Dean and I jumped to exchange high-fives after the baseball inquisition. “I can’t believe I made the team. I missed those fly balls, and I thought Coach Vaney was gonna blow a gasket when he sent me on a lap for cussing. After that, I was sure I wouldn’t be chosen.”
Dean smiled and put his hands on his hips. “See, I told you. Even with the missed flyballs, your throws are on a flat line and on target. And the most important thing is you’re not afraid of the ball. You even stopped a ball with your nose. But let’s hope they don’t put you in the outfield.” His smile grew.
“Yep, I know. The hint you gave me about listening to the sound of the ball off the bat really helped, but I don’t want to play outfield.”
Henry, a neighbor and our team’s shortstop, walked up with his older brother, Nelson. “Hey, Gavin. Congrats on making the team.”
“Yeah, thanks. I didn’t think it would happen. But, I think I’ll like it.”
Henry motioned toward my leg. “Your limp seemed better today.”
It embarrassed me to discuss my loggy leg. “Well, it’s better some days.”
Nelson grimaced. “Don’t worry about this guy. You made some good throws to home plate, and you’re not afraid of the ball. If you’re around, stop in sometime. I’ve got a new, hilarious comic CD. I’ll let you listen to it.”
“Okay, sounds good.”
The brothers walked away. Nelson participated in teenage activities and sometimes included his brother and me in adventures. He had his own car and would take us to places with other teenagers and their exciting lives.
Coach Vaney walked up. “Hi, Gavin, Dean. I like seeing my team excited. You both played well today.
Dean giggled and thumbed toward me. “Yeah, as long as he’s not playing outfield.”
Thrown under the bus. My surprise must have shown on my face.
Coach Vaney raised his palm. “It’s okay, Gavin. I have an idea that I’ll talk to you about another day. In the meantime, we can work on your outfielder skills. I like your arm, your aim, and that you’re not afraid of the ball. Maybe you could work with your dad on judging flyballs.”
There, the embarrassing assumption, rising like a thunderhead. Dean examined the loose gravel and dry, sandy soil. I turned to Coach. “Ah—ah, Coach, my dad is de… isn’t alive.”
Coach Vaney’s cheeks reddened, and he glanced at Dean and back to me. “Gavin, I’m so sorry. I knew that and forgot. Maybe…
Dean stepped forward. “Coach, he and I can practice that skill.”
“That’s a good idea, Dean. Sometimes the best teachers are other players.” Coach turned to me. “If there is anything I can do, you’ll let me know, right?”
Dean and I spoke simultaneously, “Yes, sir.”
Coach walked toward Mr. Moore, who headed the Little League organization. I turned to Dean. “Do you think we could do it tomorrow?”
“I don’t think there’s time. My parents are taking me to see a doctor.”
“Well, we could go out after the visit.”
“No, sorry. The appointment is out of town, and it’ll probably take all day. But we’ll get together. Don’t worry. Listen, I need to leave. So, I’ll see you later.”
Dean walked to his bike, slid his glove strap over the handlebars, released his kickstand, and rode toward the main gate. I picked up my bike, clamped my glove to the rack, and walked to the steep, part-grass, red clay knoll. No point in trying to ride up, so I pushed my bike.
The asphalt playground behind C. M. Tucker Elementary School now contained several trailers with workers installing them as classrooms for the coming school year. Hopefully, there’d be a scrap pile to rummage through with scrap lumber and discarded drink bottles to turn in at William’s Grocery. I peddled across the asphalt and stopped at the short path leading down to the gumball tree. My bike’s front tire balanced on the edge of the pavement.
Neighborhood kids called the woods behind the school, The Woods. Vaughan Street bordered one side, Riley Avenue another, and the school property another. The two main paths, named after their respective streets, converged, creating a triangle and meeting at a prolific gumball tree behind the school. Each street had its own entrance, but the entrance behind the school didn’t have an official name. However, sometimes we called it the Gum Ball Tree entrance.
A booming wind moved leaves and limbs high in the trees but not at my level. The day had been sunny, hot, and dry, with no indications of a storm. Like at Black Walnut Springs, a railroad crosstie oil and creosote odor drifted to my nose. The wind speed increased, dropped to my level, and the forest’s expectant mood tugged at me. My bike took off.
