Fish: A Memoir of a Boy in Man's Prison T. Parsell (ebook reader play store .txt) 📖

that didn't work. We couldn't afford a color TV because my parents were getting a divorce.

I remembered thinking, there wasn't anything in the world that was better than baseball. The Detroit Tigers vs. The St. Louis Cardinals. They called it the Year of the Pitcher, because seven pitchers had ended the season with an ERAS below two. Dad once said, "You could be the greatest batter in the world, but it wouldn't matter. You'll always be limited by what's thrown at you."

It was the sane year I moved in with Dad and Sharon. Mom said it was only temporary-until she got on her feet-and I had believed her. They split up because she had an affair with a guy name Dave. Dave was married too, but somehow he still managed to keep his family together. I couldn't understand why my dad couldn't do the same thing.

I started listening to baseball while sitting on the porch and waiting for my nom to pick me up for the weekend. I watched for her car as I listened to my small transistor radio. Sometimes Mom wouldn't call until two or three hours after she was supposed to be there. And other times, she would forget all together. The games made the time pass, and Ernie Harwell, the voice of Tiger Baseball, helped distract me from Sharon's ranting and raging about my no-good mother. She had broken my dad's heart, and he sometimes wouldn't cone hone for days at a time, which left Sharon even angrier. The white plastic earphones of my transistor radio were enough to escape her screaming.

When the Tigers won the World Series, they surprised everyone. They had gone into it trailing three games to one. But in the seventh inning of the seventh game, after nobody thought they could do it, the Tigers had rallied, and I was in love with baseball.

They were my only heroes that year. Even my brother Rick had run away from home. My mom, my dad, and even my big brother had all deserted me that year.

I remembered walking to school the next day and in the window of the corner drug store, seeing a big cutout of a Tiger with a dead Cardinal hanging from its mouth. It was the same drug store that called Sharon a couple of weeks later to tell her they had seen me stealing on their new closecircuit cameras they had just installed. They weren't sure what it was that I had stolen, but they clearly saw me sticking something inside of my pants. They thought it might have been a Baby Ruth bar. I swore I didn't steal a candy bar, but Sharon wouldn't believe me.

"You know," Delmar said. "Slide Step used to play in the Minors."

"Oh Yeah," Earl joined in. "He's quite the player."

I was sure they had heard what had happened to me the day before. I looked over toward the baseball field, on the opposite side of the yard. I belonged to Slide Step now, and I didn't know anything about him. He was so quiet. The way he sat back against the wall, looking at me and gently smiling.

"He played with LeFlore in Jackson," Delmar said.

"Ron LeFlore?" I asked, sitting up.

Ron LeFlore was the center fielder for the Detroit Tigers. He was considered the fastest man in baseball. Tiger manger, Billy Martin, recruited him out of Jackson Prison. It was probably the only good thing Martin did for the Tigers.

"I can't believe he knew Ron LaFlore," I said, looking back toward Slide Step. "Was he as good as him?"

"He was pretty good," Delmar said.

Earl nodded in agreement.

"No kidding," I said.

Cisco walked up with a six-pack of Mountain Dew, two packs of Pall Malls and a Hostess Twinkie. He kicked off his shoes and sat down on the grass. "I'm a bushed woman," he said. "Now don't you dare, either one of you, ask me to do nothin' else."

"Oh I've got something for you to do later," Earl said. He reached inside Cisco's overalls and grabbed his nipple. "We were just talking about fantasies before you came over here, Tim."

"Tell 'cm what your fantasy is," Delmar prodded Cisco.

"OK," he said, smiling. "I want to be gangbanged by a gay motorcycle gang."

"A gay motorcycle gang?" I tried to hide my horror.

"A gay motorcycle gang," Earl echoed. He and Delmar chuckled.

"That's right honey," he said. "They have them in California." He laid back on the grass and threw his legs up in the air. "Heaven's Just a Sin Away."

Delmar poured turpentine into his cup and Earl popped open a can of pop. Still feeling nauseous, I got up and excused myself. Cisco was going home in a couple of weeks. I wished it were me, but I still had six hundred and eighty-tour days to go.

I walked across the yard toward Slide Step. He raked the dirt on the infield with his back to me. The letters REC were stenciled on his dark green jacket. His shoulders were broad, and his thighs were thick and muscular. I thought about my heroes of '68. And now it was spring and the start of a new season. Perhaps it was time, once again, to take an interest in baseball.

I never told anyone what it was I had stolen from that corner drug store. It wasn't a candy bar. But what it was, I took to my new school that day and placed it on top of any desk. When the teacher came over, she picked it up and examined it.

"Is that your mother?" She asked, holding up the small, three-and-a-halfby-five-inch frame. "She's really beautiful."

"She's the most beautiful woman in the world," I said.

When I reached Slide Step, I was struck with a sudden panic. I didn't know what to say to him. With rake in hand, he looked up at me and smiled. "Hey, Squeeze!"

15

Lessons in Streetball

On a hot summer night, somewhere between the sixth and seventh grades, Igrew almost six