Cherry Blossom Baseball

by Jennifer Maruno

  “I know these girls,” Sadie said.

  “You do?” Aunt Sadie has been here only a few days. How can she have gotten to know Mary and her town friends?

  “They live in the expensive houses, wear nice clothes, and spend their summers boating,” Sadie explained. “You find these girls in every town.”

  “There were no girls like that where we last lived,” Michiko said.

  Sadie reached for her niece’s hand and patted it. “You were that girl in our last town, silly. You just didn’t know it.”

  “I was?”

  “You didn’t notice that all the other girls envied your extra special clothes and malted milks at the drugstore.”

  “I didn’t get to drink them,” Michiko said. “You know that.” Whenever she thought of milkshakes, she thought of George King making a big production of counting out his change in front of her father. “And there was nothing extra special about my clothes,” she added.

  “Think about Kiko,” her aunt said in a low voice.

  The girl with the uncombed hair who wore summer clothes all year long floated up in front of Michiko’s face. Their friendship had come to an end over a stolen watch. Kiko had no mother or father, only an uncle who tried to look after her the best he could.

  “But all my clothes were homemade,” Michiko protested. “Nothing came from a store.”

  “They didn’t know that,” Sadie said. “They looked at your life and looked at theirs and decided yours was better. Everyone does it. You are probably thinking right now that Mary’s life is so much better than yours.”

  Michiko looked at her aunt in surprise. Sadie always had the knack of knowing exactly what was on her mind.

  “And,” her aunt said as she rose from the couch, “I bet you are also wondering what you are going to wear? That was always the first thing on my mind whenever I got an invitation.”

  “I don’t have to wonder about that,” Michiko said. “I’ll just have to wear what is clean.”

  “To a party?” Sadie stood, took Michiko’s hand, and pulled her up from the couch. “You will not just wear whatever is clean, not while I am here.”

  Michiko looked up at her aunt’s shining eyes. “Really?”

  Michiko could hardly sit still in the back of Billy’s car. Every part of her body was alive with excitement. Playing baseball was like meeting up with a best friend.

  The visiting team was on the field warming up when they arrived. Michiko’s father, Mr. Palumbo, and Billy’s father walked to the first base line to watch.

  Michiko stopped for a moment to ram her hat down on her head when Mr. Ward called out, “Bring it in.” Her team formed a circle to get their very first pregame pep talk. She was expecting a lot more than, “You all know what to do,” before Coach Ward stuck his hand into the centre and everyone piled theirs on top. “Good luck,” she whispered to Billy as they ran out to the field. He winked back.

  The batter hit Michiko’s first pitch right through the shortstop’s legs, and he made it to first before they got the ball there.

  She threw to the next batter. Michiko thought he hit foul, but the umpire called it fair, and the other team now had runners on first and second. Her third pitch brought them all home with a hit clear across the playground into the parking lot. The crowd sitting in camp chairs around the baseball diamond stood up and cheered.

  Michiko looked around at the other members of her team. They all scowled at the 3–0 score. Then she spotted Eddie standing next to Billy’s dad. Eddie nodded and gave his whole body a shake. He’s right, she thought. Like Uncle Kaz used to say, shake it off.

  She struck out the next three batters, and before they knew it, the Bronte Braves were at the plate.

  Up first, Michiko got a hit and made it to first. She could hear her father cheering from the sidelines. Billy hit a grounder, which got her to third, and him to second, but the visiting team’s right fielder caught their next player’s pop fly, making it one out with runners on second and third. Donald Maitland, whom everyone knew was a strong hitter, was up next.

  The pitcher for the opposite team studied Donald for a moment, pulled back his arm, and sent the ball across the plate. Donald swung hard, and they all heard that wonderful “thunk” of wood hitting a ball. He took off like a bullet, as did Billy and Michiko. Then the umpire called out, “Strrrike one, foul ball.”

  “No foul,” she heard her father yell.

  Michiko’s cheeks burned as they returned to their plates. He isn’t going to cause trouble by arguing with the umpire, is he?

