Sofia walks over, stands right in front of him with her hands on her hips. “You okay, cuz?”
Danny looks up at her and smiles. “Yeah.”
“You gonna be sick?”
Danny shakes his head.
“You wanna join us? We’re talking to the guy who’s sneaking us into the concert.”
Danny shakes his head. “I like it here.”
“You’re drunk as hell,” Sofia says. She calls out to Carmen: “Get over here, Carm. My cuz is blasted.”
Carmen walks over and picks up Danny’s head, looks into his eyes. “Hello? Anybody home?”
Danny reaches for her hand and kisses it.
The girls laugh, and Sofia takes the can from Danny. “I think I better cut you off, cuz.”
Danny laughs, too. Because when he thinks about the fact that he just kissed Carmen’s hand it’s hilarious. And the fact that she said “Hello? Anybody home?” is hilarious, too. Everything is hilarious. Sofia and her friend Carmen and the cotton candy being spun in front of them and the fact that he’s leaning against a fence in the middle of a fair, drunk.
And when the girls walk back up to the security guard, Danny looks at the tops of all the rides in the distance, especially the frog ride. The one for little kids. And this time he actually laughs out loud. Because that frog ride is hilarious.
He watches Raul, Lolo, Chico and Rene pimp up to the pitching booth, pulling dollar bills from their pockets. His game! He decides to get up and join them. He hasn’t pitched since he was back in Leucadia, the longest he’s gone without throwing a baseball since he was ten. He’ll just get up and join Sofia’s friends.
But instead, Danny leans his head against the chain-link and closes his eyes. And for whatever reason, his mind goes right to the dream he’s been having for the past three years. The one about the hawk family.
He’s running through the canyon by his old apartment, all by himself, and he comes up on a big tree. Two beautiful hawks are perched on one of the thick branches. He’s tired from running so he decides to sit down and watch the hawks for a while. Then he spots a little baby hawk, sees that the adult hawks are feeding it. They’re a family. It makes him feel incredibly happy for some reason and he just watches them for hours. But eventually he leans his head back against the tree and closes his eyes for a second so he can rest. But he must’ve been really tired because he doesn’t wake up until the next morning. He rubs his eyes and looks up into the tree but the hawks are gone. The whole family. He stands up and looks for them harder. Searches all through the branches. Even runs out into the field and scans the sky. But it’s no use. They’re gone. And he feels so sad, he goes back to the tree and gets in the same position he was in the night before. He tries to fall back to sleep. Thinks maybe if he can wake up all over again they’ll magically reappear.
But he isn’t tired anymore. He tries taking long drawn-out breaths and counting sheep, but nothing happens. He’s still wide awake. And the hawks are still gone.
Put Your Money Where Your Mouth Is
1
Uno nudges Raul toward the carney, says: “Go on, big boy. Show ’em what you got.” He watches his boy pull two bucks from his pocket, derby money, and hand it over. Watches him get three baseballs in return and set them on the stand.
The rest of the guys gather behind Raul and urge him on.
Chico claps, says: “Show me the heat, Rah-rah.”
“Put your weight behind it,” Rene says, turning to Uno for reinforcement.
“Go ’head, bola de pan!” Lolo shouts.
As Raul steps to the makeshift mound, Uno instinctively blows into his fist. He’s the one who spotted the pitching booth. Where you get clocked by a speed gun, like in the big leagues. And now that everybody’s pulling out money, he wants to show them what’s up. He blows into his fist again, stretches his shoulder across his body.
Raul grips one of the baseballs in his meaty right hand. He looks back at Lolo, then goes into a stiff windup and fires at the tarp. Speed gun reads: 54 MPH.
He shakes his head as he reaches for the second ball.
The sky is dark now. Over Raul’s shoulder, Uno notices the fair rides spinning ugly neon lights into the cloudless sky. Hears all the different carnival tunes swirling together behind the pitching booth. He blows into his fist again.
Raul goes into his windup, fires his second ball. Speed gun reads: 53.
Uno nudges Raul from behind. “Come on, man. Pretend you eatin’ a burrito. You do that shit fast.”
