Chapter One
“BASEBALL TRYOUTS: MAY 22ND, 2:30 PM, MAIN FIELD.” Baseball. The one thing I’ve wanted to do since forever. My school doesn’t even offer womens sports, let alone baseball. The single handedly manliest thing to exist in this day and age. I’m glad there’s a women’s league, though. With 500 major league players in the war, women got the chance to step up to the plate. They’ve been talking about making the women leave baseball now that the men are back, and making a new, more ladylike sport. I think that’s totally crap though. If they could just let women have their own league, there would be no problem.
The war. I don’t even want to talk about it. I miss Oscar. Let’s not think of that though. It’s over. He’s not coming back. We won the war, so the people that died in it are to be left behind and only remembered like old memories of you freaking out over your mother trying to feed you strained bananas.
The bell rings. Oh my, english. Right now, we’re reading Moby-Dick. The most dull book I’ve ever read. Well, I don’t really read a lot of books that aren’t about sports.
“Alice, would you like to read chapter 123 for us?” Mrs. Whitmore asks.
“Do I have to?” I ask back, not particularly meaning it. I clear my throat. “Chapter 123: The Musket..” I continue on for hours(or what seems like it), until the bell finally rings, and signals the end of the school week. The weekend. The weekend is the single most important time of the week for a 13 year old girl. By a 13 year old girl, I mean a regular 13 year old girl. I just lay around and read multiple books, and maybe get my dad to play some catch with me. Me and Oscar used to always play catch. Sometimes, I kinda wish it was dad that went to the war and not Ozzie. But that’s rather grim, and I would prefer not to talk about it.
When I get home, I just walk in, take off my shoes and sit next to mom on the couch. Even though it’s been three years, she’s still so... not mom. I don’t know how to explain it. Everyone said to just give her time, but how much time does she need? How long am I going to have to do all the chores around the house, on top of my studies?
“Mom, would you clean up the dishes and I’ll cook tonight?” I ask, expecting her to just keep sitting silently and listening to the radio play “The Bell Telephone Hour” until I bring her a plate.
Dad’s worse. He acts like it never even happened. He thinks that mom should get up and get on with her life, but how is she supposed to when this house reminds her of her dead son every day? Sometimes, I wish we could just move somewhere else and have a fresh start. To remember Ozzie, but to move on. That’s what mom really needs. She needs to get up from the couch, and not just to her bed. She needs to let herself heal and prosper, like preacher Tim always tells us. The only thing my mom really does nowadays is go to church. Maybe mom thinks that if she goes to church enough, god will make her forget about him.
“Okay mom, love you.” I give her a light kiss on the forehead. “Hey, would you come to the table tonight for dinner? It’s lonely with just me and dad, and I have something I would like to say.
“Sure honey, I’ll be there.” She says emptily. It’s like she’s a whole different person. Sometimes, I’ll just see her hug dad at night and cry, and that’s what worries me the most. That she grieves Oscar so hard all she can do is sit on the couch, listening to the radio, and cry. Sometimes I wish we could switch places. So that I could have a normal mom and just grieve. I didn’t really get to grieve Ozzie. I feel like everything kept moving, and my world stopped. Everyone else went on without me, and I was still just the girl with the dead brother.
“Mom, dad, I was wondering something..” I say at dinner, just as everyone is sitting down and starting to eat.
“What is it, Alice?” Dad says, eating some chicken and looking at me, face filled with curiosity.
“I was just wondering, if I could maybe try baseball?” My dad stops in his tracks, food halfway to his mouth.
“Baseball? My girl, the baseball player.” He says, nearly flabbergasted by the audacity I had to ask such a ludicrous question. “Listen, I know you liked to play catch when you were younger, but you have responsibilities, and honestly, baseball is a boys game, sweetheart.” He says, kinder this time.
“Oh... well can we at least see if I can? Tryouts are on monday. And about the responsibilities, dad, I can come home from baseball practice and still cook dinner. It will just be a half hour later. I promise it won’t even affect you that much.” I say, pleading to him. I know that it’s basically his decision, because mom is staring blankly at the other side of the table. The seat where Oscar used to sit. If only he were here, Ozzie would understand. He would tell dad that it didn’t matter that baseball was a boys sport, and that if I were to play, I would be the best at baseball.