  The pitcher for the opposing team pulled back his arm and sent the ball across the plate a second time. Donald hit it with a resounding crack, and Michiko made it home.

  Kenny Spencer, next at bat, raised his chin and hunched his body, determined to get a home run. He hit the ball, but the player at first base caught it, tagged the plate, and threw it to the pitcher before Kenny reached the plate.

  But his throw wasn’t strong enough.

  Michiko signalled Billy to steal the base as the pitcher sauntered into the field to pick up the ball. The smile on the pitcher’s face froze when he saw Billy heading straight past him for third. He grabbed at the ball but fumbled it. The crowd roared as he picked it up a second time and threw it home. Billy dove into the dust and touched the plate before the catcher tagged him on the ankle.

  “Safe,” the umpire shouted.

  The kids on the Braves bench went wild.

  One more run and the score would be tied, but their next player didn’t make it to third. Three strikeouts in a row brought them out to the field, and it was Michiko’s turn to face the batters again.

  She threw the ball right across the plate for a strike. As the ball came back, she could hear her Uncle Kaz’s voice in her head. Good hitters always strike at the balls they like. Throw it again. And she did, for a second strike.

  The boy at the plate wiggled his bat and pulled his face into a grimace.

  Michiko threw a fastball, and he swung for the third time. One down, two more to go, she thought. But it wasn’t to be. Before long, it was one man out and runners on second and third. Michiko pitched, and the batter hit a pop fly. She turned to see the runner on second heading for third. Bobby Wells caught the fly and faced third base. The runner turned and raced back to his base as Bobby swivelled and threw it to second. The smile on the runner’s face collapsed when the second baseman tagged him.

  The umpire called both the batter and the runner out. That double play had just put them back in the game! Now they had a chance.

  It wasn’t until Donald Maitland hit the ball right out of the park that they tied up the score, and it remained that way until the Bobby Wells gave them the lead by one. All the Braves had to do was make sure the other team didn’t score. And they didn’t.

  Everyone on Michiko’s team tossed their hats in the air to celebrate the Bronte Braves baseball team’s first win. But as soon as Michiko’s pigtails fell to her shoulders, she realized her mistake. No one will notice, she thought as she piled them back on top of her head and rammed on her hat. But the players in the field noticed, the players on the bench noticed, and the kids in the stands noticed.

  Billy’s face turned to ash.

  “Their pitcher is a girl?” she heard someone yell in astonishment.

  “We got some sort of confusion here,” the other coach called out. “Girls playing on a boys’ team? Isn’t there some kind of rule about that?”

  “Son of a gun,” Coach Ward said. “She sure doesn’t pitch like a girl.” He shrugged and then gathered the team to go over what he liked about their game and what he didn’t. Michiko almost forgot about taking off her hat until she and Billy walked to the parking lot. Everyone looked at her as if they had just seen a ghost.

  The next day, Michiko and Mary walked past the group of boys that stood with their backs to the school wall. Usually the boys whistled or whispered behind their hands when they passed. Michiko knew it was Mary they all like
d, but this time it was different.

  “Is that the girl pitcher?” she heard one of them ask.

  “Nah,” another said, “that’s just a rumour. Girls are no good at baseball.”

  “I heard she doesn’t throw like a girl,” another commented. “Someone said she’s got an arm like Lefty Grove.”

  “A girl with an arm? No way, who says?”

  “Eddie Adams.”

  “No kidding, who would have thought.”

  Mary looked at Michiko in surprise.

  Carolyn and Mark approached Billy as they walked to the bus.

  Mark put his face in front of Billy’s. “She has to quit,” he said. “Or none of the other teams will play us.”

  Billy backed up. “Maybe you should quit. That might make the team even better.”

  “Maybe both of you should quit,” Mark said.

  “Wanna make me?” Billy asked as he put up his fists.

  The boys squared off like boxers.

  “Fight, fight,” resounded across the playground as a crowd formed a circle around them.

