The Pitcher 2

by William Hazelgrove

  So like, we go overtime on my homework. Mom has Econ and Math. I have Social Studies, and The Pitcher is taking a shot at English. We are like working round the clock because I have to have all this work in by the end of the week, or I don’t play man and maybe not graduate. . I want to finish strong so I have to get this stuff done, but it is basically a whole semester in…one week. And my Social Studies teacher doesn’t like me, and if I flunk his class, then it is game over.

  Nobody is sleeping because there is no way to get it done then. I sleep and then I read. I basically have to give the origins of World War II and how the world was changed after the war. Try that one. The Pitcher is writing a conflict paper, and Mom is doing a PowerPoint presentation on the global economy and how we are all interrelated. Oh, and did I mention Biology? Yeah. I have to take a test that will determine my grade for the whole semester. I haven’t even started studying for that...

  But my Social Studies teacher, man, is like one of those dudes who’s not too crazy about someone who’s always late to his class. Yeah. That’s me. Every day, just about. But you know, it’s hard to get there on time, and it didn’t help that he didn’t like baseball. He thinks sports are for morons. He even said that once.

  Mom has to ask for my assignments three times before this dude will give them up. He doesn’t dig the whole IEP plan. You know, Individual Education Plan. I know he thinks I’m a slacker because I get some breaks. So he just gives me Fs on my papers, and then I have to redo them and he changes them to a D. But I need at least a C on this final, or I will flunk. And this dude somehow knows he is the guy with the curve, and I’m at a full count.

  Not good.

  And as if all this wasn’t enough…I got to deal with Fernando.

  But this time I have a plan. Like the Pitcher said a long time ago. It’s my game, right?

  40

  YEAH. I KNOW. BARRY Bonds. A-Rod. Rodger Clemens. Yeah. No one could prove it, but you know they juiced. Just look at Barry Bonds before and after, man. He looks like The Terminator or Mr. America by the end. He sure doesn’t look like a baseball player. And you listen to these dudes with their lawyers, and you know they did it. Just like Lance Armstrong, right. I mean, you may say, hey, these guys would have been the best anyway and everybody is doing it, but it still don’t make it right.

  So like, I lose no sleep over Bailey.

  He had it coming, right?

  And Joey says he is out to get me. He says he went psycho on Raoul, but Raoul don’t play and told him to take his Texas ass back to Texas or he would send him down there in a pine box. But the word is he wants revenge, but I got other problems and one of them is Fernando. He has become even crazier, if you can believe it. Ever since he hit the Pitcher with the gun, he has been tailing me and texting me, asking for money.

  But Joey says you got to make a dude like Fernando just go away. He says it’s like rats; you have to make them go to someone else’s house, you know. And so I started to think about a way to make Fernando go away for good, and Joey just looked at me.

  “I told you, bro. I can get someone to bust a cap on him.”

  I said no to that. But then we sat in Joey’s car in the McDonald’s parking lot, and he just looks at me and grins.

  “Dude. He’s a con!”

  I turn and look at him.

  “Yeah.”

  “Parole officer, man. He’s on parole! You can’t be waving a gun around when you are on parole, man!”

  So then I had my plan. I told Fernando I wanted to meet him in the parking lot behind the Target. I told him I might be able get him some of the money he wanted.

  How much, he texts.

  Maybe ten, I text back

  Then I call the cops and say a drug deal is going to be going down in the parking lot behind the Target, and a dude will be there with a gun. Then I hang up. Like Joey said. You got to flush out the rat, man.

  41

  THE FIRST GREAT JEWISH baseball star was Hank Greenberg. Hard-hitting first baseman for the Detroit Lions. Up until then, a lot of Jewish players changed their names. Greenberg never considered it. The anti-Semitism of the fans and players was vicious. They called him “The Hebrew Hammer.” Greenberg fought back and never backed down. He came within two runs of Babe Ruth’s record of sixty homeruns in one season.

