The Last Summer. Chan Howell
me he had some food to spare. I befriended him when he shared one of his three peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwiches while we were at the North Carolina Zoo. He and I only shared food since he spoke less than I did. Ogre was not just quiet; he was timid, despite everyone being scared of him. We ate in silence while staring at the rhinos.
Truce
On April 30, 1994, I witnessed Wyatt’s abilities for the first time. He did not disappoint. We had a makeup game due to a weekday rainout. Duckworth, Drake, and I would face Wyatt and the Castaways on a Saturday afternoon. My parents agreed to let the new kid in town stay over for the night, but first, he was my opponent.
My parents would miss my game since they had already planned on going to Whitley’s soccer match. Whitley had outgrown the Swansville soccer team. She was well-known in the area as the best player, and every travel team begged my parents for her services. She was already soccer royalty. She played for a team out of Charlotte called the Queen City Elite. They contended for the state title each year.
The game was at the field behind Swansville Elementary. No one liked playing at the inferior field. It once served as the high school field fifty years earlier. It was a forgotten place and looked abandoned until the spring. The school’s maintenance men only spent one day each spring cutting the grass and weed eating. Each year that passed, the treacherous left field fence boundary grew. The border was marked by yellow “caution” tape that warned the left fielder expanded each year. The maintenance men were responsible for the encroaching left field fence. Time was taking over the old field.
The left field fence was old and dilapidated; if a ball rolled near it, the umpire was forced to give ground rule double. All the left fielder had to do was throw up his hands as the ball approached the old fence. The rule was modeled after the ground rule double rule at Wrigley field, when a ball disappeared in the ivy-covered fence. Everyone had heard the rumor of a kid being impelled by one of its jagged edges. It reminded me of a fortress long past its days of being a stronghold. Years earlier, an overprotective mother pushed for the rule change as a precaution. It was the place inside the park home runs died. Many times a ball was left among the ruins rather than for one to attempt to navigate the rusted aluminum to retrieve it.
The old fence was covered in controversy each season. One year prior, a ground rule double cost Drake a chance at taking down Alex and Travis Harrison. The giant prevailed when Drake was left stranded at second base. Drake would’ve easily scored and tied the game. Duckworth claimed he had Travis and Coach Alex on the ropes. He still mumbled about the game a year later.
Drake would not start the game since he only had one inning available to pitch. Duckworth was not worried about the Castaways other than Wyatt. He started our second-best pitcher, an eleven-year-old named Leland. Anytime Leland pitched, the game would be close. Leland was chubby, and the only thing slower than his speed to first base was his fastball. He was not a bad pitcher, but he was far from dominant. Most players overswung at his slow fastball, and the game was dominated by ground balls.
The first two Castaways hit ground balls, and our third baseman misplayed them both. Wyatt would bat with no open base except third. Leland could not pitch around all the myths we had heard since Wyatt’s arrival just weeks prior. Leland looked back at Drake for reassurance. Drake nodded as if he were a mother telling her child it was okay to get a piece of candy. Wyatt shouted back to one of his teammates as he stepped in the batter’s box. He nodded in agreement to the inaudible message. Wyatt hit a mammoth home run on the first pitch he saw. Wyatt trotted by me at second base and said, “Get used to that.” I could not think of a clever response before he was gone. Drake backed up to the outfield grass as Wyatt stared at him as he jogged by the quiet shortstop. Wyatt told Drake, “I would be speechless, too, after that bomb.” We were already down 3–0 after the top of the first inning. We countered and scored five runs in the bottom half of the inning. After three innings, Drake and I led 7–3.
Wyatt’s best teammate was my friend Mitch O’Neal. He made straight As, and all our parents thought he was an amazing kid. No one spoke an ill word of him. Mitch and I had a lot in common. We were both marginal players until we were twelve. Mitch had played in the shadow of a couple of Alex’s and Travis’s championship teams. He was unprotected during the redraft; otherwise, he would have been in right field for the Blue Devils. He usually batted at the back of the order, but he was given a new baseball life once he left the shadows and played alongside Wyatt.