  Billy launched himself at Mark and sent him to the ground. Mark jumped up with his fists flying, and this time Billy went down. Michiko put her hand to her mouth at the sight of blood flowing from his nose.

  Out of nowhere the coach grabbed Mark by the collar. “You both want to get thrown off the team?” he asked. “Fighting is a good way to make it happen.”

  “Billy started it,” Carolyn said as the coach marched the two boys away.

  Michiko followed Annie onto the bus. She was going to have to quit playing baseball. It was already causing too much trouble for everyone.

  NO GIRLS ALLOWED

  “You look lovely,” the saleslady said as Michiko stepped out of the change room.

  Michiko modelled the navy blue dress with fitted sleeves that her aunt had picked out. Other than a white scalloped collar, it was plain. And the waist seemed to be in the wrong place; in fact, there were two waists, one halfway up her chest.

  The saleswoman turned to Sadie. “You were right,” she said, “it is a good choice.”

  Sadie smiled. “I know my dresses,” she said, indicating with her finger that Michiko was to turn around. “The wide band draws attention to your slim waistline.”

  “I look like a stick,” Michiko said. “I want a full skirt and puffed sleeves.”

  “No, you don’t,” Sadie chided. “You want something timeless.”

  Michiko looked at the ceiling and rolled her eyes. “What is time?” her grandfather would say. He’d expect her to answer with mountains, oceans, and pine trees and nod in approval. “But what about baseball?” she’d once asked. “Baseball is seasonal sport,” he had replied with a grin, “not much time to be wasted.”

  “Growing up is taking too much time,” Michiko complained.

  “Time will always be on your side,” Sadie responded, giving a wink to the saleslady. “You just watch. The most popular girl in the class will end up fat while you stay beautiful.”

  Michiko giggled at the thought of Carolyn growing fat.

  The saleslady gave her a big smile.

  “Can I wear silk stockings?” Michiko asked with a knowing grin.

  Sadie looked at her niece’s feet. “I can see I’ll have to buy you something decent for your feet, or you’ll wear those baseball shoes.” She turned to the saleslady. “We’ll take the dress.”

  Michiko didn’t have the heart to tell her aunt she needn’t worry about her baseball shoes. She was thinking of hanging them up.

  “The last time I bought you a dress was for Easter a long time ago,” her aunt said as they waited for the dress to be boxed. “You were so cute with a big pink ribbon in your hair.”

  Michiko vaguely remembered painting hard-boiled eggs.

  “Everyone stopped doing all that when the war broke out,” Sadie said to the saleswoman as she handed her the money.

  The woman nodded as she passed Sadie the large white box.

  Both Michiko and Sadie were surprised to see Mrs. Takahashi sitting in the living room when they arrived home. On her lap lay the small bundle of Geechan’s letters and a notebook.

  Her mother entered, carrying a tea tray.

  After the correct introductions, Michiko watched her mother’s guest slurp her tea. When she had drained her cup and eaten the last mochi from the plate, she sat back in the armchair and gave a sigh of contentment. “Now we can talk business,” she said.

  “You finished translating the letters?” Michiko asked.

  Mrs. Takahashi looked down at her lap as if surprised to see them. “Your mother was right,” she said. “They weren’t very interesting. A lot of nonsense about people growing up together. But here they are.” She picked them up and handed them and the notebook to Michiko. “That is only part of my business here today.”

  “What other business do you have?” Eiko asked. She looked at Sadie and Michiko on the couch, but Sadie just shrugged.

  “It’s all over town that the Japanese girl from the gladiola farm is playing baseball with the boys,” Mrs. Takahashi said. “It’s time to put a stop to such a ri­diculous rumour.”

  Sadie’s eyes narrowed. “What makes you think it is a rumour?”

  “Because,” Mrs. Takahashi said, taking a deep breath and raising her chin, “having a girl that acts like a boy is nothing to be proud of, and from what I know of your sister, she is a proud, traditional woman.”

