Rounding Third (7 page)

Meg hollered from the back porch, “Bobby!
Phone!”

    
“For me?” he asked, jogging towards the house.

She handed him the phone with her hand still
cupped over the mouthpiece. “It’s Josh. I’d recognize that sexy voice anywhere.
He said, ‘Hi, Meg.’”

    
“Josh?” Rob asked her.
     “Schlagel. The god who played basketball here
yesterday. Remember?”

    
Rob took the cordless from her and spoke into it. “Hey.”

    
“Hey, how’s it going?”

    
“Good, and you?”

    
“Okay. I realized I stole your shirt yesterday. I didn’t mean to, I just forgot
I was wearing it until I went to take it off last night.”

    
“And I still have yours. You left it in my bedroom.” Rob had picked up the
sweaty wad from the floor, looked at it and hung it over his chair back where
he noticed it again this morning, still smelling like Josh. “You can keep that
one. It’s never going to fit me anyway. And it’s about time you wore something
that said Cleveland on it.”

    
“Thanks. Even without the shirt swap, I don’t know what you’re up to, but
thought maybe we could study together this afternoon. That is, if you want to.”

    
“Sure.”

    
“I know your parents said they’d be gone all day so I figured it would be quiet
over there.” As though on cue, one of the younger Schlagels screamed in the
background.

    
“It is. Just me and Meg. And I know she’ll hate to see you.” Josh laughed. “In
fact, I have a favor to ask for Meg.”

    
Rob still had his shirt off and was stacking the tools in the garage when the
light coming in the backdoor of the garage was cut off. He looked to see Josh
standing in the doorway blocking the sun. “You got here quick,” Rob said.

    
“Yeah. Couldn’t wait to escape.” Josh looked around the room. “Big garage.”

    
“It used to be a barn or something. Holds both cars, all the bikes, farm
stuff…”

    
“And a gym,” Josh said pointing at the weights in one section. “You must use it
often to be as ripped as you are.”

    
“I’m not ripped, just skinny.”

    
“You’re cut. What’s your body fat, do you know? Like two percent, I bet.”

    
Josh looked at the weights on the bar. “One-thirty-five. Can you do this much?”

    
“I don’t work out in here much. Just mainly running and push-ups and sit-ups.
That’s from my Dad, I guess.”

    
Josh slid under the bar. “Will you spot me?” Rob stood over Josh as he did ten
reps. When Josh finished he stood up. “Now I want to see you do it.” Rob
hesitated. “That is, if you want to,” Josh added.

    
Rob shrugged, grabbed a ten-pound plate, handed it to Josh and slipped another
one on his own end of the bar. Rob did ten quick reps.

    
“That was amazing,” Josh said. Rob shrugged. Josh looked down at the outline of
Rob’s sweaty back on the black plastic of the bench. “No offense, but...” Josh
stripped off his shirt and put it down to cover the wet spot. “If you can do
this, I better be able to.”

    
Rob again watched Josh’s chest rise and fall this time without his shirt. Josh
did his ten. “Another dime,” Rob said, handing Josh another plate.

    
“Is this a contest?”

    
“If you want it to be.”

    
“I think I’d lose.” Josh smiled. “How much can you bench?”

    
“My highest I think was one-eighty,” Rob said.

    
“For real?” Rob handed Josh a five-pound plate and added one to his own side.
“That will make one-eighty-five,” Josh said.

    
“You’ll get to witness a new record.” Rob lay down on the bench and did three
sloppy reps before Josh had to help him put the bar back on the posts.

    
“Wow, that was impressive,” Josh said, slapping Rob’s pecs.

    
After they were done working out, talking and goofing off there wasn’t time to
study before Josh had to leave for family dinner and church.

    
Rob walked into the sewing room. The computer was on, but Meg was on the phone.
“Josh is here,” he said. “We were working out in the garage.”

    
“Ash, gotta go!” She spun her feet off the computer desk and clicked off the
phone without waiting for a response.

    
Rob came back down the steps with his digital camera.

“What’s with the flags?” Josh asked, pointing
to the three glass and wood triangular boxes sitting on the mantel, each of
which contained a folded U.S. flag.

    
“They’re my grandfathers’. Well, and my great-grandfather.”

    
“You mean like their ashes are in here?”