“I think it’s a good idea to get out of the house after.. after what happened.” Mom says, still staring at his old seat. I feel so bad for her, but at the same time I wish she would just get up. I wish she would let herself move on.
“See dad, even mom says it’s a good idea. Can we please at least talk to the coach?” I say, looking up at him with the eyes I do when I really, really want something.
“Fine. I’ll talk to the coach. No promises, and if he does let you try out I can’t promise you’ll make it.” My father says, leaning back in his chair.
“Thank you!” I say, getting up and going to my room.
Saturday. Probably the single most boring day of the week. No school, no church, and especially a lot of listening to the radio on the couch. Well, more like worrying about my mother while the radio is playing in the background. I roll over in bed, and take a breath so deep and so loud that you could hear it from the hallway. I sit up and pull my legs over the edge of my bed, my feet hitting the cold linoleum floor. I stand up, put on my slippers and walk out to the kitchen, to make breakfast. Yawning, I walk into the kitchen, only to see my mother already making breakfast.
“Morning, sweetie!” She says, cheerily. Weird. She hasn’t made breakfast in like forever…
“Oh.. morning mom,” I say, deciding not to protest. I want to see how long this will last.
“Will you go wake your father?” She asks, flipping an egg.
“Of course, I’ll be back in a moment.”
Sunday. Probably the second most boring day of the week. No school, but church. The one thing I hate the most. I believe in god and all that, don’t question my faith, but everyone under god’s roof is always talking about my family. They all just feel bad, but maybe it would be better for me and mom if they would keep their mouths shut about us in the house of god. I sigh, and get out of bed. Clothes. What to wear… That’s it- I’m going to make a statement with my clothing. I take out the button up and pants that Ozzie left behind, they will probably fit me since I’ve grown a bit. I put them on, they fit well enough so they only look about a size too big. Perfect. Everyone at church is going to be thrown aback.
“Honey, I love you but there is no way on god’s green earth you can wear that to church.” Dad says, as nice as possible.
“But dad, these are his clothes!” I say, in protest.
“I cannot let you wear that! People will think you’re trying to be a man.” He says, a little more hostile.
“What if I am?!” I say, looking right up at him, angry at this point.
“Go. To. Your. Room.” He says, pointing at my bedroom door. What is he thinking? He can’t just tell me that and expect me not to retaliate. Who does he think he is? Telling me how to dress and trying to tell me what sports to play. I mean.. Do I want to be a boy?
Monday. The worst day of the week. But, there is baseball today. Finally. I, Alice Day, the baseball player. Well, the soon-to-be baseball player. I pack a bag with all my brother’s old baseball stuff, and put on my regular clothes and go to the bus stop. Mom and dad are still in bed, dad’s work is putting in a policy where they don’t have work for one monday every month. I don’t really know why, but it means I don’t have to see my dad this morning.
After school, I make my way to the baseball field and start to look for the coach. I hear them saying something, but I’m not quite sure what it is. It sounds something like just regular baseball talk, so I move towards the talking.
“Excuse me? Are any of you the coach for the 12y team? I would like to talk to you.” I say, my school bag slinged over one shoulder and the bag with baseball things in it on the other shoulder.
“What is it, doll?” One of them says, and I immediately get a bad feeling. I ignore it, and keep talking.
“Well, I heard there was a tryout in about a half hour, and I wanted to... you know.. Try out.” I say, smiling.
“Well, I would need your dad’s permission, how about you go down and get him down here?” He says, arrogantly.
“Why? All the boys just have to show up. Why can’t I at least try out?” I say, putting on a fake arrogant voice.
“If you would like to try out, I will let you participate. But, I will need permission from both parents to participate further, and that is only if you are an exceptional baseball player.” He says. Ugh, why do I bother?
“It’s a deal, I’ll change.” I race off to the bathroom, and secretly celebrate alone. Nobody is in here, it’s a ballpark. A place where women only go for their sons’ games, or where girls go for school games. I get changed into pants and a shirt, both relatively new items from Champion. They were bought just before.. before the.. event. He probably only got to wear them a few times. Now, I’m wearing them. I have to be the best baseball player these silver fences have ever seen.
