Fall ❈ Benny Rodriguez

viii. window

CHAPTER EIGHT!
WINDOW　THE ALBUM LEAF

　

　

MY THUMPING HEART felt wonderful. It reminded me of all of the time I had spent playing baseball in the summer of 2015. Getting back into the habit had been a bit of work, but had simultaneously been like taking a breath after holding it until your lungs felt fit to burst: not only immense pleasure, but natural. As natural as the blood flowing through my veins.

　Dirt kicked up, visibly dusting the air in my wake. Benny had hit the ball into the outfield; it thumped against Mr. Myrtle's wall, and not-so-small Smalls rushed to retrieve it. There had been a time, I had been told, when Smalls had heard Hercules, an enormous dog, behind that fence and had nearly left the ball in his fear. But that was before he had become just as much a part of the Sandlot Boys as any of the others.

　By the time Smalls scooped the ball into his bare hand, I touched third base. Ham, for the time-being, guarded third, and clapped my back on the way. It was such a casual gesture, I was beginning to wonder if it had become a habit for most of the boys.

　But not Benny. He never touched me.

　Home rushed toward me; behind it squatted Jordan. It was when his hand rose in the air that a flash of panic tugged at my gut. I did not dare to look back, due to a small fear that the ball would smack into my face. And so I dropped—dropped and slid the last several feet to home base, hard ground dragging and pulling at the fabric of my jeans.

　Not even a second after I felt my foot strike base did I hear the smack of the baseball against Jordan's glove. Now stopped just ahead of the boy, I glanced at him; even behind the mask, I could make out his smile.

　"Safe!" Jordan declared, stood, and—did not throw the ball back. He extended a hand out to me, and I took it, allowing him to pull me effortlessly to my feet.

　"Thanks," I breathed, a triumphant grin spread across my flushed face.

　Jordan raised the mask to reveal the full brilliance of his smile. The sun kissed the golden tone of his skin, picked out the surviving strands of blond in his darkening hair and eyelashes. He was truly handsome.

　He waved at the boys, calling a break. Although there were a few complaints, all of the boys began to migrate toward the dugout. I glanced back at them, then at Jordan.

　"What's up?"

　Jordan pulled the glove from his hand. "I'm leaving. My dad's probably home by now—it's his and my mom's anniversary, so they're going out to Hollywood or something."

　"Oh, that's nice." The smile on my face had not yet left; I had not slid like that in over a year, and although there would be a hell of a stain on my jeans, I felt good about my victory. "How long have they been together?"

　"They've been together for seventeen years. Been married for fifteen." Jordan started for the dugout, and I followed, watching him as he ran his fingers through his damp hair. "Mom let me come here today so she could get ready, but she says I'm not ungrounded yet."

　A laugh slipped past my lips, and I instantly pressed my fingers to them. "Sorry, it's not funny. I just don't really have that problem. My parents don't really ground me. They just beat my ass."

　Jordan's lips curled, only slightly. "Is the grass greener over there? My parents never give me that sort of discipline. Guess it would interfere with their schedules."

　Bertram had been at first base, and somehow had managed to sneak up on me and Jordan. He made his presence known by placing both arms around our shoulders, wedging his way into the small space between us.