motherly tone. “Shouldn’t you be sleeping? … I can tell you’re all wound up about something. You know how you get. Go get some sleep now and we can talk tomorrow.”

  “No!” he cried then lowered his voice to a fierce whisper. “No. Tell me now, mom. Tell me the truth. He’s my step-father.” There was a long pause at the other end of the phone and the longer it lasted the surer he was of the answer.

  “Who have you been talking to?”

  “No one. It just came to me like a revelation. So just tell me the truth. I need to know. Just tell me, Mom… Are your there? Mom?”

  “Yes, I’m here,” she replied in a weary voice. “Okay… He’s your step-father.”

  “I knew it! Goddammit, I knew it!” He caught himself and looked up to see if he’d awakened Greg but his roommate snored on peacefully.

  “But I’m not going to talk to you about it now,” his mom said sternly. “Not over the phone and not at this ungodly hour. I’m not. I’m going to come out to New Britain on your next home stand and we can talk in person.

  “Drive over to Albany and we can talk tomorrow.”

  “No, honey, I’m not driving three hours to Albany. I’d rather take the bus to New Britain. Next weekend on your home stand, I’ll be there. Is that okay? Can you do that for me? Please, honey? Just wait a little longer and I’ll explain everything to you in person. Please.”

  He knew he wasn’t going to change his mother’s mind, and her combination of resolve and affection had its usual effect on him. “Okay, Mom.”

  “And keep in mind one thing for me,” she said, her voice cracking for the first time. “Just one thing, that’s all I ask. There are reasons for everything. Don’t pass judgement until you hear the reasons.”

  “I won’t. I promise.”

  “I love you. More than anything.”

  “Love you, too.”

  “Now get some sleep. Your head needs to be in the game tomorrow.”

  “Okay, mom,” he said, sniffing a short laugh and thinking that she sounded like his coach. He hung up and quietly undressed and slipped into bed. Greg was still snoring. He tossed and turned in restless wonder, at the ghost he’d seen and fate’s loud thunder.

  18

  CHAPTER

  Pitchers, like poets, are born not made.

  Cy Young

  The Bullpen, Part 1

  Before the first pitch, Burton leaned over Shake’s shoulder and looked out at the bullpen. “It must be Ten-cent Hot Dog Nite,” he said with a chuckle.

  Shake looked out towards the bullpen and saw that almost every one of his pitchers was holding a hot dog. Well, afterall, he thought, it was Ten-cent Hot Dog Nite and they were pitchers. Pitchers were like the high school band of baseball. Each was a little off center, and they stuck together in their little whacky fraternity. And the bullpen was a good place for them. They had the choice of sitting in th
e dugout during the game or hanging out in the bullpen where there was no coach or chaperone to watch over them. If he were a pitcher that’s where he’d hang out.

  “If the ‘beer batter’ strikes out, keep your eye on them,” quipped Shake, and he and Burton laughed.

  The bullpen consisted of a high chain-link fence that closed off an alcove in the right field bleachers. There was a phone, a wooden bench, two mounds, and an array of gray metal chairs that the pitchers sat on during the game. Most were already sitting down eating their hot dog.

  Fan 1

  Hey, no eating on the job!

  Fan 2

  Where’s the beer! Can’t eat a dog without beer.

  Phil

  Get me one, dude! But put it in a thermos and lower it down.

  Fan 2

  You got it, dude!

  (exits)

  Andy

  Think he’ll do it?

  Phil

  No. He’d need a thermos and a rope. Too many things to remember.

  Chuck

  Christ! Who cut the cheese? Not even through the first and someone’s cutting the cheese.

  Scott

  Not me. What’s it smell like?

  Chuck

  Like rancid refried beans.

  Andy

  Must be Tito.

  Tito

  Fuck ju guys. I don’t cut cheese. Pendejos.

  Phil

  Oh, I got it now. That’s putrid, man. Gotta be Tiago.

  Scott

  He’s not talking to us. Anyhow, he holds them in so it can’t be him.

  Andy

  That’s not good for you—gives you bad breath.

  Chuck

  That’s an old wives’ tale.

  Phil

  Hey, keep Tito’s wife out of this

  Tito

  Fuck ju guys. Pendejos

  Between the top and bottom of the third there was a jousting match along the first base line. The jousting match consisted of two willing participants from the stands who dressed up in suits of armor made of foam. The foam was thick and bulky and made them look like ripe squashes. Each one held a broomstick-style lance that had a large nerf ball stuck at the end. The object was to run full tilt at one another and try to knock the other down using the lance. There was the Green Knight and the Black Knight. Once a knight went down, they bounced over and around on the grass to the delight of the crowd and needed attendants to get them back up.

  Phil

  Five bucks on the Green Knight.

  Chuck

  You’re on.

  Andy

  I’ll take some of that.

  Luis

  You’re both idiots. The Green Knight always wins.

  Andy

  Bullshit he does. We counted it last year and the Black Knight was forty-four and thirty-four.

  Luis

  Better winning percentage than you.

  Scott

  The girl always wins. The Green Knight’s a girl. That’s why Phil’s betting on her.

  Chuck

  No way. What makes a girl better at this than a guy?

  Scott

  They’re better at handling the lance.

  Luis

  I’m sure they are.

  Chuck

  Ope, here they go…

  (They watch as the Green Knight quickly vanquishes the Black Knight.)

  Phil

  Ha! I told you. That’ll be five bucks—from each of you.

  Andy

  Unbelievable. You’re right, though. She was good with the lance.

  Scott

  I told you. They grab it and know right where to put it.

  Luis

  I’m sure they do.