I raced toward the gum tree, and without time to brake, I turned the handlebars to my left, clipped the tree, and steered up the Vaughan Street Path. The wind pushed me, and when I tried the brakes, they didn’t work. I had traveled this fast on the Fenton Street hill and even wrecked once. But never in the woods.
Large limbs fell next to the trail with scary thumps. Leaves and small sticks hit me in the face, and close-by plant stems and leaves reached across my path. I ducked my head and bowled threw the small ravine in record time. Then, I sped into the large ditch and coasted up the exit incline, flying through the air and landing at the Swinging Vine path intersection. A large tree limb fell in front of my tire and stopped the bike, tumbling me into a rhododendron bush.
I opened my eyes, pushed the bike away, and sat up. I lay in the middle of a blooming wild rhododendron bush. They made excellent hiding places with enough interior room to move around, remain hidden, and not feel trapped.
From the large ravine, a multi-color sphere floated toward me. As it drifted nearer, Heka’te’s image materialized inside the bubble. “Gavin, follow me.”
I rubbed a small bump on my head. A palm-sized rock lay nearby, so I tossed it further into the woods. The bubble floated down the barely used vine trail and stopped. Heka’te turned. She gazed with a soft smile but didn’t speak.
I stood up. “I’m coming.”
The barely used Swinging Vine Path led to a scrap lumber platform built by older kids, including my next-door neighbor, Bobby Pulling. The original vines’ length and the trees’ tilt into the gully allowed us to swing to the other ravine side. Everyone said I broke the vine, but vines wear out.
We couldn’t tie a rope replacement as high as we wanted, so now, we glided over the ravine and back. Occasionally crashes broke vegetation, creating a narrow landing area covered in forest debris from one ditch side to the other. We called it the LZ, landing zone, particularly when we played army.
Heka’te passed the platform, where the Swinging Vine Path ended, and she floated over low, thick bushes. I hesitated. I’d never been in this area of the woods. Adults lived a few yards away on Vaughan Street, and another ravine collected trash from passing cars. Fortunately, the thick brush didn’t have briars, and I pushed through. It would be neat to have that bubble.
“You have one, Gavin. The light is given to everyone.”
She had to be talking to me, but I couldn’t see her face. And how did she know my thoughts? Then, we reached a small clearing containing a ginormous oak tree with a canopy that glowed many colors. Heka’te floated toward it, but I stopped. It was so big that I had to take a second to gather it all in. How had I missed this jumbo?
Heka’te stopped at the tree. “Come over here, touch, and listen to the tree.”
I moved closer and felt the grey and green striped, dark brown bark.
“Put your ear against the tree.”
Boy’s Life never said anything about listening to a tree, but I put my ear to the bark. — “I can hear something.” I glanced at Heka’te. “Yes, it’s… it’s like a rushing or whooshing sound.”
“That’s right. Trees are living things. Now, come to the ravine edge and look down.”
I stood between the tree and the bubble. The roots created a woodland ladder disappearing from sight, and rhododendron bushes covered the opposite chasm wall. A small stream flowed back toward the Vaughan Street Path, but I couldn’t see the water’s source because of the oak tree roots hanging over my ravine side. The small leaf-covered plot showed occasional patches of red mud.
“It’s okay to climb down. I’ll meet you.”
I backed down the stairway until I stepped on a supersized root enclosing a water pool larger than my bicycle tire. An indention in the tuber allowed water to flow and fall to a flat rock on the forest floor and continue in a stream disappearing around a red dirt ravine wall.
Another root below created a step down to the forest floor, but I squatted on the large tuber and sucked in the cool air. I touched the cold water, which turned the same colors as the canopy, red, orange, blue, violet, purple, and yellow. They continually mixed and parted.
Heka’te floated next to me. “Gavin, this glass vial represents one sip, which will increase your confidence and capabilities and support you in an unforeseen event. However, you must have faith and use the water only for good. You are limited to three sips unless you listen to your heart and follow its guidance.”