  I know how Greenberg felt, man, because I can’t back down now, but I just got an F man. That’s what Mr. Ranger gave me, man, on my Social Studies paper. Mom is just staring at the Home Access grade on her computer, and her mouth is open. She had read my paper, and we had busted ass on it every night. I had explained how Hitler was on the move and started taking over countries until he got to Poland and then acted like he was going to cool out, but then took it anyway and Britain declared war on Germany, and then the Japanese attacked Pearl Harbor and we got into it.

  I mean, I spent a lot of time, and Mom did, too, so I knew what was coming. Mom comes out in her low cut dress, dangling earrings and heels and tells me to come on, and it’s like we are going to see the Pitcher for the first time. We caught Mr. Ranger in his class, and he looks up. He’s probably in his thirties with those barbwired tats and a goatee. He’s kind of a young talking teacher, and he rides a Harley.

  “Mr. Ranger?” Mom says, sitting down in front of him.

  He looks up, and you can see he’s shocked to have this Latino mom there. I mean, we haven’t slept because we have been fighting it out with every class, and I could just fall asleep right there.

  “I ‘m Mrs. Hernandez. Ricky’s mother. I see you gave my son an F on his paper,” she says.

  Mr. Ranger’s mouth kind of hangs open, and he looks down at the paper.

  “That’s right,” he says with this Southern drawl. “Ricky did not follow directions and footnote properly.”

  Mom stares at him, and her chin starts moving.

  “What about what he wrote?”

  Mr. Ranger frowns.

  “Well, I think what he wrote is fine, Mrs. Hernandez, but this class is about learning to follow instructions. Your son seems to have trouble with, that as he has trouble with being on time.”

  Mom leans in close with her eyes leading.

  “You know if you give him an F, he won’t pass,” Mom says, sitting back, her head starting to bob.

  Mr. Ranger tries for his fake smile.

  “Mrs. Hernandez, I am sorry to hear that, but your son has to follow directions.”

  “He has an Individual Education Plan. Where are the special considerations?” Mom asks.

  My teacher leans back and opens his hand.

  “I have given Ricky special consideration. I’m sorry, but at some point he has to follow the rules.”

  Mom’s mouth comes together, and her eyes move to me.

  “Ricky, could you step outside for a moment?”

  I stand up and go outside in the hallway but leave the door open part way. I see Mom put papers up on his desk, and she starts smiling and talking. She leans way over his desk, and Mr. Ranger eyes are on fire as Mom points down to the paper. Then she sits back and smiles, and I notice her hair is curled and she has on her makeup. She laughs and Mr. Ranger laughs.

  Then their voices get quiet for a long time. Then I hear some more laughter, and ten minutes later, Mom walks out and nods to me. We start down the hallway, and I notice then Mom is kind of jiggling all over. She puts on her sunglasses when we hit the outside.

  “You got a C,” she says.

  42

  THE WAY THEY PAID off the Black Sox in Chicago was they left the money on the hotel bed. Like ten grand in an envelope. The players left their hotel room, and when they came back, the money was there. I’m in the parking lot behind Target, feeling like those guys. They must have been nervous when they agreed to take the money, the same way I ‘m nervous because Fernando has just pulled up. He has come for his money, and I don’t see any cops anywhere. This could go real bad if they don’t show.

  But I wait in Mom’s van as Fernando turns off
his lights and sits there a minute, then lights a cigarette and gets out. He has his shades on even though it is dark. I get out and stand in front of the van and look around again for the cops. I don’t see anyone. My heart is whamming in my chest. But it’s my game, and I got to take care of Fernando once and for all, or this rat will never go away. I can’t have him beating up Mom or attacking the Pitcher or trying to extort money.

  He stops in front of me with this big loose shirt on, and I hope his piece in his belt

  “Alright, bro…you got something for me.”

  I nod with my mouth real dry and my heart pumping away.

  “Yeah,” I say

  “Good, ‘cuz I need the cash man,” he says.

  My heart is thumping so hard, I figure he can hear it. I look down and then right at him.