  No one spoke for a moment. Michiko rose from her chair to leave, but Sadie pressed her arm, insisting that she stay. Out of the corner of her eye Michiko stole a glance at the woman’s snub nose that always seemed to be looking down on others.

  Eiko sat back in her chair and gave a small sigh. “I am a proud woman,” she said. “I am proud of my heritage, my home, and my family.”

  Michiko lowered her eyes. She had never thought for a moment that playing baseball would be a slight against her family. As if they hadn’t had enough problems from the war. Her eyes filled with tears as the thought of the humiliation she must have brought to her mother.

  “We were not all that surprised Michiko made the baseball team,” her mother continued.

  Michiko looked up when her mother’s voice dropped to a low murmur.

  “Her father was sought after to play for the Asahi team,” Eiko explained. Michiko noticed her mother’s hands gripping the arms of the chair and her knuckles whitening. “He chose his responsibilities to his family and his job over the game.”

  Mrs. Takahashi nodded approvingly.

  “You know,” Michiko’s mother continued, “I think a lot of people live their life backward. They think they choose the life they want, but they usually choose the life they fear.”

  Mrs. Takahashi furrowed her thin, pencilled brows.

  Michiko glanced at Sadie, surprised to see that the colour had drained from her face.

  “My daughter, you see, fears nothing,” Eiko continued. “She isn’t even afraid to get hit in the face by a hard ball.” She gave Michiko a tender look. “We are very proud of the fact that she made the team. My husband does his best to attend all the games.”

  Mrs. Takahashi frowned. “You do know this will not help her in later life. Does she not know how to sew? Sewing is part of the basic preparation for marriage for all young women.” She looked at Michiko and said, “For centuries, no matter how humble your home, you knew how to sew a kimono. When our grandmothers were girls, they started with raw silk, made the thread, wove the cloth, and dyed it.”

  “I can knit,” Michiko replied in a tiny voice, but stopped as Sadie pressed her arm again. She looked at her mother. Eiko’s glance was so scalding that she held her breath.

  Her mother rose. “You have taken the time to translate my father’s letters, for which we are grateful,” she said, “but you needn’t take any more of your time to translate our lives.” She turned to Michiko. “You have homework, I believe,” and then she said to Sadie, “Please see our guest to the d
oor. I have to return to the big house.”

  Mrs. Takahashi rose and straightened her dress. “I can see myself out,” she said. Then she walked over to Michiko and cupped her chin with her hand. “Young men don’t marry girls who do not act like girls,” she said, and then she left the room.

  Michiko collapsed onto the couch, surprised at Mrs. Takahashi’s words but even more surprised by her mother’s support. It was usually Sadie who stuck up for her, but she had been the quiet one this time.

  Why, Michiko wondered, is everyone making kid business their business?

  The Braves’ second game was against the team from Applegate Collegiate. Michiko felt uneasy now that everyone knew the pitcher for the Bronte Braves was a girl.

  The Applegate Arrows warmed up in white tunics and caps with school crests.

  She admired the school’s manicured baseball field with its canvas bases. The first two rows of the glossy black bleachers had cushioned seats.

  “Nice place,” Michiko commented.

  “I hate playing here,” Billy said, “but there aren’t enough teams to make a competition, so they gotta be part of ours. And they usually win every year.”

  At first there were just whispers when she walked by.

  One of the Applegate Arrows waited at her team’s bench with a cloth. His small, mean eyes squinted at her before he pretended to scour it clean. “Can’t have a dirty bench,” he said with a tight grin. “Girls don’t like to get dirty.”

  Even the boys on her own team laughed.

  In her head, Michiko knew she had to ignore it, but in her heart, it hurt.

  The Applegate pitcher threw his glove down when Michiko stepped up to the plate. “I’m not playing against a girl,” he shouted.

  Their coach pulled him aside. After a short talk the pitcher returned to the mound, but his no-nonsense stare told her she was not welcome. He lobbed the ball, and it fell short of the plate. The second pitch was the same.