Beanball Read online

  What is real?

  I bet what I thought was a dream was actually real:

  I was trying to run barefoot on the beach,

  but it wasn’t sand, it was marshmallows.

  Melting, sticky, burning-hot marshmallows.

  I tried to pull my feet out, but I fell face first

  into more red-black globs of marshmallows.

  Some got stuck in my throat.

  I couldn’t breathe for the longest time.

  My face still burns.

  My throat’s still sore.

  Sore and dry.

  From the marshmallows?

  Kyle Dawkins, Compton pitcher

  I turned in my uniform today.

  Coach was furious.

  I listened to him rant for a while; then I left.

  He just doesn’t get it.

  He doesn’t know what it feels like to throw a fastball

  that can bust a kid’s head open.

  The thought of facing another batter

  scares me too much to do it again.

  “You’ve got colleges and pro scouts looking at you,” he said.

  “You’d be a damn fool to give that up.

  You owe it to your school to pitch,” he said.

  “We can win the conference with you pitching.

  Don’t make a rash decision,” he said.

  “Give it a few days.”

  I didn’t try to explain that baseball’s a game,

  not life or death.

  At least it shouldn’t be.

  He wouldn’t understand.

  For him, it’s all about winning.

  Take our “victory” against Oak Grove.

  Coach says it’s a win; it sure doesn’t feel like one to me.

  I thought they might call it a suspended game

  and have the two teams finish it later,

  but I guess they’re not doing that.

  When I put my uniform on Coach’s desk,

  all clean and folded,

  I didn’t leave my guilt with it.

  But I felt fifty pounds lighter,

  and I could breathe normally again,

  and my hands weren’t shaking.

  Pete Preston, Compton catcher

  At practice today, Coach told us Kyle had left the team.

  It would be an understatement to say he was pissed.

  He all but called Kyle a quitter.

  I already knew what Kyle had done.

  He’d phoned me the night before

  and told me he was turning in his uniform.

  I didn’t try to talk him out of it.

  Maybe someday he’ll be ready to pitch again,

  but not now.

  No way.

  All Coach cares about is wins.

  If he gave a damn about Kyle,

  he’d worry that he hasn’t been to school since it happened—

  except to turn in his uniform.

  I phone Kyle a couple times every day now,

  because I’m afraid he might do something to hurt himself.

  He’s got me scared as hell.

  It’s as if the ball had hit him,

  as if it had smashed him up inside

  just as bad as it smashed Wallace’s face.

  I was closest to Wallace when he got hit.

  I heard the bones shatter.

  I saw his bloody face.

  Maybe Coach can forget about it

  and pretend it doesn’t matter,

  that it’s just part of the game.

  But it does matter. It has to.

  If it doesn’t matter, we’re all in big trouble.

  Red Bradington, Compton coach

  If we could play that last inning over, I’d rather

  Wallace had gotten a hit and Oak Grove had beaten us.

  I wish I’d put him on base

  and taken my chances with Anderson.

  At least then we’d have Dawkins for the rest of the season.

  I can’t believe the kid quit on me,

  quit on his teammates.

  Now I have to figure out which of my other pitchers

  can pick up the slack, get us those wins

  I was counting on from Dawkins.

  We can still do it,

  but the kid just made my job

  a hell of a lot tougher.

  Andy Keller, Oak Grove third baseman

  I started at third today against Palo Cove.

  My first start.

  Coach moved Julio from right to left

  and Gordie from left to center.

  Ricky went back to right field.

  I’d been hoping I could break into

  the starting lineup, but not this way.

  I felt guilty going out there.

  If Luke hadn’t gotten hurt, I’d still be on the bench.

  I did okay.

  Fielded three grounders cleanly.

  Coach hit me eighth.

  I didn’t get any hits, but it didn’t hurt us.

  We still won, 7–3.

  Michelle Wallace, Luke’s mother

  Luke talked to us today,

  thank the Lord.

  It’s been three days of waiting, of watching him,

  unrecognizable beneath the thick white bandages.

  Three days of doctors working to stop the swelling,

  to repair fractured bones in his face.

  Three days without hearing his voice,

  of wondering if he would live through the surgeries.

