so.” She looked hopeful for a moment. “Wanna come home with me? Maybe he’ll be there.”
“What’d I just tell you? What are you, crazy?”
She shrugged again. “Just scared,” she said, looking straight at him, with no embarrassment. Lenny was stunned. To admit out loud like that, to a near stranger, that you’re afraid, well, Lenny had never seen that done before. He was a little impressed. Still, she was nothing but white trash. He dropped his eyes and she walked away.
So the bastard was back. So what? It was no concern of his. He’d long since given up on the babyish idea that his dad would show up saying I’ve missed you . That he would have some spectacular reason for not coming sooner. Son, I’m dying. I wanted to spare you seeing me like this. But I couldn’t stay away. Not a moment longer. Or he’d make a gentle reference to the bad scene that had played out that last day. I couldn’t come back until I had something to offer you. Something worthy to make up for what I put you through. He’d hand over the keys to a brand new car. It took me ten years but I finally saved enough to buy you this car. I love you, son .
Okay, so maybe Lenny had stayed in the room a few times when Nell was watching her soap opera. He knew how it sounded. Like bullshit. His dad was still a drunk, screwing white trash. Nothing had changed.
Everything had changed.
Lenny turned his Louisville Slugger around in his hands. It was ten years since his dad had given it to him. Ten years since he’d used it to make his dad leave. He remembered the way it had felt in his hands that night when it landed in his father’s side. He remembered the horrifying thrill it gave him to see his father bent double.
Suddenly Lenny turned and hurled the bat with all his might into the street. It bounced twice and landed on the opposite side, in the gutter. He jammed his hands in his pockets and went to retrieve it. It was still in one piece, nearly good as new. Lenny picked it up and cradled it tenderly, frightened at how close he’d come to destroying the only possession he really cared about.
The only weapon he had.
There were three things Lenny wanted to be: a baseball player, a boat builder, and a hippie. He had the best arm Holland High had seen in years. ERA of 2.59. Was a hell of a slugger too. But by some freakish curse that made sure his life stayed shitty for as long as possible, the college scouts hadn’t come. Now it was almost over. There was one game left, and Lenny needed to keep his head in it if he wanted to finish the year with a record 20 wins. He was still hoping against hope for a scholarship, maybe not to the University of Michigan like he wanted, but maybe to Central or Eastern. Just to play, that was his dream. Then it’d be on to the minors. The Lansing Lugnuts, maybe the Detroit Whitecaps.
It seemed like a long shot, but easier at least than becoming a boat builder. To do that you needed to go to school and learn mathematics or physics or some other icks, or else you had to know the kinds of people who hung out at the marina and hope they could hook you up over at Chris Craft boat company. He didn’t know anyone.
That left the hippie thing. Being a hippie didn’t take much except attitude, which Lenny had plenty of. And although he wasn’t 100 percent sure about what a hippie did, he figured he’d spend the summer growing his hair and acting spacey to see if it took. He had options. Not promising ones, maybe, but there was no reason to panic. There was no reason to care about what Rhoda had said. She might as well have told him about the life stages of a dung beetle. That’s how little it affected him. So why did he feel like a stupid kid standing in the doorway of a small stuffy room, heart pounding, not knowing what the hell to do? How did he explain the sudden urge he had to go out for a beer, when it was his secret vow to never go near alcohol? He knew if he did he’d become his dad. He had
“What’d I just tell you? What are you, crazy?”
She shrugged again. “Just scared,” she said, looking straight at him, with no embarrassment. Lenny was stunned. To admit out loud like that, to a near stranger, that you’re afraid, well, Lenny had never seen that done before. He was a little impressed. Still, she was nothing but white trash. He dropped his eyes and she walked away.
So the bastard was back. So what? It was no concern of his. He’d long since given up on the babyish idea that his dad would show up saying I’ve missed you . That he would have some spectacular reason for not coming sooner. Son, I’m dying. I wanted to spare you seeing me like this. But I couldn’t stay away. Not a moment longer. Or he’d make a gentle reference to the bad scene that had played out that last day. I couldn’t come back until I had something to offer you. Something worthy to make up for what I put you through. He’d hand over the keys to a brand new car. It took me ten years but I finally saved enough to buy you this car. I love you, son .
Okay, so maybe Lenny had stayed in the room a few times when Nell was watching her soap opera. He knew how it sounded. Like bullshit. His dad was still a drunk, screwing white trash. Nothing had changed.
Everything had changed.
Lenny turned his Louisville Slugger around in his hands. It was ten years since his dad had given it to him. Ten years since he’d used it to make his dad leave. He remembered the way it had felt in his hands that night when it landed in his father’s side. He remembered the horrifying thrill it gave him to see his father bent double.
Suddenly Lenny turned and hurled the bat with all his might into the street. It bounced twice and landed on the opposite side, in the gutter. He jammed his hands in his pockets and went to retrieve it. It was still in one piece, nearly good as new. Lenny picked it up and cradled it tenderly, frightened at how close he’d come to destroying the only possession he really cared about.
The only weapon he had.
There were three things Lenny wanted to be: a baseball player, a boat builder, and a hippie. He had the best arm Holland High had seen in years. ERA of 2.59. Was a hell of a slugger too. But by some freakish curse that made sure his life stayed shitty for as long as possible, the college scouts hadn’t come. Now it was almost over. There was one game left, and Lenny needed to keep his head in it if he wanted to finish the year with a record 20 wins. He was still hoping against hope for a scholarship, maybe not to the University of Michigan like he wanted, but maybe to Central or Eastern. Just to play, that was his dream. Then it’d be on to the minors. The Lansing Lugnuts, maybe the Detroit Whitecaps.
It seemed like a long shot, but easier at least than becoming a boat builder. To do that you needed to go to school and learn mathematics or physics or some other icks, or else you had to know the kinds of people who hung out at the marina and hope they could hook you up over at Chris Craft boat company. He didn’t know anyone.
That left the hippie thing. Being a hippie didn’t take much except attitude, which Lenny had plenty of. And although he wasn’t 100 percent sure about what a hippie did, he figured he’d spend the summer growing his hair and acting spacey to see if it took. He had options. Not promising ones, maybe, but there was no reason to panic. There was no reason to care about what Rhoda had said. She might as well have told him about the life stages of a dung beetle. That’s how little it affected him. So why did he feel like a stupid kid standing in the doorway of a small stuffy room, heart pounding, not knowing what the hell to do? How did he explain the sudden urge he had to go out for a beer, when it was his secret vow to never go near alcohol? He knew if he did he’d become his dad. He had
Similar Books
