Carbon and
Ash
By Chris Owen
The evening
sun is warm on his back as Myles sends his team onto the field
for the final inning. He watches them go, little legs full of
far less energy after almost an hour of playing, but he can
see their eyes still bright with interest and enthusiasm; it's
just the limits of being six and seven years old that makes
them slower. He knows how they feel -- the pull of the game
warring with the limits of the body, the need to cram as much
fun into a day as they can.
Myles makes
sure that Joey stays to the right of the outfield instead of
drifting off to the left where Matty Jones is. If those two
get too close together they won't pay close attention to the
game and will start looking for bugs again between batters.
It's usually not a problem, but with exhaustion and the fleeting
attention span of seven year olds, it would be far too easy
for them to miss a play and descend into emotional meltdown.
He knows about that, too, frustration and disappointment taking
the joy out of baseball.
One of his
charges, Sherry, is going even slower than the rest and Myles
can see her feet kicking up little storms of dust as she crosses
the diamond to second base, so he goes out after her. "Almost
done, kiddo," he says, crouching down to meet her eyes.
"Think you can catch that ball for me?"
She nods
firmly, squinting a little as the sun shines on her upturned
face. "Yes, Coach," she promises. "But I'm hungry."
"I'm sure you are," he says sympathetically. "More
than an hour since supper, right? There's apples and oranges
for you guys after the game."
She smiles
and nods again. "Yum."
"You
betcha." Myles stands up and pats her shoulder, being careful
to keep the touch light and clearly a Good Touch. "You
can do it," he tells her.
She looks
up at him with six year old wisdom, her eyes clearly saying
he's crazy. "Of course I can."
He grins
and nods at her, then goes back to the line of coats and bags
that serve as his bench to watch the other team line up for
bat. It's two weeks into Kiddy League and he's pretty sure he's
got a damn fine group of kids. He's having the time of his life,
really. Baseball in all its forms is the stuff of summer, and
sharing it with his son and more than a dozen other kids is
something he's longed for since the night he found out Ian's
mother was pregnant.
They aren't
keeping track of the score officially; they never do. The whole
point of the league, modeled on the official Little League in
the States, is to teach how baseball is played and to make sure
everyone has a turn at bat and at every position on the field.
Of course, the only ones not keeping score in their heads are
the kids, and part of that is because most of them can't count
that high yet. By Myles' count the score is 19-14, which is
about right for less than an hour's play.
For another
ten minutes the two teams battle it out, struggling to hit and
catch and chase after balls that dribble across the grass like
feral chipmunks. There's laughing and cheering, and a few shouts
of angry excitement as tension and exhaustion work through the
little bodies, but the highlight of the game is one spectacular
bunt that sends the ball a mere seven feet.
The little
girl who hit the ball stares at it in surprise before dropping
the bat and running like mad to first base. The coach for the
other team is cheering her on, yelling, "Run, Sophie! That's
it, run!"
Myles' player
on first base is having a fit, jumping up and down and screaming
at the top of his lungs, and Myles can feel himself catching
the excitement. "Sophie, run! Come on, Sophie!"
"She's
on the other side, Derek!" Myles' son, Ian, yells from
third base. "Shut up!"
Derek shoots
a dark look across the field and doubles his efforts. "Run!"
he screams, and then to Ian he yells, "She's my sister!
It's the first time she hit the ball! Run!"
Myles cheers
too as Sophie launches herself into Derek's arms. The pitcher
finally picks up the ball, and everyone on the field joins in,
chaos taking over as excitement gets a little out of control.
Derek lets go of his ecstatic sister long enough to look for
their parents. "Did you see?" he yells to them, pointing
at Sophie.
Myles shakes
his head and laughs as the proud mom and dad make an attempt
to praise both kids and get the game back on track at the same
time. It's pretty much over, though, as far as Myles can tell.
"I
think we're done," Peter calls, obviously agreeing as his
team mingles and meanders around with Myles'.
Out on the field, Matty and Joey are chasing a grasshopper.
"Oh
yeah," Myles says with a grin. When the coaches give up,
it's all done. "That's it, kids! Come line up to shake
hands."
