Old Miss Gracing by Edward Drobinski - HTML preview
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Chapter 6
Jackets and gloves were in order as Halloween got in the air. Miss Gracing and Zeke both passed time, perhaps going out of their ways to avoid any exchange that would be out of the ordinary. When she gave out math questions, she no longer gave Zeke the hardest one, in some cases giving him an extremely easy problem. He, in turn, bit his lip when he had some unconven-tional observation. Both were bored to death and each wished the other would do something to create a spark.
Dad had been back home for a few weeks now and Zeke had heard the new story about how his softball team messed up at the last minute and came out second again. This year it seems to be a weirder one than usual. The best of five was tied at two apiece and the home plate umpire assigned for the final game was one of the worst. He had absolutely no strike zone. Of course it was an extremely sloppy game no one enjoyed playing and few enjoyed watching. The game slowed down severely in the third with 6-10 walks per inning, as hitters started taking pitches that they would usually have swung at, knowing that there was a ninety percent chance that it would be called a ball. This increased as the game went along, on instructions from the managers given through the third base coaches. No swings until there are two strikes. Dad thought his team had the advantage,
being the home team and therefore batting last. He figured they always could get one more run than the opponent and end the game victoriously.
He was almost right. Trailing 20-17 going to bat in the seventh and final inning, Dad’s team got the day’s usual plethora of walks. The bases were loaded with two out and the score 20-19. A poor hitter, whose name shall live in infamy, was up. The count went 3 and 0, when the lousy hitter must have decided to be a hero. If he hit a single, two runs would score and the next day’s papers would probably have headlines saying something like “INFAMOUS’ SHOT WINS CHAMPIONSHIP FOR BURRY’S.”
Against orders, he swung and missed at the 3-0 pitch which was over his head. Everyone jumped off the bench, groaned and screamed; “What?” or something not repeated in polite company.
The third base coach called time out and walked toward the hitter, motioning “come here” with his wagging finger and shocked look on his face. They met halfway up the line, had a short conversation only known to them, but with Infamous coming away with the understanding that under no circumstances was he to swing at the coming 3-1 pitch.
It was called a strike and the elated feeling Dad’s team had two pitches ago disappeared. The manager called time out and motioned to the batter and third base coach to meet him halfway up the third base line. His face was already reddened
from another season in the sun, but it seemed to have kicked up a few more notches, from an impending blood vessel burst. The manager first addressed his comments to the third base coach, saying; “Did you take off the take sign on 3-0?”
“No, sir.” The third base coach almost laughingly replied.
The manager said; “So, why the **** did you swing at it, a**h***?” to Infamous.
Infamous said; “I don’t know,” but he knew darn well and was actually getting annoyed.
The manager looked squarely into Infamous’ eyes and said;
“You go back up to the plate and don’t swing at the next pitch.”
When he was answered with staring silence, he added; “Got it?”
Infamous said; “With two strikes the take sign is always off.”
The manager said; “I’ve made my decision. If it is a strike, you won’t hit it any ***k**g where anyway.”
Infamous nodded his head “Yes,” and walked back to the plate insulted and feeling a need to prove himself. He proceeded to swing and miss at another pitch over his head, ending the game.
When he heard the story, Zeke said; “I think I’d of killed him.”
Dad said; “Many wanted to. He won’t be back next year.”
Zeke said; “How come the worst umpire got assigned to home plate for the most important game of the year?”
Dad shook his head side to side and said; “That’s a good question. I don’t know.”
Mom said; “I know why. It gives your father a new long sad story to tell about why he came out second.”
Dad had heard commentary in this general direction more than a few times in the past and responded in a staccato voice;
“Eighteen teams did worse. Second is not terrible. There’s always next year.”
That ended this particular conversation, but Zeke did his own silent assessment. He thought; “It’s probably harder on the ones who come so close. They can see it. They can smell it.
It must be like walking 3,000 miles to the Promised Land and then being stopped at the gate. It seems like it would be easier on the ones who never get near.”
Mom again brought up her perceived incident with Miss Gracing’s weapon, but Dad laughed it off. He remembered having her in kindergarten himself and liked her a lot. If she was Mack the Knife,” he joked, “there would be dead bodies buried all around the school by now.”
Mom deadpanned; “Has anyone done any excavation lately?
And you know damn well it’s not only that. She has the audacity to tell me about the proper parental role, in front of Zeke,
mind you. How does she know so much about children without having any of her own?” The diatribe induced Zeke to take out his baseball game and lose himself in the statistics and standings. Dad nodded a lot of yeses and wished the softball season was year round.
Miss Gracing’s after school activities continued to be customarily non-existent. Simon was a good silly companion who kept her interest. She spent a lot of time looking out of the window above the candy store, where she could see and hear the activities of people busily paying visits underneath, to the barber shop on her side of the street and to the shoe shine shop and bar across it, the latter being particularly amusing at times. She missed having closer contact with people. It’s been a long time and she thought that maybe it would be safe now. On the other hand, she could say something unwise, as the preponderance of her recent conversations had been with five year olds. She sat by the window as much as possible, because it would soon be winter, when the one room she had with a view of the world would be shut off, as the stove could not properly heat it. To make matters worse, the four recurrent dreams reintroduced themselves at a rate she found difficult to handle.
She imagined having a little boy like Zeke to take care of.