She sat the glass, cork stoppered bottle, about the size of Grandmother Eugenia’s perfume bottle, on the root. I removed the stopper and slipped the bottle top under the water. Holding it to the light, the brown-tinted water showed tiny floating particles.
I took my first sip, and nothing happened. The water had a metallic, bitter taste, and I rubbed my lips with my arm. Then, Heka’te and the bubble became hazy. “Wait. What now? What do I do?”
She reached out with her hand. “Follow your heart.”
I touched her hand, and she and the bubble evaporated. I squatted there for a few seconds, dipped the bottle in the spring, and stoppered it. Then, pushing it into my pocket, I lifted my left leg to climb back up but found myself in the bush where I had crashed, trying to raise my leg from its bicycle entanglement.
Shit.
I put my hands out behind me and leaned back. Time to “take a knee,” as Coach called it. The forest floor showed no extra stems or newly blown leaves, and the chucked rock lay next to me. This had to be a dream, but then I touched the bottle in my pocket.
Heka’te said to follow my heart, but it raced faster than I could run. Because of my restriction, I needed to be home, so I disconnected from the bike and stood up. When I put my right hand on the handlebar, a tiny blood spot appeared where Heka’te’s ring had nicked me. I flicked the scab off and mounted my bike.
I popped out of the woods onto the Vaughan Street grass shoulder. A block away at the Riley Street woods entrance, Mr. Willard’s truck sat empty. He had warned me to stay out of these woods, yet he had not taken his own caution. The scary mood after we visited with Heka’te still stung me, and I thought I should stay away from him for a while.
The shortest way home lay in front of me, through the Furgess family yard. But they owned a well-trained mixed-breed German Shepard who ferociously guarded his property and never crossed its boundaries. I occasionally used this shortcut, but only when somewhat sure I could defeat Danger by using his training against him.
I circled in the street, confirming Danger’s backyard location lying next to his doghouse in the shade of a tree. With timing and concealment, I could beat him to the alley. Maybe this would be a test for the water.
I pedaled hard and entered the driveway. To my left, the Furgess home and shrubs would hide me from Danger’s vision until the last moment. To my right, an old car sat partially torn down, one of Billy’s projects. A wooden fence hid the same project from neighbors on the other side of the vehicle. I increased speed, passed the home, and entered the gravel backyard driveway.
Danger rose like some wild animal spotting its prey. Game on!
If I entered the alley behind Mrs. Patterson’s watered, soft, thick green lawn, Danger wouldn’t cross the property line. His paw pads and barks placed him closing in on my rear tire. Only three feet to the alleyway. I pumped hard and reached safety, but my speed prevented a turn in the sandy gravel.
I shot across into Mrs. Patterson’s lawn. The tires sunk into the soft grass and soil, and I accidentally hit a lawn sprinkler. The bike rolled across her white concrete driveway, leaving contrasting wet, black soil tracks. I managed to stop in Mr. John’s gravel drive, but muddy trails on the lawn stretched back to Danger.
Danger barked from his property line. “Arrf, arrf, arrf.”
I cupped my hands around my mouth. “It’s okay, boy. Maybe next time.”
“Arrf. Arrf”
“One day, that dog is gonna get you.” Mr. Johns’ voice came from his front stoop.
“Yes, sir. I hope not. — He seems pretty angry.” The tire trail on the grass stretched out toward Danger, making him look like the period on an exclamation mark.
“Arrf, arrf.”
Mr. Johns walked down the steps. An unfamiliar leather lariat of multicolored beads swung from his belt. They were the same colors as the tree canopy and the spring. Many adults ridiculed Black Feather, his chosen Saponi name, and were suspicious of his “funny beliefs.”
“Yes, he does seem angry. Maybe you shouldn’t tease him.”
“I—I never thought of it as teasing. It’s just a challenge.”
“I know. But, what does Danger feel.”
“I’ve never seen those beads before. Did you just get those?”
“Ha, avoiding the subject, huh? No, I’ve had these for a while. Some members of our tribe wear them to remind us of our connection to the universe’s energy. It’s like a reminder to stay on the correct path. That baseball glove on your bike indicates that you’re following your chosen baseball path this summer.”