Chico laughs, says: “Make like you chasin’ after a bean and cheese.”
“This shit’s rigged,” Raul says over his shoulder.
“Same gun they use in the big leagues,” the carney says, folding his tattoo-covered arms. “Even had a professional ump in here to calibrate it.”
“Whatever,” Raul says.
The fellas all laugh as Raul reaches for his last ball. He goes right into his windup and heaves the ball with a deep guttural groan. The ball is a good two feet over the fake catcher’s head, but the digital numbers spin anyway. Speed gun reads: 56.
2
Uno and Chico pat Raul on the back as he quickly blends into the group. Chico says, “Man, fifty-six. Ain’t so sure that would get it done in tee-ball, Rah.”
“You think you could do better?” Raul snaps back.
“I know I could do better,” Chico says, reaching into his pocket and handing a wadded-up two bucks to the carney.
“Is easy to beat fifty-six,” Lolo says.
Raul scoffs. “Yo, why don’t you put your money where your mouth is?”
Lolo pulls out a few bills and bets Raul that Chico will beat his high. Uno pulls out five ones and asks in on that same action. Rene backs Raul.
Chico takes his three baseballs and sets two on the stand. He turns around and looks at the guys. “Better than fifty-six, right?”
“Fifty-six,” Uno says.
Chico heaves his first pitch out of a stretch. Speed gun reads: 56.
There’s a little rumbling out of the fellas behind him, but he doesn’t turn around. He reaches for the second baseball, goes into a full windup this time and fires it at the tarp. Speed gun reads: 56.
The rumbling builds. “What if it’s tie?” Lolo says.
“Money don’t change hands,” Uno says. He blows into his fist.
A small crowd gathers behind. A couple people passing stop to check out what’s going on. They crane their necks around Lolo, Rene, Raul and Uno to see what the commotion’s about.
Chico reaches for his last baseball and spends a few seconds rubbing it down with his hands. He shakes it up in his hands like you would a pair of dice. Like he’s about to roll instead of throw. He extends his hands out to Carmen. She wiggles her fingers over the ball like she’s casting a spell. The rest of the girls giggle.
Chico goes into his windup and whips the ball at the tarp. Speed gun reads: 58.
Chico spins around and points at Raul. “That’s right, boy! Got your ass!” He pulls his white T-shirt sleeve up and flexes, slaps five with Uno.
The crowd behind the guys cheers.
Money exchanges hands.
3
Uno steps out of the group, hands the carney his two bucks and takes back his baseballs. New bets are placed. A few more people slow as they pass the pitching booth. A group of white teenagers wearing soccer sweatshirts stops to watch.
Uno looks back at the onlookers, feels the weight of the crowd in his blood. Nothing hypes him up more than when people are watching him. Especially white people. In every other part of life they run shit, just like his old man always says, but not when it comes to sports. You just have to look at the games on TV. Almost everybody is dark. Black, Mexican, Dominican, whatever. But barely anybody is white. He takes the first baseball and winds up, fires at the tarp. Speed gun reads: 64.
As everybody reacts, he reaches for his second ball, winds up and fires again. Speed gun reads: 66.
The small c
rowd of people behind him emits oohs and aahs. His blood flows quicker. He’s only thrown two pitches and he’s already blown away Raul and Chico.
The carney nods, shouts: “Not bad, kid.”
But Uno’s not satisfied. He wings his third ball so hard his flat-billed Raiders cap falls off his head, tumbles to the pavement. Speed gun reads: 69.
The crowd that has gathered reacts with hooting and clapping. One of the soccer girls shouts: “Sweet pitch!”
Uno reaches down and picks up his cap, pulls it slightly crooked on his dome.
Chico and Raul pat him on the back, give him daps. Money changes hands again. Raul pushes Lolo toward the pitching booth, and new bets are placed.
4
Sofia, Flaca and Bee make their way closer to the pitching booth, stand beside Carmen. They all go up on their toes to better see the action. Liberty and Raquel slip in front of a group of kids with their parents. Guita slides past behind them.
Sofia spots a swaying Danny and pulls him over to her crew. Danny sits down in the middle of everybody.