    
Rob laughed. “No, those are the flags that were on their coffins. My
grandfathers were both in World War II and my great-grandfather was in World
War I. My Dad says he’s saving a spot for his flag. He was in Vietnam.”

    
“This house is so cool. Like a museum. How long have you lived here?”

    
“Since I was born.”

    
“I mean your family.”

    
“I dunno. You’d have to ask my Dad. 1880 or ’70 or something.”

    
Pointing at the brass nameplates on the flag case, Josh asked, “So your
grandfathers were Robert F. Wardells, too?”

    
“Yeah, I’m the fourth.”

    
“What’s the F for?”

    
“It’s embarrassing.”

    
“It can’t be worse than my middle name,” Josh said.

    
“Worse than Francis?” Rob asked.

    
Josh laughed. “You’re right, it’s not. Lawrence.”

    
The noise of Meg bounding down the stairs caused them both to turn around. She
had changed shirts, put on make-up, and fixed her hair. “Oh, hi, Josh,” she
said sounding way too casual to be casual. “Oh, I see Bobby has his camera.”

    
Rob shook his head. “Give it up, Meg. I told him you wanted your picture taken
with him. Unfortunately, he already put his shirt on.”

    
Josh laughed and blushed. “You asked for one of me shirtless?”

    
Meg blushed so deeply she could have camouflaged herself against a fire engine.
She gave her brother a look that said he might be in need of paramedics soon.
“We should go outside, the light is better,” Rob suggested. Meg followed
sheepishly.

    
Once they were outside, Rob posed them against the backdrop of the pink
blossoms of the flowering crabapple tree. Josh put his arm around Meg’s
shoulder and she re-blushed.

“This is really nice of you,” she said,
looking at him as Rob snapped another shot. “A couple of my friends sort of
have crushes on you.”

    
“Your
friends
do?” he asked. She blushed again. “So would this make them
more jealous?” Josh stripped off his shirt in one smooth motion then hugged her
close. Rob snapped a few more photos. He got Meg to move and snapped a few more
photos of Josh. 

“Okay, enough!” Josh said putting his shirt
on. “You’re the one with the ripped body, not me.”

    
“I’ll email them to you,” Rob said.

    
“We don’t have email. My parents say the Internet is nothing but pornography,
so we have this antique computer that is just for doing school work, but no
Internet.”

    
“That sucks. I thought we were like the last people on earth to stop using a
phone modem,” Meg said.

    
“I hate to run, but it’s almost five. We never got to study,” Josh said.

    
“There’s always tomorrow,” Rob answered.

           
*                     
*                     
*                     
*                     
*
        

Cuyahoga Valley’s starting pitcher only
lasted two innings, but their team bounced back and the H-burg Hawks were down
by one run going into the bottom of the fifth. Buff’s single put him on first
and advanced Danny Taylor to second. Josh was up next.

Coach Hudson called time then yelled,
“Wardell!” Rob ran to meet him behind home plate. “We need these runs. If
Schlagel hits it, I need someone faster than Beechler on base.” Hudson twanged,
“Beechler!” and motioned Buff off first base.

As Bobby headed towards first, he passed Josh
in the on-deck circle. Josh called in a half-whisper. “Rob, you need a helmet.”
Little sniggers sounded on the bench as Bobby ran back to grab one. The first
helmet he selected was way too large, the second a little big. Josh handed him
one. “Try this one.”

It fit and Bobby trotted to first. 

“Just like Goldilocks,” Brickman said from the bench.

Josh, getting his fourth hit of the day,
pounded one deep. Rob was sure there was no way the right fielder could catch
up with it and he started streaking for second knowing that as deep as it was
even if it was caught, he’d still have time to get back and tag up. He was
almost at second when he heard both coaches yelling, “Go! Go!” He looked at
third where Hudson was whirling his arm like a full-bodied propeller. The ball
had cleared the right fielder and was going to hit the fence.

Danny Taylor had hesitated between second and
third and now at the urging of Hudson was breaking into a run. Rob kicked in
his afterburners knowing he had to score, too; Taylor would only tie the game.
Rob crossed the third base bag only a few steps behind Taylor. Danny still
wasn’t in full stride and slowed again to watch the right fielder pick up the
ball and fire it to the cut-off man.

