Joey Pigza Loses Control (9 page)

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Authors: Jack Gantos

BOOK: Joey Pigza Loses Control
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My next pitch was a called strike, and the third one was about nose high, but by then the guy was so desperate he would have swung at one ten feet over his head. The next guy popped out. And the next one grounded to first.
I was sitting in the dugout with my hat pulled down over my face when Leezy came over. “Hey, caveman,” she said, lifting my hat. “You look sharp out there tonight.”
“Thanks,” I replied.
Then she leaned over and gave me a hug. “Your dad told me the good news that you want all of us to live together,” she said, looking at me like she was practicing a happy face for clown school.
“What does that mean?” I asked.
“That maybe your dad and me would live together and you would too.”
“That wasn't
my
idea,” I blurted out. “It was
his
.”
And I pointed to Dad, who was pacing a dirt path in the grass down the third-base line.
“Well, no matter who thought of it first, I think it's a fantastic idea.”
“I already have a mom,” I said, and took a deep breath and didn't stop until I was dying to breathe out as if I could blow her away like the wolf did to the pig's straw house.
“I wouldn't replace your mom,” she said. “Nobody could do that. I just mean that I'd love it if you lived with us. And I sure know your dad is excited about it.”
“He's excited about
everything
,” I said.
“That's what I like about him,” she said. “He's a nut.”
“What about Grandma?” I asked, and looked over into the stands where she was sitting with her oxygen tank on one side and Pablo on the other.
“Your dad thinks she needs assisted living,” Leezy said. “You know, a place where she can get constant medical attention.”
I wasn't sure what that meant, but it couldn't be good. “And Pablo?”
“Oh, he can stay,” she said cheerfully. “Everyone loves Pablo.”
That part of what she said was true. But it wasn't true that I already loved the whole idea of living with her and Dad. And I knew Mom wouldn't love it either.
“Do you want a pizza?” she asked, and held up the phone. “Would that make you feel a little better?”
Everything that would make me feel better would make everyone else feel worse. Ever since I had lied to Mom, I hadn't felt good about myself. “Can I use your phone?” I asked her. “I want to call home.”
“Sure,” she said, and handed it to me.
I pressed the little numbers and held it to my ear. Mom answered.
“Hi,” I said. “I'm pitching.”
“Where are you?” she asked.
“In the dugout.”
“Honey, that's wonderful,” she said, and began to laugh.
“Why are you laughing?” I asked.
“Because I think it is great that you and your dad are getting along and that you are on a team and doing so well. I'm just so proud of you.”
“Thanks,” I said.
“I'm glad you called but you better keep your mind on the game.”
“I have something to tell you,” I said.
“What?”
I wanted to tell her my secret, and I wanted to tell her that Dad was drinking beer for breakfast and planning for me to live with him and Leezy, but I didn't want to ruin her mood. So I said, “I love you.”
“I love you too,” she said.
Just then Leezy waved her hand in my face. “Time to pitch,” she whispered.
I hopped up. “Gotta pitch,” I said. “Bye.” I pushed past Leezy and ran toward the mound.
It didn't take me long to get the first guy out. But after two strikes to the second batter I lowered my hands. “Can I call a time-out?” I asked the ump.
“Time-out!” he hollered.
Dad looked horrified, like I had just fallen in front of a moving truck. He ran out to the mound. “Are you hurt?” he asked.
“Why did you tell Leezy that all of us living together was
my
idea?”
“I was just trying to soften her up,” he said. “You know, make her feel like you wanted her to live with us too.”
“Well, I didn't say it, you did. So you should tell her she's wrong.”
“I will,” he said. “Right after the game. I promise. Now, no more time-outs,” he said.
“And no more saying I said things I didn't,” I said.
“Okay. Chill out. Now just pitch. We'll talk about it later.”
“We never talk,” I said. “I only listen.”
“Well, you're talking plenty now,” he said.
“You're on my mound,” I said. “I'm the boss here.”
“Okay, boss. Pitch,” he replied, then walked off talking to himself.
“And one more thing,” I said.
“What?” he hollered, spinning around.
“No more beer for breakfast or I'll tell Mom.”
“Hey, it doesn't hurt me, and what she doesn't know won't hurt her,” he said harshly. “Now don't ruin the game for me. Just pitch.” Then he walked back to the third-base coach's box.
When I turned around, the rest of the team was staring at me like I was the weird one. I didn't want to ruin things for them either. So I just pitched. I got that batter out. And the rest of them too. And even though we won the game I didn't feel like a winner for some reason.
JELLY LEGS
“You need to get some fresh air,” Grandma said, exhaling a cloud of smoke. “You've been moping around and fidgeting and driving me and Pablo nuts. Why don't you go outside and wind your spring down.”
“Do you want to play golf?” I asked her.
“No. Last time I almost yanked my nose off. Since then I've decided I'm of the age where I just smoke cigarettes and watch TV.”
“Can I push you around in your buggy?”
“Why don't you go pester Carter?” she said. “Maybe you two can go to town again.”
“Forget town,” Carter called out from the hallway. “I been thinking about something better—a place I been wanting to go.”
“What about work?” I asked.