“Yes. I tried out, and I was chosen by the Jaycees. I’m on the same team with Dean and some other friends.”
“Well, that’s awesome. I’ll attend some of your games.”
“That’ll be great. The color of those beads is the same as the rainbow, but why the white ones?”
Mr. Johns smiled. “A prism will break white light into the rainbow colors and then can rejoin the colors again; nothing is ever lost or gained. Here, take these beads and touch them on occasion to remind you of the universe’s path, which may not include Danger’s yard.”
“Okay, thanks.”
“It wasn’t the time or place to ask you the other night, but what grade did you receive in algebra?”
“I got a B, thanks to you.”
“Don’t give me credit. You did the work. I just helped you understand some of the concepts. Baseball will be the same way. You do the work, and you’ll do fine.”
I shoved the beads into my pocket. “I guess I better go. Mom will be home soon.”
“Oh, that’s right, you’re still on restriction until Friday.”
“Yeah.”
“Okay, give your mom my regards. Stay on the path, and I’ll see you at our next session.”
“Not if I see you first.”
Mr. Johns smiled and pointed his finger at me as he entered his car. He backed into the street, waving as he pulled off. I pedaled down the driveway and entered the road.
Further up the block at the intersection with Riley Avenue, Mr. Willard’s loud, faded red truck rounded the curve. I coasted to the street’s left side because my house sat only two lawns away. Mr. Willard’s and Mrs. Patterson’s jerky movement inside the truck raised my guard, and I sped up. Across the street, Major stopped throwing his tennis ball against the brick and turned toward the muffler-less vehicle.
As we approached one another in front of the Pulling’s home, Mrs. Patterson, showing a wide grin, reached and jerked the steering wheel. The passenger side light, like a giant cyclops, moved toward me. Mr. Willard’s mouth opened in a scream, and he fought to regain control. But the truck continued its new path.
I stomped my pedal, lifted my handlebars, and jumped the curb. Gliding farther than expected, I penetrated the old hedge separating the Pulling’s property and our yard. The old, dense, scratchy bush tore at my arms and jeans, and I flipped, landing in our grass and gravel driveway.
The handlebar jammed into my left ribs, and I rolled to the side and lay there for a few seconds. Two wrecks in a day. All I needed was one more, and I’d have a new world record. Did I just fly through the air?
Major ran up and squatted. “Hey, Gavin. Are you okay?”
I held my side. “I—I think so. My side hurts, and it looks like I got some scratches. But it doesn’t feel like anything is broken.”
“Man, you were flying. I mean, for real, you were flying. And it looked like they tried to run you over.”
“I think you’re right. Well, at least Mrs. Patterson did. I saw her jerk the wheel in my direction.” I felt for the beads and the bottle and whispered, “At least it wasn’t a dream.”
Major’s eyebrows flashed up and held, and he tilted his head to one side. “Are you alright? Did you just say you were dreaming? You look like you just saw a ghost.”
“I may have, Major. I don’t know. I’m pretty sure I just saw the devil, and she lives up the street.”
Major helped me stand and giggled. “You got that right. It’s hard to figure her out. Why is she so angry all the time? We never did anything to her.”
An urgent, howling female scream arose up the street, and a loud male voice responded. Major and I stepped into the road. In Mrs. Patterson’s driveway, Mr. Willard picked her up and carried her toward her home. She flailed her arms and legs, but his strength overcame her anger.
Major helped me inside the house, and we examined my bruises, skinned side, and knee. We talked about baseball and I learned a team did not choose him. However, he had no sadness but more determination. He said he would continue practicing against the brick wall until they had no choice but to let him play.
I think I was more pissed than him. I had to play to avoid other punishments, and they wouldn’t allow him to play, and he really wanted it. Also, compared to Dean, Henry, and Bishop, I had little skill and wanted to draw, write, paint, or sculpt.
Mom returned from work with Detective Roark, who stayed for dinner. I told them about the day’s events, except the spring and hedge things, and they congratulated me. Mom even successfully sprang for a hug. She is more relaxed with Detective Roark around, and he knows a lot about baseball and the law, which might help me.
wkspizer 