  “Yeah, here is what I have for you,” I say. “A whole lot of nothing. And that is all you are ever going to get from me and Mom…nothing. “

  Fernando just pulls on his cigarette and looks at me.

  “What, are you messing with me?”

  I stare at him.

  “No, I’m telling you that you don’t deserve anything. All you ever did is steal from Mom and beat her and hit me, and we don’t need your sorry ass coming around anymore,” I say shakily.

  I mean, the whole inside of me is jumping.

  “So you got no money for me?”

  I shake my head with my legs trembling.

  “No. You will never get any money from me. Even if I get a contract for a million bucks, you won’t get a cent. You don’t deserve anything.”

  I’m looking around thinking where are the cops where are the cops because Fernando is pissed now. He drops his cigarette to the ground and looks up slowly, then takes off his glasses. His eyes are like bloody dark pools.

  “And if you come around again, I will kick your ass,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady.

  His eyes grow, and then he reaches around behind him and rushes me with the gun barrel jammed against my forehead, pinning me against the van. I can smell the weed on his breath as he screams.

  “You little shit, I’m gonna bust a cap in you.””

  And my heart just stops and I open my mouth, because I feel like I’m going to puke when the world explodes into blue and red swirls and sirens come out of everywhere and there are cops with their guns drawn all around us.

  “Freeze, freeze!”

  Fernando’s eyes go from me to the five cops who have guns pointed at us. He doesn’t move, and I still have that barrel against my forehead.

  “Drop the gun! NOW!”

  I’m still against the car, and I look Fernando in the eye. We are lit up as he drops the gun and raises his hand. I raise my hands, too, and we are facing each other. I look into his eyes and nod.

  “Game over, bro,” I say.

  43

  HEY, MR. ANDERSON,

  You wanted me to write something about our family; well, here it is. Like I don’t know what makes someone a good citizen or a good family, but my family is for real. The Pitcher is like my dad. He’s not my dad, but he wrote a paper for high school for me, besides teaching me how to pitch. He was a World Series pitcher, you know, and my Mom asked him to teach me to pitch so I could make the high school team. And then he paid for my Mom so she could go to a doctor, and then he asked her to marry him. My real dad Fernando is a real bad ass. He always beat Mom and stole our money. He is still an asshole, but is headed back to prison right now. Mom is doing my Econ and my math for me while I work on Social Studies, and the Pitcher is writing a paper for English. You may think everyone is doing my work for me, but like I’m dyslexic and not so good in school, and if they didn’t help me, I can’t play ball on the school team, and I probably won’t graduate. Let me put it this way; my Mom is the reason I am even in school and the reason my life didn’t go down the toilet with Fernando. She always made sure my clothes were clean and I had what I needed even though we were poor.

  And even though she and the Pitcher hooked up, she doesn’t take anything for granted. She is still always trying to save a buck, and she has only one kidney because she has lupus, and the Pitcher, he ain’t doing so good either. I think he might have cancer, because he hacks blood but hasn’t gone to the doctor. And me, I just lost my starting position on the baseball team and just got it back after the Pitcher showed me a new pitch. The dude that took my spot is one of those Tea Party guys who doesn’t dig immigration or Mexicans. And one reason Mom lost her job at Target, which was a long time ago, was because she was trying to make people aware of how we need to reform our laws on that.

  So now I got to go play in the playoffs against this dude who is on steroids and pitches like ninety five, but the Pitcher says you got to outthink him, and Mom’s dream for me is to graduate and go to college, and mine is to play for the Cubs, so I’m not sure what is going to happen there, but I gotta get my social studies done. Like I said, I don’t know what makes a family, but we all pick each other up, you know, when we are down and I think that makes a us a good family, and to send my Mom back to Mexico would really break us apart, so I guess I’m asking you to let her stay.

  Because if she goes, I’m going, and the Pitcher will go, too. Because we are family, man.

