Beanball Page 3

  Pete Preston, Compton catcher

  We won. So they say.

  But it don’t mean crap.

  There wasn’t a lot of bragging or joking around

  on the bus going home.

  Their coach stopped the game.

  After Wallace got hit,

  Hucklebee could have put in a runner for him,

  and they would have had the bags loaded

  with their left fielder, Anderson, up.

  He’s their best hitter—maybe the best in the conference.

  Kyle was done. He wasn’t going to face another batter,

  no matter what.

  But as soon as the ambulance left, Hucklebee said,

  “That’s all for today.”

  So that was the ballgame.

  The only thing Coach Bradington said was,

  “Three-two, us. It goes in the books as a win.”

  Daryl Hucklebee, Oak Grove coach

  The waiting room is crowded.

  I know not everyone is here because of Luke,

  but a lot of people are—guys from the team,

  kids from school.

  Luke’s parents are here,

  and they’re pretty shook up.

  Who can blame them?

  All we can do is wait. And pray.

  The only real news we’ve heard

  since Luke was brought in

  is that he’s alive, thank the Lord.

  Nancy Keller, Andy and Clarissa’s mother

  The minute we got the phone call from Andy,

  my husband and daughter and I came right to the hospital.

  Andy had gotten a ride with somebody; he was there already.

  Luke has been like a son to me for years.

  I just don’t know what we’ll do, what Andy will do, if . . .

  I see Luke’s parents, Michelle and Larry.

  If I feel this awful, this scared,

  I can only imagine how they must feel.

  Dalton Overmire, Compton shortstop

  After I got home from the game,

  I grabbed a bite to eat and drove to Felicia’s.

  Just my luck her parents were there

  and she couldn’t leave the house.

  We didn’t even have a chance to make out.

  We watched a rerun of my favorite sitcom,

  one of the funniest episodes ever.

  Felicia’s mother came in once

  to see why we were laughing so hard.

  Hanging out with Felicia

  made me forget about Wallace

  until I was driving back home.

  It always made me jealous

  that he got special treatment,

  but I sure wouldn’t trade places with him tonight.

  Michelle Wallace, Luke’s mother

  When the doctor comes into the waiting room,

  his face has the look of death.

  There isn’t even a hint of a smile.

  Larry’s arm tightens around me.

  I try to prepare myself,

  but I feel faint.

  When he tells us they had to insert a cranial drain

  to try to reduce swelling in Luke’s brain,

  I feel what can almost be called relief.

  Dr. Wesley Hunter, ophthalmologist

  It’s touch-and-go, but we reduced the swelling.

  There’s still danger of further hemorrhaging,

  but we stabilized him for now.

  We have to wait to do further surgery.

  A key concern is whether he’ll lose his sight.

  There’s no hope for the left eye;

  the damage is too massive.

  The question now is: Can we save the right eye?

  The next several hours are critical.

  Larry Wallace, Luke’s father

  The doctors still don’t know

  when Luke will regain consciousness.

  Or even if he will.

  He’s got a lot of broken facial bones.

  The eye specialist, Dr. Hunter, talked to us.

  He said something about an orbital fracture.

  He said he was concerned about what he called

  “a vitreous and possibly retinal hemorrhage.”

  I’m not sure exactly what that means.

  All I know is that it doesn’t sound good.

  They can’t operate yet.

  They have to reduce the swelling first.

  The hardest thing is just sitting here waiting.

  I want to know that they’re doing something.

  I want to do something.

  But the only thing I can do

  is pace and sit and pace and sit some more

  and keep asking why this had to happen.

  Luke, my boy.

  Please, God.

  Please.

  Randy Wallace, Luke’s grandfather

  Elizabeth and I set out the second we got the call.

  We live almost three hours from Oak Grove—

  with normal driving, that is.

  We made it a lot quicker tonight.

  In fact, it’s surprising I didn’t get a speeding ticket.

  Not that I was even worried about that.

  I still can’t believe it’s Luke

  whose life is on the line.

  I had a health scare last year—

  had to have quadruple bypass surgery.

  It turned out fine. No complications.

  I’m exercising now and feeling better

  than I have in years.

  When I was in the hospital,

  I could tell that Luke was worried about me.

