The Last Summer. Chan Howell
RJ whispered, “Ogre and I will call you later. Stay in town tonight.”
Wyatt’s eyes dripped with excitement.
RJ was on Ogre and Jack’s team. He lived down the street from Ogre. RJ was the middle child, and his two sisters drove him crazy. He walked to Ogre’s house daily to escape them. It was not uncommon for RJ to be sitting in Ogre’s house, because RJ knew where the secret key was located. RJ just started playing baseball when we were eleven, but his athletic ability gave him a boost to learning a new sport. RJ did it all. He was still a raw talent, but he could play any position. He caught half the time and pitched and played all over the diamond. He was Jack’s jack of all trades.
RJ’s dad, Coach Ross, was the local high school’s football coach. RJ carried a football everywhere he went, and he wore number 16 in honor of his broken hero, Bo Jackson. The day Bo retired, RJ nearly cried, and I assume he did in private. RJ was built like a road construction barrel and could jump over one if he was asked. He did not look like a phenomenal athlete, but he was one. Earlier that fall at a Little League Football game, RJ danced with the cheerleaders during their halftime show. He did somersaults and backflips while wearing his shoulder pads. RJ was everything his dad dreamed of as a football player.
Coach Ross was a no-nonsense guy. He looked like a character in a Dick Tracy novel with his square jaw and good looks. He had the stereotypical deep coach’s voice, and he dressed the part. He looked like he ironed his golf shirt every five minutes. He was always wrinkle-free. I assumed his years in the military made him take pride in his appearance. RJ was always in athletic shorts and his father’s football team shirt or, more likely, his faded “Bo Knows” shirt. Coach Ross stood with his arms crossed or behind his back just past the dugout. He only spoke when he witnessed what he believed was disrespect or poor sportsmanship. He was very intimidating, and his powerful voice would make us freeze and sheepishly say “Yes, sir” when he shouted our name in displeasure.
RJ was boisterous and constantly chatted on the baseball field and in class. Everyone loved RJ because he was respectful, but he never seemed to stop talking. He could do anything on a baseball field, and he entertained everyone with his odd talents. He always obliged when asked to perform some amazing feat. He once captivated the crowd by balancing a baseball bat on his forehead while juggling three baseballs. RJ’s constant talking landed him in detention regularly. He and Wyatt became friends while being locked away in detention together. Coach Ross took notice of the troublemaking new kid. Coach Ross warned RJ not to be guilty by association.
RJ’s mom could not be more different from Coach Ross—she always screamed, “Come on, baby, you can do it!” among other embarrassing things. She was loud, and she usually brought snacks and would even give snacks to the opposing team. She went simply by Missy; even RJ called her Missy. Missy was our unofficial mother when our moms were not around. She fed us, made sure we washed our hands, and hugged us when we needed it. Her camera was her weapon, and she required a picture after every game.
My grandmother lived just down the street from RJ and Ogre. When I stayed at her house, I always ended up at Ogre’s house. I asked Wyatt if his mom would mind if we stayed at my grandmother’s house instead of my house. He said, “Of course not.” The day’s game was long gone, and now we just went to my room to play some Super Nintendo. Wyatt was terrible at every game. Wyatt had rarely even played a Nintendo, much less a Super Nintendo. He was bored quickly, and he only played for my benefit. He did not like losing at every game, and he kept saying, “This game is so stupid.” Eventually, Wyatt asked to go out to play Wiffle ball. I reluctantly agreed. I searched, and I finally found the yellow Wiffle ball bat, but I could not find a ball. I was embarrassed. We went to the backyard to see if we could find a ball. All Wyatt saw was my sister’s soccer goal, orange cones for drills, and four soccer balls. Our backyard was her practice facility.
Wyatt and I decided to see if we could score against each other. I set up in goal. I slapped my knees as if I were some sort of expert. Wyatt lined up his first kick with only a few steps for a head start. Swoosh! His leg swung through the air, and before I could react, the ball stretched the back of the net. Kick 2 was almost the same, but at least I dived the correct direction as the ball buzzed my fingertips. Wyatt laughed, then said, “This is too easy. I can’t believe this is even a sport.” His third kick, he decided to kick the ball with his left foot. The results were similar, and the ball blew by again. He was three for three as he trotted back to kick the fourth ball from five feet farther. The grass was his wake as he kicked the ball. The ball sailed over the goal, flying to the back deck of my house.
My sister announced her arrival as she caught the ball, “I am home!” Neither Wyatt nor I cared she was home. She then said, “I won today. How about you?”
I said, “I did,” just as Wyatt’s words pinned mine down with, “Barely.”
Wyatt and I traded positions as Whitley looked on. He manned the goal as I lined up my first shot. I ran hard and fast, but he must’ve read my eyes, because my last-second maneuver did not fool him. The ball bounced off his hands as he stopped my first attempt. Whitley laughed from her view from the deck above. My next attempt easily flew through the air and reached the back of the net. Again, Whitley laughed at us, and she sarcastically applauded my goal. I lined up my third shot, and Whitley began to float down the back of the steps. My eyes watched her more than the ball, and I kicked the top of the ball and slipped as the ball rolled weakly to Wyatt.
Whitley carried the fourth ball down with her to line up her own shot. She was still in her bloodstained jersey, and her lip was slightly swollen. She played soccer violently, and her cut lip was nothing new to me.
Wyatt asked, “Did you get beat up today or what?”
Whitley responded, “Of course not. The other girl lost the game and the fight.”
Whitley pushed me aside to see if she could kick one by my new friend. Wyatt mimicked my early move of slapping my knees. Whitley laughed at him. “Is that supposed to scare me?” She ran toward the ball full speed. Her right leg whipped back, and her legs scissored, and at the last second, her left foot sneaked out from behind. She kicked the ball slowly past Wyatt as he dived to her right. He hopped up, defeated and embarrassed. She pranced back up the deck stairs, holding her hand out as if waiting for a kiss on the ring. He did not ask for a rematch.
My parents came out to tell me to thank my grandmother for taking me to my game.
I asked my dad, “Can we stay with her?”
He excitedly said, “That would be great, as long as Wyatt’s mother doesn’t mind.”
Wyatt assured my parents it would not be an issue, especially since it was walking distance to his house. My dad asked my grandmother, and she, of course, agreed. My mom asked, “What about Whitley?” My parents wanted an evening out, and my grandmother agreed to take all three of us. My dad first insisted Wyatt call and ask his mother. She agreed, just as Wyatt predicted.
Whitley was not happy as she hopped in the front seat of my grandmother’s car. We passed the local scavenger again as he was now walking toward the grocery store with a wagon full of tin cans. Ogre and RJ were standing in Ogre’s front yard with both Mitch and Dale.
Whitley sighed in dismay. “Great, more boys.”
My grandmother assured her, “Don’t worry, honey, we gals will find something to do.”
Dale was already beginning to be wary of Wyatt, and his eyes did not approve when Wyatt stepped out of my grandmother’s car. Dale was the most mature of our bunch. Dale was the second of seven kids. His older sister was autistic, and she was six years older. That Dale’s parents, Ronnie and Candice, had their hands full was an understatement. Ronnie did the landscaping of every office and church in town. He was overworked and wore stained green boots. Candice cooked and chased kids along with heading up the PTO.
Dale seemed five years older than us, as he could cook and do laundry, since he was essentially second mate of his family. Dale was more like Coach Ross than RJ. He was a yes-sir type of kid. Duckworth called him Captain because Dale was constantly ordering everyone around. Dale hated it, but everyone frequently answered