“To heck with work,” he said as he entered the living
room. “How long can you change lightbulbs and mop floors before you go bonkers? That job would drive a normal man insane.”
“Then you must be
abnormal,
” Grandma cracked. “It only drives you to drink.”
Dad flashed her an angry look. “How about we all go bungee jumping?”
“If I dove off a bridge it'd take the last of my breath away,” Grandma said, sucking on her mouthpiece.
“Just what I had in mind,” Dad mumbled with his voice trailing off toward the door.
I hopped up onto the couch, and kept hopping until I hopped on the cushion where Pablo had burrowed and he growled. “I've always wanted to go bungee jumping,” I said.
“Come on,” Dad said. “Let's crank it up.”
On the way over in the car he said, “Now don't tell your mom we did this. Bungee jumping is one of those guy things she might not understand.”
“Okay,” I replied, and thought, I won't be able to tell Mom anything that I did with Dad. She'll pick me up and ask, “How'd it go?” and I'll say, “Fine,” and she'll say, “What all'd you do?” and I'll say, “Stuff,” and she'll ask, “Did you do anything special?” and I'll say, “No,” and she'll keep asking until finally she'll give up talking to a wall.
We drove outside the city and passed through farm country. I had my face pressed to the glass so I could
see everything. There were cows and tractors and barns and people working. Rows of corn and beans and fields of melons were planted. Dad pointed out everything. He knew it all because his dad had been a farmer. “I should have been a farmer too,” he said. “But plants just grew too slow for me and when I was old enough I went into the city to chase after the fast life.”
I had a hard time imagining Dad, or Grandma, living on a farm. “What happened then?” I asked.
“I burned out,” he said. “All my energy went into bad habits and drinking and running around and it seems I was always on the go, but I didn't get anything done but mess up my life.”
“Where did you meet Mom?” I asked.
“In a restaurant,” he replied. “I was learning how to be a bartender and she was a waitress and it just went from there.”
Finally we pulled up to an old railroad bridge that spanned a wide gorge. Dad parked and we got out. In the middle of the bridge was a tall crane and a group of people all leaning over the rail. As Dad and I walked toward them I looked over the edge of the bridge. Down below was a creek filled with round, dark boulders. One of them had a skull and crossbones painted on the top. The crane operator lowered a kid whose jump was over and as he reached the ground a man in an orange vest and hard hat grabbed
him and began to unstrap him from the harness. Then the crane brought the harness back up.
“See the skull?” Dad said, pointing. “Do you suppose that's where some loser flattened his head?”
“Are you trying to scare me?” I asked.
“Yes,” he said, and smiled. “I'm trying to pull you out from thinking that you need your medicine again. You got to let that idea go. You are fine. Sometimes, when you stop taking medicine, it just takes a while to adjust and you get worse before you get better.”
“Is that why you're smoking more now?” I asked.
He peered down at me. “Yeah,” he said. “Any day I expect I'll wake up and kick the habit.”
“Is that true?” I asked.
“Sure it is,” he said. “If I didn't think so I'd jump off this bridge without the cord.”
There were a few people in line and we joined them and watched. Everyone was a little nervous, which helped me feel more comfortable. A teenager was being placed in the harness and then the bungee cord was snapped to a metal ring on his back. He climbed a set of wooden steps and stood on the railing of the bridge.
“Count to three and dive for the skull,” the instructor said.
The kid counted and screamed from the moment he dove until he stopped bouncing.
“I don't think they have this ride at Disney World,”
Dad said, grinning, and his usual little smile was wide open.
Each time someone jumped I felt the bottom drop out of my belly like a trapdoor. I watched them all bounce up and down with their arms and legs in a panic, and when they stopped and were unhooked they fell over to the side and only after a few minutes did they manage to stand like newborn horses and stagger up the hill.
“Jelly legs,” Dad said. “You get it from being scared. Once, I joined the army to get away from the booze and in basic training they used to fire live rounds over our heads, and that spooked me so bad I couldn't even use my legs to crawl. This should be good.”
I thought so too. My legs were already shaking and I hadn't done anything but watch.
“How long were you in the army?” I asked.
“About eight weeks,” he said, and shrugged. “That too was not a marriage made in heaven.”
Someone let out an awful scream and we all lunged for the rail and looked over the side expecting the worst. But it was nothing unusual. Just another bouncing person begging to get down. When we looked back it was our turn.
“You go first,” I said to Dad.
“Monkey see, monkey do,” he replied, and stepped forward. He bought two tickets and we both had to
sign a piece of paper that said it wasn't their fault if we died. They fitted Dad with the harness and snapped the hook onto the ring. He climbed up the steps and stood on the rail. “Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall,” he recited. “Humpty Dumpty had a great fall. All the king's horses and all the king's men couldn't put that ol' egg back together again.” When he finished he reached into his back pocket and slipped out a small brown bottle. He unscrewed the cap and drank it all down. Then he tossed the bottle to the man. “Can you put this in the trash?”
“You need a bigger bottle,” the man said, and tossed it into a bucket. “Especially if you're trying to work up some courage.”