  I told him, “Don’t you fret.

  I give you my firm promise:

  I’m going to be around to see you play in the big leagues.”

  Luke was scared I was going to up and die on him.

  Now here I am, strong as a horse, afraid for Luke.

  Go figure.

  Elizabeth Wallace, Luke’s grandmother

  My husband, Randy, is crazy about sports.

  If he’s not out playing golf, he’s watching it on TV.

  That and baseball, football, hockey, basketball,

  and . . . well . . . just about everything else.

  I’ve never shared his interest,

  and our two daughters never played sports.

  They’re both married, but so far

  only our son, Larry, has given us a grandchild: Luke.

  Now I’m hoping that if our daughters ever do have kids,

  they won’t encourage them to play sports.

  Luke’s like his father and grandfather:

  sports mean everything to him.

  I’ll attend any school or church program

  Luke is in—plays or music, things like that.

  But I skip his games.

  He knows I love him and I’m happy for him

  in whatever he does.

  I just don’t enjoy watching sports,

  and the men in my life accept that.

  Even after all these years of being around such ardent fans,

  I’ve never understood the hold sports has on them.

  Now I understand it even less.

  Willard Kominski, longtime Oak Grove baseball fan

  I couldn’t sleep.

  So I got up around midnight

  and tried to watch some TV,

  but I couldn’t concentrate.

  I kept seeing that scene at home plate.

  Now the red numbers on my digital clock

  are flashing a bright 2:14,

  and I’m still seeing Luke on the ground.

  That image keeps blocking out everything else.

  My wife passed three years ago.

  The hardest part of being alone is nights like this.

  Luke “Wizard” Wallace

  Why is everything black?

  Am I dreaming?

  I want to pinch myself and wake up,

  but my arms are too heavy to move.


  My throat’s dry.

  It’s hard to swallow.

  What kind of dream is this?

  The throbbing.

  Where am I?

  This doesn’t feel like my bed.

  So tired.

  Sleep.

  I need to sleep again,

  to wake up from this dream.

  This . . .

  Alice Gooding, nurse

  I’ve been working on the surgical floor six years now.

  You’d think after all this time

  I wouldn’t get so torn up by the sight

  of purple disfigured faces

  half hidden beneath mounds of gauze,

  of kids teetering on that slim fence

  between life and death,

  of families waiting for news

  that all too often brings them to tears

  or, even worse, sets off wails that echo

  up and down the halls.

  But this boy . . .

  I know him. I know his family.

  I see them at church sometimes.

  I don’t go often—most weekends I work.

  But when I go, I always see them there.

  Michelle, Larry, Luke . . . I know them.

  That’s why this case seems worse to me than most.

  Part Three

  Sarah Edgerton, Oak Grove student

  Nobody’s called me with news about Luke.

  Not that I expected anyone to.

  It’s not as if I’m a close friend.

  I want to talk to somebody. Who might know?

  The hospital? Coach Hucklebee? Andy Keller?

  They’ll know at school tomorrow.

  I don’t feel like going, but I will—

  just so I can find out about Luke.

  He has to be all right. He just has to.

  But I’m scared.

  I watched him every second

  from the time the ball hit him

  until the ambulance took him away,

  and he never moved.

  Not once.

  Dalton Overmire, Compton shortstop

  If Kyle’s pitch had killed Wallace, we would’ve heard by now.

  But nobody here at school seems to know what’s happened.

  I couldn’t stand the guy, but I don’t want him dead.

  I don’t want anybody thinking that.

  What happened to him,

  I wouldn’t wish on anybody.

  As much as I hate the guy,

  I felt bad seeing him lying there like that.

  I really did.

  Janice Trucelli, Oak Grove English teacher

  I didn’t hear about what had happened to Luke

  until I got to school today.

  I could tell right away something was wrong.

  Faces were grim. Everybody seemed to move in slow motion.

  “What’s going on? What’s the matter?” I asked.

  “You haven’t heard? Luke Wallace. He died last night.”

  I’ve never fainted in my life,

  but I almost collapsed then.

  I felt lightheaded. My legs started to melt.

  I had to sit down.

  Not Luke! Not that dear boy!