“Go! Go!” Rob yelled as he closed on Taylor.
He was right behind him and was afraid he was going to run into him. As much as
he didn’t want to break stride, he did and let Taylor score one step ahead of
him. Their feet hit the rubber plate: Whap! Whap! A third Whap! was the ball
landing in the catcher’s mitt just behind Rob. Taylor abruptly stopped to
accept the congratulations of his teammates and Rob ran into him. Taylor turned
and shoved Rob in the chest. “What the fuck are you doing?”

Rob stepped around the mob, one or two of
whom slapped his hand or back or gave him a fist bump in congratulations.

An infield fly-out stranded Josh at third.
Farino replaced Buff in left for the remainder of the game and the Hawks clung to
their one-run lead to win.

 “That hit wouldn’t have scored me,”
Buff said behind Rob as they walked out to the line to say
nice game
to
kids who were a little too angry at having their lead snatched away to act
gracious about it. “Way to hustle!”

Hudson slapped Rob on the back. “Good job,
Wardell! That’s the speed I wanted to see!”

Much to Rob’s amazement, two members of the
opposing team and one of the coaches complimented him on his hustle in scoring
what turned out to be the winning run.

After the handshake ceremony ended, Hudson
yelled. “Huddle up in the outfield,” then turned to their shortstop and barked,
“Taylor!” The two of them went off towards the dugout. Rob could feel Taylor’s
eyes on him, not the coach, as he took his scolding.

As they walked toward the outfield, Rob
walked up next to Josh and said, “Nice hit. Thanks for bringing me in.”

“Uh, I can’t give you a ride home tonight. I
have church stuff with my family.” Josh hurried ahead and sat next to Corey
Brickman on the grass. Rob assumed his usual spot on the fringe of the group.

All during the post-game talk, Rob didn’t
need to look to know that Danny Taylor was still glaring at him.

Once in the locker room, Rob had barely
stripped down for his shower when he saw a form standing over him. He looked up
to see Danny Taylor’s ripped chest blocking his vision. Each one of his chest
hairs that looked as though they had been airbrushed on by an artist for
Playgirl
magazine for maximum effect stood out against his tanned pecs.

“I warned you not
to embarrass me like that, you little piss-ant.” Taylor shoved Rob hard in the
chest and he staggered back into the lockers. Taylor closed on him and there
was no retreat room left. Behind Taylor stood Corey Brickman, Shane Poulan and
a couple of others. Taylor slapped Rob’s face so hard Rob had to blink twice to
restore his vision. His eyes cleared just in time to see a backhand about to
connect with his cheek.

    
Buff shoved his way past Josh and a few others. Rob closed his eyes and braced
himself to have his nose broken by Buff’s giant fist. He waited, but when no
punch came, he opened his eyes and saw Buff had Taylor by the neck. “Do you
have a problem, Danny?” Buff gave a look to the rest of the crowd that had the
same effect as turning on a light in a basement full of cockroaches.

    
Rob looked at Buff who shook his head and walked away leaving Josh standing
alone behind him. As soon as Rob’s eyes met those of his friend, Josh put his
head down and walked away.

    
Rob dressed. The hell with the shower at the gym rule. He ran out the door. As
he ran along Garfield Street, Corey Brickman’s suped-up Camaro roared by. Josh
Schlagel sat in the back next to Danny Taylor.

             
    
8
 

As Rob ran, the sweat stung the cuts on his face. The pain was fine
with him. He deserved to hurt for being so stupid. How could he have been dumb
enough to think it would take very long for Josh to go back to his own kind?

    
The pain in his face was nothing compared to the pain of having his hopes so
crushed. He almost wished Taylor and Brickman had beat him so bad he’d be able
to think of nothing but the pain in his body. He had taken much worse beatings
over the years, so as torments went today’s physical pain was nothing. Buff’s
stepping in was a surprise. So was Josh’s not saying anything. Or maybe it
wasn’t. Maybe Josh was just waiting his turn.

    
But it was a good lesson for Rob. Time he realized that he should keep his
mouth shut, stay hidden and forget trying to make friends. He should just quit
the damn team. All it meant was two or three more hours a day in a hell he
could do without. He thought this year might be different, that he might help
the team and help Josh. Well, fuck baseball and Josh Schlagel.

    
By the time he got home, the blood had dried with his sweat in streaks down his
cheek. His mother flinched when she looked up from the sink, but she stayed
where she was, tightening her grip on the apple she was slicing. “What
happened?” she asked.