It takes
him only a few minutes to get his team in order, talking louder
over the chatter and squeals, and then he and Peter supervise
the handshakes, which always seem to have the potential for
mayhem. He's not quite sure what it is about little boys that
makes them want to turn almost any form of contact into a wrestling
match, but the potential is always there, ripe for disaster.
The energy
of the children picks up again, perversely, and he corrals them
with the promise of a snack. One by one, and occasionally in
twos or threes, they yell farewells to him and each other, running
to their parents. Myles' attention is divided, fractured between
handing out oranges, peeling some as he goes, and the multitude
of conversations he's suddenly supposed to be participating
in. He talks with three children at once, somehow filtering
them all so he can follow along, and then there are parents
there, asking questions or offering things to him. He can't
quite keep track of it all in the end, and forgets who it was
that promised to bring the fruit for the next game.
He peels
another orange, waves goodbye to Sherry, and starts scanning
the diamond for any stray balls or equipment. He grins when
he sees a lone figure near second base, bending to pick up a
glove. He doesn't have an assistant coach but if there was anyone
who'd qualify it was Todd, if only because he was always willing
to help out without being asked. He watches as Joey runs out
to Todd, yelling, "Daddy! Did you see the whole game?"
Todd's reply
is lost, but he scoops up his son and Myles' attention is drawn
to Derek and Sophie, who've passed the happy stage and launched
themselves into a sibling spat. He ends up just nodding and
waving as their parents urge them toward the car, and then a
small hand grabs at his wrist.
"Mom's
here," Ian tells him, wiggling in place. "Can I get
my stuff from the truck yet?"
Myles looks
up, then around the park. "Where is she?" he asks,
swallowing his disappointment. He's had a few years to learn
how, the taste of it differing only slightly from annoyance.
It's his usual weekend with Ian, but Susan's parents are in
town. He's okay with that, really, but Ian's eagerness to leave
him stings a little. The older Ian gets, the more reluctant
Myles is to let him go.
"Talking
to Todd," Ian says, pointing. "I think he's asking
about her ring."
Myles rolls
his eyes at the same time Ian does, and then things are right
again. They laugh, sharing amusement and affection, and Myles
lets Ian go with the car keys. "Careful with the lock,"
he calls. He can count every time Ian's opened the car by the
number of scratches on the paint.
He gathers
the last of his things and watches Todd and Susan chat as they
walk toward him, Joey running to play with Ian in the cab of
the truck. Susan looks like she always does, a little windswept
but somehow still neat and pretty in her understated way. Todd
has his head tilted to the side as he listens to her and watches
the boys at the same time.
"Hey,"
Myles says as they get near. "Tell him your good news?"
He has no regrets, no need for anger or jealousy. In the very
heart of him the only thing that bothers him about the diamond
ring she wears is that it's larger than the one he bought for
her, years ago.
Susan smiles
and waves her hand in what is probably an unconscious gesture,
the novelty of her engagement ring still fresh for her. For
everyone. "It's hardly a secret," she says lightly,
without any sharpness.
He can't
help but smile back, and then Todd is picking up one of his
bags, helping out again.
"She
won't tell me when the wedding is, though," Todd says with
a lopsided grin. "I have to budget for these things, you
know."
Susan waves
again, the ring sparkling. "We don't know," she insists,
the three of them walking to the truck. "Stephen's family…"
There's
small talk as they load the truck, the boys running and screaming
again, playing some enthusiastically energetic game until Susan
calls for Ian to take his bag to her car.
Myles is
looking at Todd and he sees disappointment color his friend's
face, Todd's eyes losing a little light for a moment. "Thought
it was your weekend," Todd says in a low voice as Susan
urges Ian to go a little faster. "I was going to invite
you guys for a barbeque tomorrow."
Myles shrugs
one shoulder and tells him about Susan's parents, but he's got
a warm, pleased feeling that Todd wanted to get together. "Maybe
next weekend?" he offers.
Todd nods
and calls for Joey. "Got plans tonight?" he asks,
fishing his keys out of his jeans pocket. "Come over later,
when the kid's in bed. We can watch a movie or something."
Myles nods,
the warm feeling growing. "Yeah, okay," he agrees,
then goes to kiss his son goodbye.
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