Spud (16 page)

“Well, terrific! You kids up for an ice cream on the way home?”

“Sure,” we both say.

Her dad takes off down the road, the wind feeling fantastic in our faces. We stop
on Route 6, between Ottawa and Seneca at a very sweet ice cream place that’s been
around forever, called the Tasty Freezie and sit on the patio with our ice cream.
The sweet, delicious and cold treat feels wonderful in my mouth. Cools the whole
body. I’ve got my favorite in a cone, mint chocolate chip. Deena went for a banana
ice cream with brownie chunks, in a sugar cone, and her
pops got a traditional vanilla
cone. We’re sitting there, listening to the music on the radio the place is playing.
Sounds like some oldies. I can’t quite place the song.

“So, Jack, ready for that ball team?” her dad asks, sort of catching me off guard.

“Oh, you mean the school team?” I ask, taking a lick of my cone.

“Sure. You’re playing this year, right? Deena said you were excited about it.”

“Oh, yeah. In fact, practice starts this week. I’m hoping to play second base, like
I did in the summer leagues. It’s my favorite spot. Wow, I can’t believe it’s so
close to school starting again.”

“Yeah,” Deena chimes in. “But this year we learn to drive!” She squeals and gives
her dad a look of hope.

He smiles. “Yeah, better watch out, you two on the road.”

“Oh, Dad, you tease so much. You know we’ll be great drivers.” She finishes her ice
cream and takes a napkin to wipe her hands. “And then cheerleading! I might get to
cheer varsity this year!”

Ah, Deena in that cheering outfit. What a sweet picture.

“You bet, princess,” her dad says. “Can’t wait to hear your ‘rah rah rah’s’!”

“I don’t ever recall any of our cheers having ‘rah rah rah’ in them, but thanks anyway,
Dad,” she giggles.

We all finish up and clean up, getting ready to complete the drive home.

“Thanks, sir, for the ice cream and for driving us this evening.”

“Not a problem, Jack, and, please, no more ‘sir’. I’m no spring chicken, but I’m
not an old goon, either.” He ruffles my hair. “You’re a friend, so call me Jim.”
He puts his hands to a short clap,
then reaches in his pocket for the keys. “Okay,
kids, let’s get back home and D? Let’s not tell your sister about the ice cream.
Or mom. Or she’s gonna make me run an extra mile tomorrow morning.” He chuckles and
winks at her.

“No problem, Dad. Our secret. But in order to pull it off, you might want to wipe
off the ice cream that’s sticking to your chin.” She laughs and takes a napkin to
erase the evidence from her dad’s face.

“Haha. Thanks.”

The ride the rest of the way is fun, with the music blaring some Beach Boys tunes
we all sing along to. Well, mostly Deena and I sing, but her dad nods his head a
lot.

Certainly, an enjoyable summer evening. Another one, truly, for the record books.
Maybe, my memories of the summer of 1995 won’t all have to be bad, and it never would
have happened if Dad hadn’t given me the extra cash.

I know that I’ve had the heart to heart with Mom and Zoë, but Dad and I have a different
relationship. There won’t be a heart to heart, a tearful chat. This here, the little
extra cash, or later, a chat about a Sox game or even watching one together, these
are dad’s ways of trying to connect. Believe me, he doesn’t freely give out money,
and he usually doesn’t chat me up much. So, he’s trying, I can tell.

Chapter 20

Mom is thrilled that I have decided to continue with the plan to join the school
baseball team, which has its season at the end of summer and into the beginning months
of the school year. It can’t really hurt, I had thought, but now that I’m smack in
the middle of our third, one-hundred degree practice this week, with the wind blowing
this idiot dirt in my eyes and my whole body dripping globs of sweat, making me feel
like someone’s poured a sticky can of soda all over me, I’m not so sure. That pool
across the street looks real tempting with its cool blue waters and the splashes
of the kids doing cannonballs into the deep end. At least my Sox hat is helping to
keep the bright sun out of my eyes, at times anyway.