Lolo tosses his first pitch. Speed gun reads: 54. Everybody laughs as he walks halfway up to the gun and flips it off.
He picks up his second ball, backs up about ten feet behind the makeshift rubber. He gets a running start this time, heaves the baseball as hard as he can. Speed gun reads: 55.
Lolo throws his hands in the air and points accusingly at the carney. “This game ain’t fair, man. I want my money back.”
“Take a hike, buddy!” the carney shouts, pushing off the wall. He puts the two bucks in his bulging money clip and picks up a couple loose baseballs.
Lolo starts toward the carney, but Uno and Chico hold him back. He points and curses over their shoulders: “Gimme my money, pinche puto!”
“Get outta my face!”
Lolo surges forward, but Uno wraps him up. “I come back with a gun! Then what!”
The carney steps forward, shouts: “You’re done, man.” He turns to Uno, says, “Get that kid out of here, man. He ain’t throwin’ no more pitches at my booth.”
“He only got one more, though,” Raul says. “He’ll calm down. You can’t let him throw his last ball? If he calms down?”
The carney shakes his head. “Nuh-uh. He steps back on my rubber, I’ll have security here in two seconds. Threatening me like that. He’s through.”
Uno and Chico manage to calm Lolo until some white guy in the crowd yells out, “You’re just mad ’cause you suck!”
Everybody laughs.
Lolo whips around and makes a move for a pack of frat guys near the back of the small crowd.
But Uno corrals him again, tells him to calm down.
Lolo stands there, staring at the group of frat guys, still puffed up, brows furrowed. Amateur tattoos twitching.
“What about his last ball?” Flaca yells at the carney.
“He ain’t throwin’ it!”
“Somebody else could throw it?” Raul says.
“Long as it ain’t the last guy,” the carney says. “I mean it, he’s through.”
“Who gots Lo’s last ball?” Raul says, spinning to his guys.
“How we gonna work the bets?” Chico says. “We throw ’em out, right? He didn’t get a full three balls.”
“We throw ’em out,” Uno says.
“But who gonna throw Lo’s last pitch?” Raul says again.
5
Chico walks over to Sofia, Flaca and Carmen. He smiles at them, then reaches down for Danny’s arm and pulls him up. “What about Sofe’s cousin?” he says, looking at his guys.
“Nah, he can’t pitch,” Sofia says. “He’s totally bombed. Look at him.”
Danny is swaying back and forth with his eyes halfway closed. One of the buttons undone on his collar shirt.
“Let him pitch,” Uno says. “He all right.”
Chico pulls him over to the makeshift mound, says:
“What’s the over-under on him?”
Uno studies Danny’s black eye. From his fist. A wave of regret passes through him.
“No,” Sofia says, taking Danny’s other arm. “He’s too drunk.”
“Let the kid pitch!” somebody yells.
“It’s only one ball,” Chico says. “It’s not gonna hurt him any.”
Everybody looks to Uno. He looks at Danny again, then back to Sofia and Chico, says: “He can throw one.”
Chico pumps his fist and smiles. Sofia lets go of her cousin’s arm.
“I got five says he throws under fifty,” Chico says.
“I’ll take that bet,” Raul says. “You kidding me? You saw him hit. He’s got natural talent.”
“You’re crazy,” Chico says quietly. “He’s smashed.”
“I’m with Chico,” Uno says. “He ain’t throwin’ over fifty. No way.”
“So nobody’s with me?” Raul says. “I can’t get one backer?”
Everybody goes quiet. Even the crowd. They all stand there staring at Danny with blank faces.
Suddenly Liberty steps through the crowd holding out a five-dollar bill. “I bet him,” she says, pointing at Danny.
She hands her money to Chico and glances at Danny. Then she blends back into the crowd again.
“It’s on,” Chico says, nudging Danny toward the pitching mound and the lone baseball on the stand.
6
Uno listens to the crowd noise grow as Sofia’s cousin grips the baseball in his hand. He watches the kid turn around and look at her. Watches her mouth back: “Hard as you can, cuz.”
