window. Iâd gone through it a million times already in my head. Iâd worked out all my movesâthe jump, and how to land it. I would have got it right, too, if there hadnât been a stone under the grass, where I wasnât counting on one. Thatâs what did my ankle in.
I knew Iâd need a hostage, he said. A particular type of person.
He looked at my mother. My mother looked at him.
Then again, he said, itâs an open question, which person is the captor here, which is the captive.
He bent his head close to her ear and brushed her hair away, as if to speak directly into her brain. Maybe he thought I wouldnât hear, or maybe he was just beyond caring.
I am your prisoner, Adele, was what he said to her.
Chapter 10
I THOUGHT WEâD JUST LEAVE B ARRY where he was, but Frank figured heâd enjoy watching, so he carried him outside and set him in a lawn chair, with the Red Sox cap on that heâd picked up for himself at Pricemart. We were far enough back from the road that no one could see us, besides Barry.
Itâs your job to root for your favorite team, my friend, Frank told him.
Donât get your hopes up, I told him. You never saw anyone suck at baseball worse than me. (Barry, maybe. But I didnât want to hurt his feelings.)
Want to run that by me again? Frank said. Didnât you hear anything I told you about thinking positive?
Oh right, I said. Iâm going to be the greatest center fielder since Mickey Mantle.
Mantle didnât play center field, Frank said. But thatâs the idea.
Here was the odd thing. When Frank threw the ball, I caught it. After my mother came out, and we gave her my glove and told her to take the catcher position, I hit his pitches. Not all but more than normal. You might have thought he was just feeding me candy, but that didnât even seem to be the case.
He had stood beside me on the imaginary plate and placed my hands on the bat, repositioning the angle of my elbow and wrist, a little the way my mother did when she had taught me the fox-trot.
See the ball, he said, under his breath, just before the pitch left his hand. I got so I was saying the words too, like they would bring me a hit. It seemed they did.
If I had a whole season to work with you, he said, we could really get somewhere with your game.
A lot of your problem was in your head. You see yourself screwing up, itâs going to happen.
Picture yourself jumping out a hospital window and landing on two feetâa little glass on your head maybe, a gash down one side of your shinâyouâre out of there.
To be honest, he said, the person whose arm worries me here isnât you, Henry. Itâs your mother.
You could use some serious remedial work, Adele, he said. You, I might need to work with you a lot longer. Years possibly.
Seeing her laugh like that, I realized it was a sight I hadnât witnessed in a long time. I was catcher now. Frank was still pitching, but now he stepped away from the spot heâd designated as the mound and approached my mother on the plate. He positioned himself so he could wrap his long arms around her. Send one our way, Henry, he said, tossing me the ball.
Only one pitch, since there was no catcher. I raised my arm and released the ball. The two of them swung. There was a hard, solid cracking sound. The ball went flying.
From over in his lawn chair, Barry let out a yelp.
M Y FATHER CALLED . H E AND M ARJORIE and the kids were at a cookout. He wanted to know if we could do our Friendlyâs night tomorrow instead of tonight. There was a sound to his voice, as he said this, that reminded me of how people acted on the phone, times when my mother got me to help her out with MegaMite, and Iâd knock on the door of someone who used to be a customer, but didnât want to buy vitamins anymore, and I knew they were just wishing Iâd go away so they could get back to their life and stop feeling guilty.
You and
I knew Iâd need a hostage, he said. A particular type of person.
He looked at my mother. My mother looked at him.
Then again, he said, itâs an open question, which person is the captor here, which is the captive.
He bent his head close to her ear and brushed her hair away, as if to speak directly into her brain. Maybe he thought I wouldnât hear, or maybe he was just beyond caring.
I am your prisoner, Adele, was what he said to her.
Chapter 10
I THOUGHT WEâD JUST LEAVE B ARRY where he was, but Frank figured heâd enjoy watching, so he carried him outside and set him in a lawn chair, with the Red Sox cap on that heâd picked up for himself at Pricemart. We were far enough back from the road that no one could see us, besides Barry.
Itâs your job to root for your favorite team, my friend, Frank told him.
Donât get your hopes up, I told him. You never saw anyone suck at baseball worse than me. (Barry, maybe. But I didnât want to hurt his feelings.)
Want to run that by me again? Frank said. Didnât you hear anything I told you about thinking positive?
Oh right, I said. Iâm going to be the greatest center fielder since Mickey Mantle.
Mantle didnât play center field, Frank said. But thatâs the idea.
Here was the odd thing. When Frank threw the ball, I caught it. After my mother came out, and we gave her my glove and told her to take the catcher position, I hit his pitches. Not all but more than normal. You might have thought he was just feeding me candy, but that didnât even seem to be the case.
He had stood beside me on the imaginary plate and placed my hands on the bat, repositioning the angle of my elbow and wrist, a little the way my mother did when she had taught me the fox-trot.
See the ball, he said, under his breath, just before the pitch left his hand. I got so I was saying the words too, like they would bring me a hit. It seemed they did.
If I had a whole season to work with you, he said, we could really get somewhere with your game.
A lot of your problem was in your head. You see yourself screwing up, itâs going to happen.
Picture yourself jumping out a hospital window and landing on two feetâa little glass on your head maybe, a gash down one side of your shinâyouâre out of there.
To be honest, he said, the person whose arm worries me here isnât you, Henry. Itâs your mother.
You could use some serious remedial work, Adele, he said. You, I might need to work with you a lot longer. Years possibly.
Seeing her laugh like that, I realized it was a sight I hadnât witnessed in a long time. I was catcher now. Frank was still pitching, but now he stepped away from the spot heâd designated as the mound and approached my mother on the plate. He positioned himself so he could wrap his long arms around her. Send one our way, Henry, he said, tossing me the ball.
Only one pitch, since there was no catcher. I raised my arm and released the ball. The two of them swung. There was a hard, solid cracking sound. The ball went flying.
From over in his lawn chair, Barry let out a yelp.
M Y FATHER CALLED . H E AND M ARJORIE and the kids were at a cookout. He wanted to know if we could do our Friendlyâs night tomorrow instead of tonight. There was a sound to his voice, as he said this, that reminded me of how people acted on the phone, times when my mother got me to help her out with MegaMite, and Iâd knock on the door of someone who used to be a customer, but didnât want to buy vitamins anymore, and I knew they were just wishing Iâd go away so they could get back to their life and stop feeling guilty.
You and
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