“Jackson, get your head outta your ass and pay attention!” Coach Mitchell hollers
from the batter’s box, taking off his hat for a second to wipe off extra sweat from
his forehead. He’s been reeling us with flies and grounders all afternoon. He’s muscular,
six feet tall, and in a simple white tank top and jogging shorts. His tank shows
the fact he regularly lifts at the high school gym. He’ll never get tired.

I love second base and want to show I can do a great job for the team, but a boy
can only take so much. However, that’s where he’s had me every practice, so I must
be doing okay. I don’t want to mess up now.

“Yessir!” I reply anyway, a deep breath and position myself for the next hit. Whenever
I find myself in a sport and lacking energy, I try to pep myself up with a jingle
from a commercial, that I’ll sing in my head, like the Frosted Flakes’ “Show the
tiger in you!” or “They’re grrreeat!” So I’ll think,
and I’m great, too!
I know it
sounds
cheesy, but it works. I get a second wind of spunk.

Because that next ball comes hard. To my eye. I wasn’t quite that ready! To take
one there! The hit, the heat, the dirt. The blinding pain. I’m a goner.

“Dude? You all right? I think he’s coming around.” The voice is familiar. It’s so
damn hot. Where the hell?

Oh. On the bench in the shady dugout, I come out of my short-lived slumber, as I
realize I’m loaded down with ice as a skinny kid with a southern accent is sitting
next to me, who’s also notifying the coach of my condition.

“Yup, just keep him company. Keep on icing!” Coach’s voice. Are they still on the
field?

“Dude, you took a fast one! You’ll be all right. Need some water?” Skinny kid must
be the water boy. Why else would he be so eager to help me? As he hands me a bottle
of icy Aquafina, it makes sense, as he says. “Dude, you play a mean second base,
especially in this heat. I was in center behind you today, begged the coach to let
me show off my center field skills, but you took every drive he belted. I didn’t
have a chance to rage my talents, man. Well, you really took that last one. Anyway,
since you kept me from getting pegged by all the coach’s line drives, figured I’d
take duty to keep that eye iced. It’s gonna be a real shiner, man.”

Now, I know. It’s Ray. He’s this skinny kid from Texas or wherever, new to the town.
I remember him from the other two practices. Just haven’t had a chance to chat yet.

“By the way, I’m Ray. Just moved out here from Texas,” as I was saying, no? “As my
pops got a job transfer in the Chicago area, and this was a close place to live,
nice little town, good schools, or so the ‘rents say. Anyway, guess I’ll quit rambling.”

“No, it’s cool. Sorry about taking all your shots out there. I’m a sucker for second
and try to get behind every ball, regardless of these dang black eyes. I’m used to
them. This makes five now in my baseball career.” I’m sitting up now, watching the
other boys run the bases, sweating like all out. It’s too damn hot for this. Glad
it’s them and not me. Thank you, black eye.

“Yeah, plus, sitting with your ass gets me out of that conditioning crap they’re
all having to do now.” He chuckles. Reminds me, with his southern accent and mannerisms,
of Spud, slightly. Wish Spud could have joined, too. Wonder if he would have actually
traded those cowboy boots for baseball spikes?

“Hey, you seen my…”

“Hat?” he asks, and thankfully takes my favorite Sox hat off the bench behind him
and hands it to me. “Fell off when you went down out there. Classic scene. Real swell.”

“Thanks,” I say, putting it back on, to cover my hair that’s all matted and messy.

“So, Ray? You gonna be a sophomore, too?”

“Yup. I got a sister who’s gonna be a freshman. My Ma has this little beauty salon
she’s running out of the house, and my dad, right now, is commuting to some suburb
near Chicago every day for work. This little town is a snoozer, though, eh? Not a
whole lot to do, it seems.”

“It’s all right. You’ll get used to it. School’s all right. People, bar a couple,
are fine. Not a lot in respect to shopping and all, but just gotta get involved,
and the time flies, you know? What part of Texas you from?”