  Sincerely,

  Ricky Hernandez

  44

  THE THING IS, WITH baseball, you need all nine players. You can be the best pitcher in the world, but you need the other guys to win. So that’s how it is with family, too. You need everyone to go in there and win. Mom helps me get ready for prom …..and the Pitcher takes all these shots in the driveway. Es and I go to prom, and it’s pretty cool. If you look at our picture, man, then you know we are having a good time. We rode in a limousine that the Pitcher paid for. Pretty cool, bro. And then we danced, and that’s like when I saw Baily and Christine.

  I didn’t think that dude could come to our prom, but there he was and they are like on the dance floor, and suddenly we are all dancing next to each other. He and Christine are like almost on top of each other, and then they start making out. Es looks great in this light blue dress, and I’m happening in my tuxedo, and I’m trying to maneuver away from them, but that’s when Bailey lets fly, you know.

  “Hey…maybe you can swat at that disco ball, Mex,” he says over Christine’s shoulder.

  I ignore him because our game is tomorrow, and I know his play.

  “You know, just pretend it’s a piñata, and your Mex girl can have at it,” he continues.

  Es. She don’t play. She is suddenly off me and goes over and kicks that Bailey dude right in his ass. I mean square, man, and he kind of lifts up and whips around. He is in like this black and white get up, and his face turns red.

  “You crazy Mexican bitch!” he shouts.

  Es, she gets right up in his face.

  “Yeah, I am going to kick your racist Texas ass again,” she shouts.

  And then Christine is glaring at her.

  “Forget her, she is just low class,” she says.

  Es is going after her and gets right in her face.

  “Who are you calling low class, Miss Stuck-up Bitch!”

  Bailey is kind of freaking now.

  “Mex, get your Chiquita out of here, man, before I forget I’m a gentleman.”

  “Go on, bitch, and I’ll kick your skinny ass next,” Es says, moving on him, and he backs up.

  You don’t want a Mexican chick mad at you, man. Believe me.

  Christine isn’t moving, because Es is all over her shit.

  “Come on, Es, let’s get out of here,” I say, pulling her back.

  Christine is all red faced, and Bailey nods to me.

  “I’ll kick your ass tomorrow, Mex,” he says.

  “Better double up on your ‘roids then,” I reply.

  Bailey looks like he wants to go at it, but Christine has taken off and he goes after her. We go outside where it’s cool and the stars are bright in the parking lot. Es is lighting up a cigar
ette and shaking her head.

  “I should have kicked that bitch in her ass.”

  I had to grin, seeing Bailey’s face again.

  “Well, you kicked his ass.”

  Es smiles, and then we both laugh and lean against the parking lot fence. I borrow a cigarette, and we smoke together.

  “You going to college?” she asks suddenly.

  I shrug and inhale the smoke.

  “I don’t know. I just am trying to graduate, you know. Don’t know if my grades are good enough for college.”

  Es has sparkles in her hair and on her lips and eyes.

  “You going, Es?”

  She shakes her head.

  “Nah, got to work for my mother in the salon.”

  I nod slowly.

  “Yeah, well, I thought I was going to play baseball, but I don’t know now.”

  Es turns then and looks at me the way Joey did.

  “You going to play, Ricky Hernandez. That is one thing I know. “

  “Oh, yeah?”

  Es holds her cigarette low and looks at me.

  “You got it going on. I can tell. “

  I smile and feel really good that I didn’t take Christine to prom.

  “Thanks, Es.”

  “I always knew it. Something about you. I’m going to say I went to prom with Ricky Hernandez one day.”

  I looked at her, and then we kissed, you know. Like a long, long time.

  45

  JOE DIMAGGIO GOT A hit for fifty-six consecutive games. No one has ever come near that record since. People couldn’t believe it when it was happening. And they say it will never happen again. I dunno. You gotta have hope, you know. That’s why I’m not sweating it, man. Bailey is pitching for East, and we are in the first game of the playoffs. The newspapers are calling it a blood feud. Sports writers love guys like Bailey and me because we really do hate each other, and since he ended up at East, we are facing off in the first round of the playoffs.