    
“Ran into another guy trying to catch a ball in practice,” Rob answered as he
ran past her and up the stairs.

    
He cranked the shower full blast--hot. He didn’t care how bad it would scald
him. Only his father banging on the door telling him again that dinner was
ready made him dry his eyes and then his body.

    
When Rob got to the table, his father winced. “What happened?” he asked.

    
“I already told mom. Do we have to talk about this all evening, or can we just
eat?” He wasn’t sure if his parents believed his stories of all of his mishaps
at school, but he also wasn’t sure he cared.

    
That night’s pain was worse than usual and all of the sit-ups he could do never
put him back to sleep.

In class the next day, he was grateful for
Mr. Welke’s self-absorbed history so he at least got some sleep. After class he
wandered bleary-eyed through the hall to third period and felt a hand on his
shoulder.

    
“Hey.” The voice was Josh’s; Rob didn’t need to look to know that. He kept
walking. “Are you all right?”

    
Rob turned to him. His swollen and bruised face was all the answer anyone would
need. Josh grimaced. Rob saw Josh’s own face was bruised. He had a cut lip and
an eye just short of black. “What happened to you?” Rob asked.

    
“I was wrestling with my brother. We get a little carried away sometimes.” Rob
recognized a bad lie when he heard one. Rob was still walking; Josh was
hurrying to keep up. “Look,” Josh said, grabbing his arm. “I’m sorry about
yesterday.”

    
“Why?”

    
Josh looked at him and Rob could see tears in Josh’s eyes. “I just am, okay?”

    
“Whatever.” Rob could feel his own tears starting and pulled his arm away.

    
“I’ll give you a ride home after practice, and we can talk, okay?”

    
“Don’t bother.” Rob turned and went out the back exit of the school. Then he
was on the road and running home.

    
After dinner Rob was staring at a web site about Vietnam that he had no
intention of reading when the phone rang. He didn’t react. It was for Meg. Ash
or Jess or Stacey calling. None of the family ever bothered answering the phone
except Meg anymore. It was always for her. Meg shouted from downstairs. “Rob!
Phone! It’s Josh!”

    
“I’m not here.”

    
“I already told him you were. If you don’t want to talk to him, I do.”

    
Rob grabbed the offending instrument off its cradle. “What?”

    
“How are you?”

    
“Fine.” A silence until Rob added, “Now that we’ve established that, I have
homework to do.”

    
“I’d like to talk to you.”

    
“Why?”

    
“I’m not supposed to go out on school nights. My parents would hear my car if I
start it, but I can sneak out on foot. How about I meet you in the
cemetery--that’d be halfway. Please.”

    
Rob looked around the room as though something in his surroundings would tell
him why, although he didn’t want to see Josh and didn’t want to talk to him, he
said, “Okay.” He grabbed all of the paper from the printer tray, took it to his
room and stashed it in a drawer.

    
He put on shoes and darted down the stairs. His parents sat at the dining room
table, drowning in a sea of tax forms. “I need the car,” he said. “We’re out of
paper and I need to print a draft of my term paper.”

“Okay,” his father said, barely looking up.

    
Rob grabbed the keys off the peg by the door. “Wait,” his mother said.

    
He turned and exhaled. “What?”

    
“Mine’s almost out of gas. Take your dad’s.”

    
He hung her keys up and grabbed his father’s and opened the door again. “Wait,”
his father said.

Rob turned and exhaled. “What?”

“Come here a second.” Rob went to the table.
His father looked as his son’s face. “You ought to put something on that.”

“I will.” He turned to leave again.

“Here,” his father said, holding out money.
“Why don’t you take your mom’s car and put some gas in it, and then the rest is
for paper.”

“Okay,” Rob said, finally escaping. Since he
had no intention of buying paper and there was plenty upstairs, he’d just have
to pocket whatever he didn’t spend on gas.

He pulled into the cemetery. The sign said
the gates locked at sundown, but the gates had been rusted open for many a
sundown
. 
He’d never been
in the cemetery at night and the car lights hitting the marble angels turned
each one into a ghost. He started to drive around the loop when his lights hit
a figure seated on a bench behind of the Fyfe Mausoleum, hidden from the road.
The Fyfes had owned Harrisonburg a hundred years ago and now Fyfe Park, Fyfe
Street and this garish tomb were all that remained of their presence.

