Two
The boys of Sunfish Lane always spent most of their springs and summers down the street at the ballpark.
None of them ever tried out for any of the school teams or signed up for an organized league. They just took it upon themselves to get together and have fun. Why should anyone be told whether or not they can play based on how good they are, or how much they can pay?
America’s old pastime is meant to be enjoyed by everyone, no matter how fat your wallet is or how many times you strike out.
But there is no denying that it’s always more enjoyable when you’re hitting the ball and not swinging at thin air.
“Wow, you need glasses, Tommy?” Jerry Redman asked from the pitcher’s mound, pushing his black-rimmed glasses back up to the top of his nose. His long, brown bangs stuck out from under his backward ballcap and disappeared behind the rims of his thick glasses.
Tommy Watson, with his own sweaty mop of hair poking out from his frontwards-facing ballcap, had swung through the second pitch Jerry delivered him. The two looked a lot like brothers, both with genuine smiles that also had a hint of mischievousness. The only difference was that Jerry usually followed through with what lay behind that grin, while Tommy knew better not to.
To Jerry’s left stood the gangly, blond-haired Justin Dunn at first base, waving his hands up in the air in a “we give up” gesture. The heavier-set Eric Covitz, who was catching behind the plate, had seen this all before and knew how it would play out.
Jerry loved to razz his friend Tommy as he threw heater after heater.
“Just keep it coming, Jerry. Or are you afraid you can’t get me out?” Tommy said back with that smile.
“Oh, I can get you out. I can get you out like Sarah Lackey’s belly button.”
“How do you know Sarah Lackey has an outie?” Justin asked, dumbfounded.
“Wait, what’s an outie?” Eric asked from behind the plate.
“’Cause she showed me,” Jerry said with his patented wry expression.
“Yeah, right! The only thing she’s shown you is the back of her head in Mrs. Peterson’s math class!”
Jerry ignored Justin’s remark and kept his focus on Tommy. He blew a bubble from the gum he was chewing.
“Okay, Tom. Here it comes.”
Tommy gripped the handle of the bat. The black rubber around the handle was old and peeling. Later, Tommy would have to wash his hands clean of what looked like a bunch of ants crawling on them.
Jerry leaned back and then heaved forward, throwing the ball with extra mustard at home plate.
Ding! The unmistakable sound of an aluminum bat and baseball making contact, piercing through the heat of a June day. The four friends watched the ball fly deep into right field. It landed with a flat and anticlimactic thud in the grass.
“And there he is,” Eric said, standing up from his crouching position and pulling his catcher’s mask up.
From around the corner, a short and chubby beagle appeared, running with all the excitement of a fan who just saw their team win the big one. The beagle made its way around the wooden logs used as fencing to separate the field from the road, and headed directly to the ball Tommy hit. The dog scooped the ball up in its mouth, stopped in its tracks, and looked up at its four spectators.
“There goes another one,” Eric said, taking his glove off and putting his hand on his hip.
A smile escaped Tommy as he watched the beagle.
“Sorry, guys.”
“Don’t worry, Tommy. We’re used to it,” said Jerry, as he lifted up his ball cap to wipe sweat off his brow. “Same time tomorrow?”
“Yeah, if Tommy can get that ball back,” Justin said. “You better start running now. Looks like he’s got an extra kick in his step today.”
The beagle pranced around with the ball in its mouth, egging them on before bolting back in the direction it came.
“He’s got a head start on ya, Tommy!” Jerry yelled.
“Okay, see ya guys!”
Tommy ran over to the bench and grabbed his pack and continued on in the direction where the beagle had just been a moment before. The sun was breaking through the opening in the trees above, creating slices of sunlight along the same road Tommy had chased this beagle down time and time again.
He could see the dog trucking along about two houses down.
“Art, slow down!”
The beagle paused for a second, turned its head toward Tommy in acknowledgment, and then sped off again, going faster with all the energy of a puppy even though it wasn’t one.
Tommy finally made it to the end of the street. Waiting for him at the corner, with the baseball placed neatly on the ground in front of him, was Artie, Tommy’s dog and best friend.
“One of these days I’ll catch up to you, Artie,” Tommy said, bent over and panting with his hands on his knees. “Should’ve taken the bike today. I don’t know what I was thinking.”
Artie looked up at Tommy with his bright and loving eyes. Always looking for attention, Tommy gladly obliged him with a pat on the head.
“All right, let’s go home and get you some lunch.”