  I don’t know how the rumor got started or who started it,

  but it was another ten or fifteen minutes

  before I learned that he was alive—

  in critical condition, but alive.

  Sometimes, when I don’t have a ton of essays to grade,

  or when I don’t have some meeting or activity after school,

  I’ll stop by and watch a game.

  I’m glad I wasn’t at yesterday’s game.

  It’s hard enough just hearing about what happened;

  seeing it would have been so much worse.

  Elaine Cotter, Oak Grove substitute teacher

  This was my first day subbing at Oak Grove High.

  Never again.

  Not at that school.

  Not for the kind of money a sub gets paid.

  Not that they’d ever ask me back anyway.

  I’ve never had a class as unresponsive

  as that first-period class.

  Some subs just sit and give kids study time.

  I like to actually teach,

  and I’m good at it. I am.

  I know it takes a while for kids to wake up in the morning,

  especially eleventh graders.

  So I tried to liven things up with humor.

  Most of them wouldn’t even fake a smile.

  One boy was so rude, I ran from the room

  before they could see my tears.

  I should have stood up to him, but I couldn’t.

  I just . . . couldn’t.

  Craig Foltz, Oak Grove second baseman

  That damn substitute teacher cost me two days’ detention.

  I guess I’m lucky it wasn’t worse.

  Principal Jenks cut me some slack.

  The sub was up there joking around, a goofy grin on her face.

  Luke is in the hospital fighting for his life,

  and here’s this dumb woman trying to get laughs.

  I should have kept my mouth shut,

  but finally I just couldn’t take it.

  I slammed my book and yelled,

  “Hey, lady! This isn’t the damn comedy channel.

  We’re supposed to be learning something.

  Just teach, if you know how.

  Your jokes aren’t even funny.”

  She got this shocked look, like I’d punched her in the gut.

  She grabbed her purse and ran out.

  Didn’t even look back.

  I knew I was screwed.

  I figured I’d get called to Jenks’s office.

  Instead, he came to our room. Alone.

  And stayed with us until the bell.

  Luke “Wizard” Wallace

  My face.

  Sometimes it’s on fire.

  Sometimes it’s not even there.

  Do I have a nose?

  Lips?

  Eyes?

  I can’t see.

  I can’t even raise my eyebrows.

  My whole head feels like my mouth does

  when the dentist gives me Novocain.

  I dream that the pain wakes me up,

  but then everything’s numb.

  And I sleep again.

  Janice Trucelli, Oak Grove English teacher

  It’s been two days since Luke got hurt.

  Hallways are still quiet.

  There’s less laughing and roughhousing than normal.

  Faces are solemn.

  No one knows yet if Luke will pull through,

  or, if he does, what kind of damage there might be.

  When Luke was here, it seemed I was always chastising him

  for speaking out of turn or joking at inappropriate times.

  I only wish I were able to do it today.

  Clarissa Keller, Andy’s sister

  Luke’s been in the hospital two days now.

  Andy went to visit him right after baseball practice,

  and he took me with him.

  But they wouldn’t let us see Luke.

  He’s in the ICU—that means intensive care unit.

  They operated on him again today.

  They’re saying he’s in critical condition.

  That means there’s still a chance he could die.

  I wish they’d let me see him.

  Maybe what he needs is just for someone

  to be there with him and hold his hand

  so he knows how much somebody cares about him.

  Andy Keller, Oak Grove backup infielder

  Clarissa and I tried to see Luke, but they wouldn’t let us.

  Since we couldn’t see him, we didn’t stay long.

  I had to do some serious studying

  for a test about World War II.

  We’ve spent the past few weeks

  on a unit called “The United St
ates at War.”

  We talked in class about how boys

  not much older than we are

  fought and died in wars.

  Until then, most of us hadn’t thought much

  about casualties.

  It was as if they were just numbers in a history book.

  Not real people.

  We were all going to live forever.

  Right.

  Luke “Wizard” Wallace

  Is it morning or night?

  It feels like morning, but I don’t think it is.

  I kind of remember Mom and Dad

  talking to me today.

  Or was it yesterday?

  A doctor, too. I’m not sure, though.

  Maybe I just dreamed it.

  But it seemed too real for a dream.