Practice

The food from The Great Wall was just as tasty as it had been the first time and yet halfway through my lunch I lose my appetite and toss the rest in the trash. At first I was happy to withstand their pointed scrutiny, believing that they were simply protective parents. I think there was an element of that to be sure, but beneath it was something far uglier. The way Mrs. Ling spoke about Grace with such glowing affection was heartwarming until I heard all traces of that adoration curdle when she spoke of Mei. My fist clenches as I recall the way she described Grace as ‘special’ and Mei as ‘different’. Technically the connotation between the two wasn’t so far apart, but it was amazing the difference a single carefully chosen word and change of tone could make in a meaning. The Ling’s, unabashedly, had a favored child. The perfect one. The popular one. The normal one. The one who would remain forever young in their memories, a canvas of pure potential upon which they could project every fantasy of what could have been. Grace could never disappoint them or fall short of their expectations.

Mei was such a special person. Her hidden wit, her confidence in the face of a world that considered her a ‘weirdo’, her quiet wisdom and warmth…how could they not realize what an incredible woman they had raised? Was it connected to her physical differences? Was there a history I didn’t know about? Or was it simply that she didn’t publicly glow quite as brightly as their shining star Grace. They hadn’t left a single spot on that wall of theirs for Mei alone. Not one. And the barely concealed resentment I had heard in Mrs. Ling’s voice was a haunting specter from my earliest memories.

I could remember clearly how, in my youth, my father had spoken about me with such love and pride and how, without meaning to, his tone would sour with the same bitterness when he talked about Ric. Deep down Dad blamed Ric for his life not being what he imagined it would be. Over the years that toxic victim thinking had spread to touch both Mom and I as well, especially me once it became obvious I wasn’t going to be the golden boy he thought I would become. After Ric and his challenges he had put a lot of hopes and dreams onto me only to be disappointed when reality didn’t match the dream. To his credit he was still there for them and I knew he would be there for me if things ever got too bad out here. He wasn’t a monster. It would be so much easier in some ways if he was the perfect villain to contrast myself against. In the end he was a very flawed man in a very difficult situation. It didn’t excuse the pain he caused us but it did put into context.

A pang of guilt strikes me as I am confronted with the shame I carried with me every day. Dad might not be perfect, but he was there. For Mom, for Ric, for our family. Could I really stand in judgment of the man while I fled all my problems like the coward that I was?

My experience with her parents had, strangely, left me feeling closer to Mei than ever even as the thoughts and memories they’d dredged up left me shook.

Shaking my head I banish these dark thoughts for the moment and return to work.

***

Crack!

With the smell of deet and fresh cut grass filling the prairie evening the sound of hard maple walloping ball echoes across the field as ‘Big Barry Bundy’, a smoking cigarette hanging from his lips, sends another one soaring into left field to disturb the two old-timers out there who seemed to be more interested in talking about fishing than practicing. I cannot help but laugh as the ball bounces between the pair and rolls to the back fence while they each looked at the other expecting the other to get it.

What a motley crew the Halcyon Honeybees turned out to be. Terry had given me the impression that the town’s senior baseball team was semi-serious and semi-competitive, just a step or two away from the real minor leagues. The reality turned out be much different. From the scrawny, pimple-faced first baseman who barely looked old enough to drive never mind be a member of the town’s ‘senior’ team to Big Barry in dirty work jeans with his massive gut hanging over his belt to the gray haired duo still bickering in the outfield who’d probably break a hip if they ever slid into base to everything in between it was the most ragtag group of dudes I’d ever seen. And not one of them matched another in dress. A couple wore old uniforms from years gone by, hideous black and yellow crimes against fashion and good taste, some wore full sweat suits, others shorts and tees, a few like Barry had walked onto the field in their street clothes and one odd balding fellow wore a full, too tight, Borussia Dortmund kit which, at least it could be said, matched the Honeybees team colors. As diverse as they were in appearance there was a similar range in ability. There were a handful of guys who had some real talent, unrefined as it was, ranging all the way down to a few who clearly hadn’t held a bat since their school days. And fitness? Yeesh! A lap around the bases would have half the team laid out flat and on oxygen, not that there was any risk in many of them hitting a homer to require such a run. In all the group seemed more focused on drinking beer, busting each others balls and joking around. The chaos didn’t stop inside the fences either as gathered on and around the old bleachers were a few dozen wives, girlfriends and frolicking kids who had turned a simple practice into the social event of the week. In short…it was FUCKING AWESOME!

Remembering the crisp uniforms, competitive posturing and shouting coaches from my previous experiences on the diamond I’d arrived determined to impress the others and show them I deserved a place on the team. There had been no need to worry as from my very first diving catch it became obvious that I was already comfortably among the top five or six players in town, even after getting my ass beat to hell just the night before. The boys, having heard little about me beyond the fact that I was involved in the ruckus down at The Post, were, thankfully, more curious than cautious toward the newcomer. Terry speaking for me and saying I was ‘cool’ helped me get accepted but help wasn’t really needed as at least as many guys slapped my shoulder in respect as looked at me askance. It seemed that around here starting a barroom brawl was something as likely to boost my reputation as hinder it. Once they saw that I could swing a bat and down a beer and banter back with a dirty quip as good as the rest of them they made me feel right at home.

We’re run through some half-hearted drills though most of the time is spent just fucking around and playing catch. As the time passed and the light began to wane I kept searching the bleachers for those cat eye glasses and scanning the street for that particular shade of tangerine. Nothing. I was disappointed not to see Mei but I understood. She didn’t like baseball to begin with and, after all, it was only practice. With only twenty minutes to go I let go of that hopeful expectation. It turns out it was two minutes too soon.

I stand with Terry and a couple of other guys we wait for our turn at bat, me trying to stay limber with some slow and easy practice swings, while the others leaned against the fence joking around. My ear catches a sudden change in the noise of the spectators as voices drop to a murmur. At that same moment Joey straightens up, eyes locked on something across the field.

“I’ll be damned.” He says. “What are they doing here?”

Terry, a knowing smile on his portly face, replies. “Looks like you got company, Dusty.”

My years of well-honed, hard won womanizing instincts told me to play it cool, instincts overridden by others as my head snaps toward the bleachers.

Joy. Pure joy.

For a moment I felt as if I’d either float away or swoon to the dirt as my eyes catch those two big daisies on Mei’s skirt. She’d come! In her wide sun hat, her chin held high, she stands near but apart from the main bleachers seemingly unbothered by the whispers and stares she was getting from the other women who had just noticed her arrival. Though we were thirty or more yards apart our eyes lock across field and for one blissful second there was just her and I. She doesn’t nod, she doesn’t smile, she makes no gesture of acknowledgment at all. She simply looks at me long enough so that there was no doubt she’d seen me then begins to look around at the other players beyond the fence as if they were strange animals in a zoo enclosure. I chuckle to myself. It was a hell of a power move and I loved it.

The tall skinny blond in the the yellow and black sweater at her side however was not nearly so subtle. Marigold waves at me wildly, desperate to grab my attention. She was equally as unbothered by the stares from the other women as her best friend but where Mei held herself with a noble independence, feeling the gawking looks but choosing to ignore them, Marigold’s dorky social ineptitude meant she was entirely oblivious to the attention altogether.

When I don’t immediately wave back she hollers. “DUSTY! HEY! OVER HERE! IT’S MEI AND MARIGOLD! HELLO!”

My chuckles turn to true laughter as, even at this distance, I can’t miss Mei’s wincing cringe.