Some members of the small New England town’s Little
League Teams traditionally gathered at the ball field in
the morning before school to talk about the previous
night’s game. Mikey loved baseball, but wasn’t very good
at it. However, he was good at talking. Maybe he could
talk himself into an invitation to try out for one of
the teams for next season. Sure, he could just show up
at the field in the spring and get in line, but with an
invitation he just knew he’d make it.
He started up the front steps of the small white
colonial style house in which he lived with his mother
and sister. He had just put his hand on the aluminum
handle of the old storm door when his foot slipped off
the edge of the concrete steps. Still hanging onto the
handle, he jerked backwards, his knee slamming into the
edge of the brick border. He let go of the handle and
fell sidelong into the flowerbed landing in a mixture of
mulch and weeds just as the door caught the mailbox. He
felt a sick feeling in his stomach when the screen tore.
Righting himself, he winced when he looked down and saw
a tear in the patch his mother put on the knee of his
blue jeans. She’d put it on to hide the first rip he’d
put there sliding into third base playing stickball down
the block. He bent over and stuck a finger into the
hole, feeling the warm sticky feel of blood.
He looked up just as his mother came to the door.
“Michael James Sutton, I should have know you were at
the root of all the noise out here.” She had on her coat
and hat.
“Are we going somewhere?” he asked.
His mother caught the door before it hit the house for a
second time. She joined him in the flowerbed. “The
seasonal merchandise has come in at the department
store. Mr. Colton asked if I could take on some extra
hours and help out in the storeroom for a few months.
You and Sissy have to go to Mrs. Hall’s everyday after
school. Weekends, too. Your sister’s already there. I
was waiting for you.”
“Mom, the World Series. Phillies-Royals. Tug McGraw,
Mike Schmidt. You said I could watch it after I do my
homework. Mrs. Hall never watches anything but the
shopping channel.
“I know, honey, but we could use the extra money.” She
reached down and took his hand, noticing the blood smear
on his fingers. “What is this?” She followed his guilty
gaze to his knee.
“It was an accident, honest.”
“I’m sure it was. Just like before. No one breaks a nose
or tears up a knee on purpose. We’d better get that
cleaned up.”
They walked back inside the house and she shrugged off
her coat and headed for the bathroom, appearing a few
moments later with hydrogen peroxide, some tissues,
Bactine and some Band-Aids.
Mikey slipped off his jeans and perched himself on the
old plaid hassock in the living room. He watched the
first aid efforts as he spoke. “I can stay here. I’ll do
my homework and watch the game. Nothing else. Promise.”
“You can do your homework at Mrs. Hall’s.” She dabbed at
his skin with the tissue, gently cleaning off the dried
blood.
“But mom, the game.”
“There’ll be other games, honey.”
Mikey pressed his lips together. “I never get to do
anything. You work all the time and I hardly get to see
you this time of the year.”
“It’s October, honey. The store needs help to get ready
for Christmas.”
“Christmas isn’t until December. Why do you have to go
now?”
“Because now’s when the season begins. I get extra work
when it’s available. You know that. And the holiday time
brings steady work for three months”
“But then Sissy bosses me around until after New
Year’s.”
She gently placed the Band-Aid in the center of his knee
and peeled the covering from the adhesive. After patting
the strip in place, she tousled his sandy brown hair.
“I’ll talk to your sister and tell her to be nicer to
you. Now, let’s go. I don’t want to be late.”
Mikey pulled on his jeans with an angry tug. “I hate
Christmas.”
His mother stooped down so her gaze met hers. “You don’t
mean that.”
He pursed his lips. “Yes, I do. And I always will.”