  Three days of prayer,

  never certain if God was even listening.

  Luke “Wizard” Wallace

  They say I’ve been here for three days.

  I had no idea.

  Today is the first day that doesn’t seem like a dream.

  I try to picture how it happened.

  Dawkins was in his stretch, I remember that.

  I can see him looking in at me or at his catcher.

  That’s the last I remember.

  I don’t remember seeing the ball at all,

  or even getting hit.

  When I woke up in the hospital the first time,

  I had no clue why I was here.

  All I knew is what people told me.

  When I was finally able to mouth some words,

  I asked them about the game.

  They told me Coach stopped it,

  gave the win to Compton.

  He shouldn’t have done that.

  Gordie was up next.

  We’d have won it, for sure.

  Dr. Wesley Hunter, ophthalmologist

  It’s always a tough decision:

  Tell the good news first—

  or the bad news?

  The good news:

  Luke’s gotten through the most dangerous time.

  It was touch-and-go those first few hours.

  Dr. Yang was on call in the ER.

  He had to insert a cranial drain

  to reduce the swelling in Luke’s brain.

  Luke almost didn’t survive the night.

  The bleeding and swelling seem under control now.

  He appears to be out of danger

  with no apparent brain damage.

  The bad news:

  Splintered orbital bones make for a long

  and painful recovery time.

  Worse still, we won’t be able

  to save the sight in Luke’s left eye.

  Larry Wallace, Luke’s father

  How can we tell Luke?

  It’ll kill him.

  How can we tell him he’ll have sight in only one eye?

  All he’s worked for, all he’s dreamed of,

  his whole future—gone.

  I shouted at the doctor.

  I demanded to know what they’d done wrong.

  I tried to get them to tell me there was something

  they could do to save Luke’s sight.

  Was everybody in that hospital incompetent?

  It took a few hours
before I could think straight

  and apologize for how I’d acted, for the things I’d said.

  If I can’t control my rage, what can I expect from Luke

  when he hears those words:

  “blind in one eye”?

  We’ll all be there when the doctor tells him.

  We’ll all be there when he learns

  that his life has changed forever.

  Michelle Wallace, Luke’s mother

  I feel like a hypocrite, Lord.

  Forgive these thoughts I’ve been having.

  It’s just that I suddenly have a hard time believing

  the lessons I’ve preached

  to my Sunday school classes all these years.

  It’s easy to believe, in the abstract,

  that You’re always with us,

  that You meet our every need.

  If somebody else’s son were being operated on,

  I’d tell his family, “Just have faith.

  God is with you. He’ll make everything all right.”

  But it’s my son, and what if You can’t,

  or won’t, make everything all right?

  How can I face my class again?

  What can I possibly tell them

  that I don’t, deep down, feel is a lie?

  Help me understand.

  I know I don’t deserve to ask You to heal Luke.

  But Luke’s deserving. He is.

  I’m begging You: Please help him.

  Luke “Wizard” Wallace

  They acted like it was good news

  when they told me I’d be blind in one eye.

  They had these smiles pasted on.

  Good news.

  Sure.

  After they left,

  I had all night to lie here thinking

  about how I’ve lost everything.

  The pills they gave me finally made me sleep,

  but I even dreamed about what blindness would be like.

  While I’m here, they might as well cut off an arm or leg.

  Without depth perception, you can’t hit a baseball

  or catch one, either.

  College basketball is out.

  Football? I don’t know.

  With only one good eye,

  is it possible to run the ball

  and sense the exact moment your blocker

  gives you the smallest of openings to shoot through?

  Is it possible to make a crisp block?

  Or catch a pass?

  There’s hardly been a school day in years

  when I haven’t had practice or a game in some sport.

  What now?

  I don’t think I could stand just watching the games,

  knowing I should be out there playing.

  “Be thankful you’re alive.”

  I’ll scream if I hear that again.

  I swear I will.

  Doesn’t anybody know there’s a big difference

  between being alive and living?

  Larry Wallace, Luke’s father

  Great news!

  The doctor says if there are no complications,

  Luke can be moved from the ICU tomorrow.

  It’s the most encouraging thing that’s happened

  since Luke got here.