Danny sways a little, turns to the tarp and goes into a halfhearted windup. He throws the ball at the fake catcher and then stumbles forward a little. Grabs the stand to regain his balance.
Uno and the rest of the crowd go dead silent.
He watches Danny turn to look at his cousin again, then Liberty. Both girls’ eyes are wide with shock.
Uno turns to the carney, who is staring at the speed gun in disbelief, scratching his head. Uno looks at the number: 85.
Finally Flaca speaks up, says what’s running through everybody’s head: “What the fuck?”
A buzz of voices slowly builds in the crowd. Someone shouts, “Give him three more!” Others echo the same sentiment.
People crowd closer to the action as Uno takes two bucks out of his pocket and pays the carney for another round of balls.
The fellas behind Danny don’t bet this time. They just stand there quiet, staring at Danny as he reaches for the first ball. Uno doesn’t say anything, either. He swallows and stares.
Danny sways on the mound a second. Uno watches him glance over his shoulder at Liberty, then back at the fake catcher. He studies the kid. Surfer-ass clothes and skinny as hell. How’s he throw so hard? Uno watches him go into another halfhearted windup and unleash another seemingly effortless fastball. Speed gun reads: 86.
Everybody stares at the number in shock, including Uno. Butterflies pass through his stomach. He can’t believe what he’s seeing. He looks at Sofia’s cousin again. The kid swaying back and forth on the makeshift mound. Picking up the second baseball and rubbing it in his hands. Who is this guy? It’s like he’s some kind of freak.
The carney walks up to the gun, messes with a few of the settings. He turns back to Danny, says: “Jesus Christ, kid. That’s the fastest pitch I had here all summer.”
Sofia shouts, “That’s right, cuz! Do ’em another one!”
Danny takes the next ball and steps up to the rubber. He winds up and throws a looping curveball this time. The pitch is headed straight for the fake batter’s head until it snaps at the last second, spins right into the strike zone. Speed gun reads: 72.
“Holy shit,” Chico says to Uno. “Dude’s up there throwing curves.”
“Shit is crazy,” Uno says, never taking his eyes off Danny.
“Last ball!” the carney announces. “Hard as you can, kid. Give us a fastball.”
Danny glances behind him again. He turns back to the tarp. He goes into his wind
up and flings the last ball at the fake catcher. Speed gun reads: 92.
The crowd goes nuts behind Danny. Chico and Raul slap him on the back and Sofia musses his hair. Flaca gives him a kiss on the cheek.
Uno watches the carney approach Danny, tell him, “That’s the fastest reading I ever had, man. And I been working here six summers. You pitch somewhere?”
Uno watches Danny shrug and turn away from the guy. Then Sofia and her girls sweep Danny off toward the concert area. Uno can’t believe what he’s just seen. Danny pitches even better than he hits. This skinny, GQ kid.
Uno feels Chico tapping him on the shoulder, but he doesn’t turn away from Sofe’s cousin until the girls lead him over to the ticket counter, out of sight.
Mexican WhiteBoy
1
A few days after the fair, Danny takes his mitt and a bucket of baseballs to Las Palmas Park. The baseball field where his dad played Little League.
He spends a few minutes staring out over the field, trying to picture his old man on the mound. He never said if he was good, just that he pitched. That he’d come here all the time after his own dad died. Most of the time alone. Danny recalls the framed picture his mom kept in the living room for years. Even after they split. A skinny version of his dad in a Little League uniform, smiling. This very field in the background.
Field has definitely taken a turn for the worse, Danny thinks. He slides down the small ice plant cliff, jumps the short fence and walks onto the overgrown infield. Positioning himself in front of the decaying pitching rubber, he goes into his high-kick windup, fires a fastball across a rotting home plate.
He looks around the field. The weeds growing in the base paths. The giant patch of brown grass in left. The broken-down fence in right. Graffiti all over both dugouts and the bleachers.
He plucks the next ball out of his bucket, winds up and delivers. When he’s fired all the baseballs at the backstop, he jogs toward the plate with the empty bucket and scoops all the loose balls off the ground. Then he hustles back out to the mound and does the whole thing over again.
Mexican WhiteBoy Page 7