Wyatt’s confidence rubbed off on him, and he began to hit. Wyatt took Mitch under his wing and made him a better baseball player but also gave him the grand tour of detention. Wyatt began to get Mitch involved in his antics. Wyatt showed Mitch how to master the bunt. Mitch wizardly placed bunts perfectly down the line, and he benefited from Wyatt’s home runs. Mitch bragged for Wyatt each morning at school.
Mitch spent most of the year playing baseball, basketball, and soccer as a way to let his single mom get a break. Mitch and his younger brother, Mikey, practically raised themselves since their mom, Sherry, worked every part-time job she could find. Mitch and Mikey were both great students despite being left alone most of the time. I stayed at their house one Saturday night, and Mitch made a homemade soup for the three of us. I could not even turn on the stove without being reprimanded.
Their mom, Sherry, cleaned new construction homes by the lake; thus, she missed almost all our weekend tournaments. She recruited Patti Hartley to help her clean. The two moms had a bond, and each hoped their sons would help each other with their weaknesses. Wyatt trusted Mitch, and their unlikely bond paid off for both boys. Wyatt protected Mitch in the same way he protected me. Wyatt resurrected something in Mitch that had been gone for a few years.
Mitch lived in a run-down double-wide trailer on an old dirt road heading toward the lake. His driveway was the unofficial landmark of where Swansville’s Brown Water ended and the big water began. Mitch and Mikey were the only two students given the option to choose which middle school they would attend in the fall. Mikey chose Stoney Creek Middle School. Mikey wanted all the things the big-water people were promising. We did not need to convince Mitch to stay behind. Mitch chose Swansville Middle School. He did not want to follow Travis to the shiny, new school.
Mitch O’Neal pitched for only the second time in his career. He did a valiant job, but he could not stop Drake. Drake drove in four runs and even hit his own towering home run. Leland loaded the bases in the top of the fourth with only one out when Wyatt walked to the plate. Duckworth reluctantly did not bring in Drake to face the new kid. I was nervous, and my chest pounded in anticipation of something special. Duckworth brought in Tate Thompson, our third-best pitcher. Duckworth hoped Tate’s southpaw delivery could neutralize Wyatt. Duckworth believed we would still score a few more runs if necessary.
Tate warmed up while Wyatt blew bubbles, unconcerned with his next opponent. The midday sun felt like late summer, and everyone was sweating. I stood at second base, conflicted. I wanted to win, but I also wanted everyone to see what my new friend was capable of. Tate shocked everyone and jumped ahead, throwing Wyatt two curveballs before he wasted two more intentional pitches off the plate. Tate hoped Wyatt would chase a pitch out of the strike zone. The count ran 2–2. Wyatt jumped on the third pitch despite it being well out of the strike zone. Wyatt hated walks nearly as much as strikeouts. The pitch sailed over the left fielder’s head. The ball headed for the perilous left field fence. Our left fielder threw up his hands to signal the ball was consumed among the high grass surrounding the treacherous fence. Umpire Smelly Kelly shouted, then gave the signal for a ground-rule double. He sent Wyatt back to second base. The game was put in slow motion as everyone returned to the previous base.
The umpire was affectionately known as Smelly Kelly. He was fair and by the book. Almost everyone in town knew him. He worked at the town dump. The story was, Smelly Kelly was valedictorian of his graduating class but his family had no money to send him to college, so he took a job at the dump to save money. A decade later, he was still at the dump, and he was regulated to waving everyone in to just drop off their garbage. Duckworth knew him better than anyone. It was common to see Duckworth chatting the young man up with his arm around him, like he was lecturing him on life. Duckworth once said, “That kid is too damn smart to only sit at the dump all day.”
Smelly Kelly stared at