  In the top of the seventh, the Kingsmen starting pitcher Ken ‘Kid’ Curry started to labor and the pitchers in the bullpen, especially the relief pitchers, began to take a keener interest in the game. But that didn’t stop their game of movie trivia.

  Scott

  ‘Two men enter, one man leave.’

  Andy

  Mad Max, Beyond Thunderdome. I just saw it.

  Chuck

  ‘That ain’t a knife, this is a knife.’

  Tito

  Cocodrilo Dundee!

  Chuck

  What he say?

  Phil

  Cocodrilo Dundee. Are you deaf?

  Chuck

  Lucky guess.

  Scott

  Curry’s leakin’ oil. We’re gonna get the call. A right-hander, probably Tito. I got one for you: ‘I have a need, a need for speed!’

  Luis

  Davis talking about his fastball.

  Chuck

  Funny guy. That’d be Top Gun.

  (The bullpen phone rings.)

  Scott

  Told ya. Who they want? Tito? Knew it. Here comes Manning with his catcher’s gear.

  Phil

  ‘Leave the gun. Take the cannoli.’

  Andy

  The Godfather. Why is it whenever we play this game you always quote The Godfather? Don’t you know any other movies? Just one time I’d like to hear you quote another movie.

  Phil

  Okay… ‘He was stupid. I was lucky. I will visit him soon.’

  Andy

  That’s the same movie, dude!

  Phil

  No it’s not. That’s Godfather Part II.

  Just then they heard the whack of a bat on the ball followed by the groan of the crowd. A long fly ball was heading their way. The pitchers stepped out of its path and watched it land in the bullpen for a homerun. The ball rolled to a corner and Phil walked over and picked it up with his fingers like it was a rotten apple. He looked up and tossed it to a fan.

  Fan 2

  Thanks, dude!

  Phil

  Hey, where’s my beer?

  Fan 2

  Oh, sorry, dude, I drank it.

  Phil

  (to Andy)

  See, told ya’. Too many things to think about.

  The Bullpen, Part 2

  It was a Saturday game on a hot broiling day. In the stifling bullpen there was little to no breeze and the pitchers moved their chairs against the arc of the sun to stay in the shade. Their path was littered with spent sunflower seeds, Styrofoam cups (for spitting dip), and chewing gum wrappers. It was the fifth inning and the Kingsmen were winning 4-0. Ellsworth was on the mound and looking strong—painting the corners and consistently spotting his nasty splitter. The Kingsmen were up to bat and Prince had just walked to bring Hamilton to the plate. The pitchers were hot and bored.

  Chuck

  Listen. The math is easy. The runner’s got to go in less than 3.2 seconds. It takes 1.4 seconds for the pitcher to deliver the pitch—unless you’re Tiago, then it takes over two seconds—and it takes the catcher 1.8 seconds to throw down to second. That’s 1.4 plus 1.8 equals 3.2 seconds. But that’s if everything goes right. If it goes right you’re gonna get him ’cause most guys can’t go in less than 3.2 seconds, except for Prince. So you got to get rid of the ball out of the stretch in 1.4 seconds. Don’t you ever listen to Benedict?

  Steve

  Sure, but it also depends on his lead. You got to keep him close.

  Chuck

  But it doesn’t change the math. It’s still 3.2 seconds whether he’s close or got a big lead… Wait, here goes Prince… Now… Safe! … Bet you that was less than 3.2 seconds. Anyone got a stopwatch?

  Ken

  How ’bout a sundial?

  Scott

  Hey, stop hogging my shade.

  Ken

  Am not. It’s almost time to move.

  Steve

  Th
ey shouldn’t have Bring Your Dog Day when it’s hot like this. Look at ’em. They’re dying out there in those metal stands. It’s animal cruelty.

  Scott

  Remember when they had the Cowboy Monkey Rodeo?

  Chuck

  It was fricken’ hilarious. PETA made ’em stop it.

  Phil

  Party poopers.

  Luis

  Walked Hamilton and he’s about to walk Goff. There he goes. How about a donation to this walk-a-thon?

  (The stadium speakers start playing ‘Walk of Life’ by Dire Straits. The pitchers laugh.)

  Where’s he get that stuff?

  Phil

  Anybody ever meet the P.A. Announcer? Chuck, you?

  Chuck

  Never.

  Phil

  Don’t you find that odd, that no one’s ever seen him?

  Chuck

  Not really. He’s like that guy in Magnum P.I. Robin Masters. You never see him—only hear his voice.

  Scott

  Burks is going to drive one here.

  Sure enough, Burks hit a sinking liner to right field which got past the right fielder and rolled to the screen in front of the bullpen. When the right fielder got to the ball he kicked it, picked it up and dropped it, and finally got hold of it and threw it back into the infield. As all this occurred, the bullpen had their fun.

  Luis

  Stick a fork in it!

  Phil

  Hey, Cinderella! Get to the ball!

  Scott

  Make that glove in metal shop!?

  Ken

  Hey, two-six, you’re gonna have to wait the full five years to get into the hall. Hey, two-six, you hear me? I think he’s ignoring me.

  Chuck

  You hurt his feelings.

  Scott

  Ohp. They’re pulling Heller. Told you—the guy’s strictly five and dive.

  They watched as the opposing team changed pitchers. After warming up, the new pitcher got Estrella and Rosecrans out but walked Hoffman. That brought the pitcher Ellsworth to the plate and got the full attention of the bullpen.

  Phil

  What’s your pool at?

  Chuck

  Three hundred and twenty bucks. Basset’s in the lead at .236 but Andy can pass him here with a hit.

  Phil

  What you at?

  Luis

  Chuck couldn’t hit an elephant’s ass with an ironing board.

  Chuck