There was something else, too: it was private. My thing.
“Charlie? Still there?”
“I’m here. All I can say is I want to do what I can until he’s back on his feet again.”
Dad sighed. “He’s not a kid who fell out of an apple tree and broke his arm. He’s old. He may never get on his feet again. Have you thought about that?”
I hadn’t, and didn’t see any reason to start. “You know what they say in your program—one day at a time.”
He chuckled. “We also say the past is history and the future’s a mystery.”
“Good one, Dad. So are we okay with the baseball thing?”
“Yes, but making the All-State team at the end of the season would have looked good on your college apps. You know that, right?”
“I do.”
“What about football? Are you thinking of dumping that, too?”
“Not right now.” At least when it came to football I wouldn’t have Coach Harkness to deal with. “Mr. Bowditch may be better by the time practice starts in August.”
“Or not.”
“Or not,” I agreed. “The future’s a mystery.”
“Indeed it is. When I think of that night your mother decided to walk down to the Zippy…”
He trailed off. I couldn’t think of anything to say, either.
“Do one thing for me, Charlie. A reporter from The Weekly Sun came by and asked for your contact info. I didn’t give it to him, but I got his. He wants to interview you about saving Bowditch. Human interest kind of deal. I think you should do it.”
“I didn’t really save him, it was Radar—”
“You can tell him that. But if the colleges you apply to have questions about why you quit baseball, an article like that—”
“I got it. Give me his number.”
He did, and I put it in my contacts.
“You’ll be home for dinner?”
“Soon as I give Radar hers.”
“Good. I love you, Charlie.”
I told him I loved him, too. Which was true. Good man, my dad. Had a hard time but got through it. Not everyone does.
8
After I fed Radar and told her I’d be back tomorrow, bright and early, I walked down to the shed. I didn’t really want to, there was something very unpleasant about that windowless little building in the encroaching dark of a chilly April evening, but I made myself do it. I stood in front of the padlocked door, listening. No scratching. No weird chittering sound, like some alien creature in a science fiction movie. I didn’t want to hit the door with my fist, so I made myself do it. Twice. Hard.
Nothing. Which was a relief.
I got on my bike, rode down Sycamore Street Hill, tossed my glove on the top shelf of my closet, then looked at it for awhile before closing the door. It’s a good game, baseball. There’s nothing like coming up in the top of the ninth and socking one right up the gap, and nothing like riding home on the bus from an away game after a big win, everybody laughing and rowdy and grab-assing around. So yeah—some regret, but really not a lot. I thought of that saying of the Buddha’s: it changes. I decided there was a lot of truth in those two little words. A hell of a lot.
I called the reporter guy. The Weekly Sun was a freebie which contained a few local-interest news and sports stories buried in a shitload of ads. There was always a pile of them by the door of the Zippy with a sign saying TAKE ONE, to which some wit had added TAKE THEM ALL. The reporter’s name was Bill Harriman. I answered his questions, once again giving Radar most of the credit. Mr. Harriman asked if he could snap a picture of the two of us.
“Gee, I don’t know. I’d have to have Mr. Bowditch’s permission, and he’s in the hospital.”
“Ask him tomorrow or the next day, would you do that? I’ll have to file the story soon if it’s going to run in next week’s issue.”
“I will if I can, but I think he was scheduled for another operation. They might not let me visit him, and I really can’t do it without his permission.” The last thing I wanted was for Mr. Bowditch to be mad at me, and he was the kind of guy who got mad easily. I looked up the word for people like that later on; it was misanthrope.
“Understood, understood. Let me know one way or the other soon as you can. Hey, aren’t you the kid who scored the winning touchdown against Stanford Prep in the Turkey Bowl last November?”
“That was me, but it wasn’t like a SportsCenter Top Ten play, or anything. We were on their two-yard line and I just punched it in.”