Rob stopped the car and got out. He could
smell the sweet odor of upturned earth of a fresh grave nearby.

Josh stood up and said, “Thanks for coming.”

Josh motioned to a seat on the Fyfe bench and
sat himself down. Rob stood.

“You’re mad at me,” Josh said.

“Not really.”

“You should be. I should’ve done something.
I’m sorry.”

“I’m used to it.”

“You shouldn’t be.”

“It’s life.” Rob shrugged.

“Can we talk?”

“We’re talking. What do you want?”

“You weren’t at practice today.”

“I went home sick.”

“Are you coming tomorrow?” Josh asked.

Rob didn’t answer and instead studied the
inscription on the marker of a lesser Fyfe descendant who didn’t rate space
inside the mausoleum. Rob shivered. He didn’t realize how cold it was and
wished he’d have brought a sweatshirt. A cool breeze sent goose bumps up his
spine as it sent dead leaves scurrying past. Josh also shivered and clutched
his own elbows, whether to hide from the cold or something else, Rob couldn’t
tell.

“Did you tell Coach Hudson what happened?”
Josh asked.

“I’m not afraid of those guys.”

“Maybe you should be.” Another silence as
each of them studied a grave marker. “Do you know Brittany Burnside?” Josh
suddenly asked, trying to smile.

    
“Everybody knows Brittany Burnside. Head cheerleader. Homecoming Queen.
Volleyball star. She has business cards that say that.” Rob said flatly, still
not looking up.

    
 “You’re too funny.” Josh laughed.

    
“Are you going out with Brittany?” Rob was not laughing.

    
“No, she’s been going with Brickman forever. Brittany wants me to take her
friend Jenny to the prom, so we’ve been hanging out to try to get to know each
other a bit before then.”

    
“Have fun then.” Rob was still studying gravestones instead of looking at Josh.
He could sense Josh leaning forward to try to make eye contact.

“Are you coming to the game tomorrow?” Josh
asked. Rob

shrugged.
“Please.”

    
“I gotta go,” Rob said.

    
Josh nodded. “Me too. I can’t let them notice I’m gone. Mat usually does a
great job of covering for me.”

    
“When he’s not kicking your ass wrestling?” Rob asked with too much sarcasm and
it stung Josh; Rob instantly felt bad about having said it. “You want a ride?”

    
“It’s out of your way.”

    
“Not really. I have to go to town and get gas.”

    
“You can just drop me along 303 so my parents don’t hear the car.”

    
They drove in silence. The car stopped and Josh patted Rob on the shoulder.
“Thanks, Rob. For everything. I’ll see you at the game tomorrow.”

    
At the BP station Rob was tempted to just douse himself with the gas and light
a match. Life might hurt less that way. Instead he topped off the tank,
spilling a few drops on his shoe, then drove home and started doing pushups he
knew wouldn’t end before dawn. 

    
*                     
*                     
*                     
*                     
*
   

Rob took a different route from second period. He didn’t feel
like seeing Josh, but the detour took him upstairs and directly into the path
of Coach Hudson. “Wardell!” he honked like a foghorn with laryngitis. “Where
were you yesterday?” Hudson looked at Rob’s face. “You look like you been rode
hard and put up wet.” Hudson’s Southernisms often left Rob wondering what the
hell he was talking about. “What happened?”

“Wrestling with my sister.” Hudson raised an
eyebrow. “I caught an elbow then hit the edge of the couch.”

Coach Hudson shook his head and said, “Well,
good thing you’re here. We’ll need you today against McKinley.”

“Need me?”

“It’s going to be a close game, so any little
edge you can give us...” He patted Rob on the shoulder. “Get to class. I’ll see
you after school.”

Rob studied the exit door for a moment then
headed to class.

Rob was dressing for the game when he decided
he’d rather pee inside than use the woods or the green plastic sauna. He went
to a stall. Stalls were safer than urinals. Less exposure. As always, the
stupid stall door stuck so Rob gave it a good shove. It swung open and smacked
into Josh Schlagel’s bare ass.

“Sorry,” Rob said. Then he noticed Josh’s
buttocks. They were covered with red welts. Josh spun around and covered his
nakedness with his shirt as much as he could, but Rob could still see plenty of
bruises on his chest and stomach and arms to match the ones on his face.

Rob mumbled “Sorry” again and left Josh to
dress in the stall, closing the door behind him.