“Just a little medicine,” Dad replied, and winked at me as he wiped his lips with the back of his hand. Then he dove backward. I looked over the edge and watched him plunge to the bottom with his arms crossed over his chest like he was already dead, but when he bounced up he wiggled his arms and legs and began to sing, “The itsy-bitsy spider went up the waterspout, down came the rain and washed the spider out.” And that's what he sang, bouncing up and down, until finally he came to a stop. The crane lowered him toward the ground and the man below hauled him in and unhooked him.
Dad took one step, then plopped down on his rear
end. He cupped his hands around his mouth. “Jelly legs!” he yelled.
By then I was strapped into the harness and the long bungee cord was hauled up by the crane and snapped onto my ring. “What happens if this breaks?” I asked.
“We all run for the hills,” the man said with a straight face. Then he laughed. “I don't know. It's never happened before.”
“There's always a first time,” I said right back.
“That can be arranged,” he replied, “but it will cost you extra.”
I climbed up the steps and stood on the rail. I looked straight out at the curved horizon and felt like a pirate walking the plank. I wished Pablo was with me.
“Dive forward on the count of three,” he ordered. “One, two—”
“Two and a half,” I cut in. I was totally hyper and I couldn't tell if I needed a patch or if I needed to come to my senses. You didn't need to be wired to feel hyper.
“Three,” the man said, and clapped his hands. “Jump!”
I closed my eyes and because my legs had already turned to jelly I couldn't spring forward, so I just stepped off. I screamed all the way down and I screamed with each bounce. And I was still a nervous
wreck when the man below unclipped me and handed me to Dad.
“You okay, buddy?” he asked. “You look like Casper the Ghost.” He had to hold me upright by the back of my shirt because my legs were liquid.
“Let's do it again,” I said, panting. “This is just what I need.”
“You sure?” Dad asked.
“Totally,” I said, with my voice quivering. “This is the best I've felt all day.”
“Okay, but don't mess up your arm for tonight,” he warned me. “Or I'll throw you off without the cord. And then Leezy will throw me off.”
So we each jumped five more times and all the fear and falling and screaming wiped out every hyper feeling I had and when we got home I was exhausted and went directly to my room and threw myself onto my bed and it was as if I had fallen one more time, only straight down an endless black hole.
 
The next thing I knew Dad was waking me. “Jump up,” he said, and tugged on my ear. “Time to get ready for the game. The
big
game.” He whistled. “The semifinals. How's your arm?”
“Fine,” I said, rubbing the sleep from my eyes.
“Legs?”
I stood up and squatted down then sprang forward like a frog. “Good,” I said. “The jelly's all gone.”
“Great,” he said, rubbing his hands together. “Well, get dressed and let's go kick some butt.”
“Yeah,” I said, and felt all foggy inside. “Yeah. Who are we playing?”
“This is the semifinals, bud,” he said. “Snap to it. We're playing a team that kicked us around before you got here. And now we're going to return the favor. Now let's get a move on.”
He left and I opened my closet and pulled my uniform off the hanger. I hadn't let Grandma wash it yet, but it didn't smell too bad. I unballed the dirty white sweat socks out of my high-top baseball cleats and put them on. I double knotted the laces, then stood up.
I looked into the mirror and flicked my hair over my little bald spot. But it wouldn't cover it right. So I flicked it over again, then again and again. And before long that pink spot started to itch so I began to scratch it until I could begin to feel the skin heat up and get shiny like something being polished. And it kept itching even more, so I turned my finger just a bit and caught the edge of my nail on the skin and that felt good until I couldn't stop and finally the skin split open but it wasn't so much blood that leaked out as it was fluid like what comes out of a blister. Even then I couldn't stop and I rubbed it a little more until the spot burned like when you put a match out with your fingertips and I stood up on my tiptoes and rubbed harder until the itch was on fire and I could think of
nothing else, and feel nothing else and imagine nothing else but that burning spot which was just getting hotter and hotter until I finally yanked my hand away and jammed it into my pocket and stood there twisting my hips around like pipe cleaners and hating myself just like old times and suddenly I knew for certain the other Joey had started to catch up to me and I wondered what to do about it. I spun around as if my old self was walking through the door. But he wasn't. He was already inside me. I reached for my book and took the used patch I had saved and rubbed it up and down on the inside of my arm. I kept rubbing until the skin underneath hurt, and I kept hoping that there was a little medicine left in it. But it didn't feel that way and suddenly Dad yelled out, “Hey, bud, you ready or what?”
“One sec,” I yelled back. I opened my dresser drawer and pulled a couple Band-Aids out of my bag of bathroom supplies. I unbuttoned my shirt and taped the patch to my belly. Here we go again, I said to myself. I knew it was going to be bad. How bad, I didn't know just yet. But I never forgot how I had been, so I didn't have to guess too much at what I'd become. My only hope was that Dad was right and I was just getting a little worse before I turned the corner and got better.
“What are you doing in there?” Dad asked. “Come on, we got a date with destiny.”
My hands were shaking as I buttoned my shirt. I screwed my baseball cap on and opened the door. “I'm ready,” I announced, and smiled my big smile, the one that always makes people think I'm okay when inside I'm ready to pop.

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