  Craig Foltz, Oak Grove second baseman

  My old man doesn’t work Saturdays,

  so he let me take his truck.

  I figured it was time I saw Luke.

  I owed him that much.

  It was my fault he got hurt.

  I booted a ball in the sixth.

  Cost us two runs.

  We shouldn’t even have had to bat in the seventh.

  If they hadn’t told me it was him in that bed,

  I wouldn’t have known by looking.

  His face was almost all wrapped in bandages.

  The part that wasn’t covered was purple as a grape.

  I don’t know who had more trouble

  trying to talk,

  him or me.

  Part Four

  Andy Keller, Oak Grove third baseman

  Hey, I’d gladly give up sight in one of my eyes

  if it meant that Luke could have his sight back.

  I mean it.

  I know what you’re thinking:

  that it’s easy for me to make the offer

  when I know it can’t happen,

  that I’ll never actually have to put up or shut up.

  But it’s clear Luke needs two eyes more than I do.

  The best I’ll ever be in sports

  is a decent high school athlete.

  I don’t have the speed or the size or the talent

  to go beyond that. I accept that.

  The only reason I’m even as good as I am,

  is because I’ve played with and against Luke for years.

  He’s made me better.

  There are limits, though, and I’ve about reached mine.

  You can’t turn a hamburger into a T-bone steak.

  I’m about as good right now as I can expect to get.

  Luke has the talent be a college or even a pro star

  in any one of three sports.

  But he can’t do it with just one eye.

  Nothing would make me happier

  than to be able to trade

  one of my good eyes for Luke’s bad one.

  Melody Mercer, Oak Grove student

  I went to the hospital to visit Luke.

  Not because I wanted to.

  I hate hospitals.

  The disgusting smells.

  The creepy sounds.

  The old people ready to die everywhere you look.

  But Jennifer, Heather, and Caitlin kept asking me

  if I’d gone to see him—

  like, just because I’ve been dating him,

  I’m obligated or something.

  They wouldn’t be so quick to go if it was their boyfriend

  lying there all gross looking.

  My stomach started doing little flips

  when I saw his face.

  I thought I’d barf right there.

  And trying to talk to him was awful.

  I was in his room for maybe two minutes.

  It felt like an hour.

  Daryl Hucklebee, Oak Grove coach

  Andy Keller’s got some big shoes to fill.

  Of course, trying to replace a kid like the Wizard

  is darn near impossible.

  It would put way too much pressure on the boy

  for anybody to expect that of him.

  But what Andy lacks in physical skills,

  he makes up for in hustle and desire and smarts.

  He’s a lot like Luke in that regard.

  That’s what made my decision

  to go with Ricky at third to start the season

  such a tough one.

  Andy’s as good with the glove as Ricky,

  just not as good a hitter.

  I’d like for him to get around a bit quicker

  on the fastball, but hey,

  there aren’t many kids I can’t say that about.

  Gordie Anderson, Oak Grove center fielder

  I don’t think I’ve ever made a better catch

  than the one I made in today’s game.

  I ran deep into left center,

  and right before I got to the fence,

  I leaped and made a backhand catch.

  I can’t believe I even got to the ball.

  The fact that I caught it surprised me more than anybody.

  Anyway, when I came off the field after the inning was over,

  Andy was waiting for me by third base.

  He grinned and said,

  “You looked like the Wizard out there!”

  The second the words were out,

  he got this look on his face

  like he’d said something he shouldn’t have.

  His smile disappeared and he muttered, “Well, almost.”


  Sarah Edgerton, Oak Grove student

  Today I saw Luke for the first time since his accident.

  I hardly recognized him.

  I don’t know what I expected.

  After seeing his face covered with blood that terrible day,

  I should have known he’d look bad.

  At school he always seemed to be smiling.

  He didn’t smile once today.

  I don’t know if it’s because he can’t

  or because he just didn’t want to.

  I told him how much everybody misses him

  and how anxious we were that he come back soon.

  I told him I’d keep him updated

  on our research project.

  I said he should let me know if he needed anything—

  class notes, assignments, things like that.

  It was hard trying to carry on a conversation

  because he didn’t say much,

  mostly just Yes, No, Okay, Thanks.

  I wish I could have done something