“Oh, a city out there that’s quite like your Chicago. Lots to do, too much traffic.
But also too much crime and crud. Think the parents are glad to be in a small corn-pokey
place now. I already like
that it’s been three weeks, and I haven’t seen an ambulance
go by. Where I’m from, they cruise by so often you don’t even hear ‘em anymore. Then
again, guess here I’ll have to get used to that damn train.”

He has a point. The train tracks are right by our school and my house. I’m used to
them, but to a newbie, hearing a cargo train three times a day might be a little
annoying.

“Oh,” he cringes. “Sorry about that ambulance comment. I heard about the couple of
tragedies that happened this summer. I’m sorry about your cousin, man.”

“O, hey, no it’s okay. Thanks. It’s really rough, but getting better.”

“Good, good. Gotta keep yourself occupied, you know. Anyway, here they come. Wonder
if Coach will let us loose to go jump in that pool yet!”

As the team comes closer, into the dugout area, I realized this Ray isn’t so bad,
and neither was my eye. After four others, this one seems common.

“All right men! Gather!” Coach was getting ready to set up the next practice. “Good
job today. Lotta heat. Shows that you’re men! Now, practice again tomorrow. Same
time. Same place. Get your asses over to the pool and cool off! Cooper! How you be?”
Boy he’s direct. Make a great drill sergeant.

“I’m gonna live, coach. Thanks. Just gonna head home and shower.”

“Yep. Keep it iced.”

“Will do, Coach.” He walks to the plate to gather his bats. Most guys are guzzling
water and looking at the pool across the road. Except the quick ones already running
across the street, revived energy for the pool.

“Thanks, Ray,” I say to him, as we are the two left in the dugout, gathering up our
supplies, taking it slowly. “You heading to the pool, too?”

“Yup. I might have gotten out of running those bases, but this weather’s a killer.
Texas is hot, but not quite so humid. This weather sucks. Everything sticks to ya,
and I’m sweating like a pig. Just drenched every day.”

“Well, this year has been a bit unusual. It’s not always like this. Haven’t you heard
all those death reports and record breaking highs on the news? This is a summer for
the books.” I don’t want to mention Spud again right now.

“Yeah. Where’s the rain?”

“Damn. That’s the question of the summer, dude. We’ve had a few storms, but seems
once they leave, they don’t like to return for weeks. Hey, thanks again. See ya tomorrow?”

“For sure. Maybe you’ll let me take a ball or two out there.”

“Dude, if you’re lucky.”

At that moment a bee starts buzzing around his head and Ray takes a swat at it. Now,
there’s two bees. He swings and is dancing around like a girl. I laugh.

“Having some difficulties, there, Ray?”

“Hey, now,” he keeps swatting, hopping, dancing. “Damn.” And does this duck and turn
and hop hop hop motion, and the bees have lost him. “HA!” he shouts in victory.

“Nice moves. You’ll really be the life of the party at the dances this year.”

“Hey, Jackson, sometimes you gotta. Life’s a dance, you know. Ever heard that one
before?”

Shocked that he’d say one of Spud’s favorite lines, it takes me a minute to reply.

“Yeah,” I reply, smiling. “Yeah, I think I’ve heard that a time or two.”

“Later, Jackson.”

He jogs toward the pool. My ice bag is melted, but I no longer feel the pain. Ray’s
cool. The team is cool. The weather is not cool. I need a shower. No pool. Just the
shower. It’s gonna be a long season with this coach. I need some rest. I’ve got to
gear up for an exciting, fresh year.

Author’s Note

Statistics about the heat wave in 1995 Chicago are from:

Klinenberg, Eric.
Heat Wave: An Autopsy of Disaster in Chicago
. The University of
Chicago Press: Chicago. 2002.

About the Author

Patricia Orvis grew up in Seneca, Illinois, and went on to earn her Bachelor of Arts
in Education from the University of Saint Francis, in Joliet. She currently teaches
English and History in Plainfield, Illinois, and is enthusiastically working on her
next novel. She can be reached via
[email protected]
, and encourages all readers
to visit
WriteLife.com
.