ALEX
I raise the glove to my chin. The leather smells warm, though the air’s cold. Red seams dig into my fingers. I huff out a breath. My knee comes up. I pivot and reach for the catcher as if I can grab his hat. The ball thumps into Bryan’s mitt. Papi nods at me. I smile before I can stop. The batter drops the bat and walks off the field.
Papi’s friend, the other coach, mutters something I can’t hear. He stays behind the chain-link fence. Papi asked him to bring his best hitters, the ones he’s considering for the travel team this summer. I’ve struck all four of them out. And the sun’s not even above us yet.
Papi waves me in. Bryan stands and stretches his legs. He keeps looking toward First Ave. He’s wondering if Danny’s gonna show. He’ll be an hour late if he does. Danny doesn’t have to come. But he does if he wants to stay on Papi’s team. Danny hasn’t been playing well for AHH. He’s missed too many practices. At least he’s been playing. At least he’s trying to stay part of one team.
I glance at First Ave too. Someone’s coming. But it’s not Danny. It’s another of Papi’s friends. He’s got three players with him.
Papi’s hand goes up for the new coach. He walks past me to meet them. Robi runs onto the field. He’s been practicing swings behind the fence this whole time. Robi drops into the dirt beside Bryan, legs as wide as he can get them. Bryan ribs him a little, then tosses him his glove. Robi sinks into a squat. He does the drills Bryan taught him. Robi’s always wanted to pitch. Papi won’t let him. This spring he started following Bryan around, learning all he could. He’s asked if I could pitch to him about a thousand times. I only ever do it when Papi’s not watching.
“Yefri! ¿Cómo tu ’ta?” Papi knocks the coach’s shoulder. Yefri introduces his players. Papi shakes their hands.
“Oye.” The other coach, the one still hanging on the fence, calls me. He shows me his fist, taps his chest with it, and nods.
I nod back.
Bryan’s watching. He turns so the coach can’t see him. He grins and sticks out his tongue. He’s probably swinging his eyebrows but I can’t tell because of the mask. He’s been in a good mood since he and Julissa patched it up.
Robi snatches the mask off Bryan and drops it on his own face.
“Throw me one!” He runs toward first.
Papi’s coming our way. He’s got an arm around Yefri. I shake my head at Robi.
“You heard from Danny?” Bryan creeps close.
I shake my head again.
“You think he’s with—”
“Not now.” I tilt my head toward Papi. He’s still chatting with Yefri about which positions to put us in. They can hear us.
I check my watch. I got to be on the train by four if I want to meet up with Isa. She’s been practicing nonstop since she was named understudy for one of the leads. She’s probably backstage right now, sewing ribbons on her shoes for her tech rehearsal. It’s crazy that dancers do that. They’ve got these rituals to prepare their shoes, kind of like what we do to our mitts. Isa’s eyes got this crazy glint when she told me about it. Like she’d just had a double espresso. And an energy drink. They get like that whenever she talks about dance. Or her brother. I wonder if that’s what they look like when she talks about me.
“¡Ále!” Papi’s shout jabs me in the back. The players are fanning out to the field. “What you waiting for? Let’s go. Yefri will play right field.”
I turn toward the pitcher’s mound.
Papi’s yelling at Bryan about his mask. Robi is flying back from first, kicking up dust. He calls, “Papi! Papi! Papi! When Bryan hits, can I catch?”
Papi says something I don’t hear. Robi scuffs to the bench.
I raise my glove. I watch Papi’s hands, changing my grip to what he wants.
A white and blue car rolls by. It stops as I wind up to pitch. They can’t rattle me. Not when I’ve got my mitt and a ball in my hand. One of the cops nods as I strike the first batter out. They’re cruising for Saturday trouble. They won’t find any here. We just playing ball.
Out of seven hitters, only one makes contact. It’s a foul. Bryan straightens. He takes off his pads. He’s the last in the lineup. Papi takes Bryan’s mask and props it on his head. Robi barrels out from the bench. He jumps up and down. His hands pray against his chest. I jog to home.
“Come on, let him catch. It’s only gonna be three throws.” I give Bryan my wicked smile, but he’s looking at First Ave again, waiting for someone who’s not coming.
“Please! Please! Please!” Robi hops like a toy with too much battery.
Papi ignores him.
“Pedro! ¡Déjalo!” Yefri shouts from right field.
“Yeah. Let’s see your other boy play.” Papi’s friend, his players call him Mr. Jhonny, rattles the metal fence.
Papi hands the mask to Robi. He doesn’t look at him. I grab the pads. I get on my knees to strap Robi in. I make sure the mask fits good and tight.
“Remember what I told you?”
“Yup.” His braces shine in the sun. “Toes out. Chest up. And don’t forget to widen your feet.”
I tap the side of his head with my glove.
Papi comes up as I back away. “Just ’cause it’s your brother, I don’t want you easing off your pitches.”
“What about Bryan? He is my teammate. Hitting a homer would be good for his confidence, no?”
Papi sniffs. He doesn’t like humor. He takes his place behind Robi and I go back to mine. He wants me to throw a fastball. For the first time, I don’t do what he asks. I throw a changeup, and not just because it’ll be easier for Robi to catch. Bryan can’t hit them.
The ball cuts through the air. It drops into Robi’s glove. Robi jumps up and hurls it to me. Light flashes off his smile. He did it just fine. But Papi’s on him, telling him his chest was too low, his feet were too close.
A couple of moms with babies pass by. They’re frowning at Papi. The strollers pick up speed as they power walk away.
Why is Papi always so hard on Robi? He’s hard on Bryan, on Danny, on me. But never as hard as he is with Robi. I like that Papi saves time for me. He didn’t when I was little. It wasn’t until I hit my first ball past that dented orange garbage can beyond the outfield that things changed. I was nine. A full year younger than Robi is now. I keep wondering when Robi’s gonna hit his ball out of the park.
Papi strides toward me.
“What did I ask for?” His jaw is clenched.
“It was the wrong call,” I mutter.
“What you say?”
I drop the ball into my mitt. I palm it then drop it again. “Bryan didn’t hit it, did he?” It’s not like this is even a real game. We’re all trying out to be on the same team.
“When you here, I’m coach. You do what I tell you.” Papi storms back to Robi. Robi’s grinning, already in position.
Bryan taps the bat to the base. He swings it into position.
Papi’s fingers dance. He wants me to do the four-seam. Fine.
I draw my knee to my chest. I hinge forward. The ball shoots from my shoulder, from my arm, from my fingers. It cracks against the bat. The ball rockets upward. It’s in front of home plate.
“Go! Go!” Papi yells.
Bryan streaks for first.
Robi staggers off his knees. His mitt is out. He’s peering up. Sunlight and metal flicker from his teeth.
The ball plummets. It bounces off the pad at Robi’s shoulder.
Papi curses. He’s so loud, Bryan turns around.
Papi pushes Robi. It’s like a truck pushing over a paper stop sign. Robi hits the dirt with an oomph!
“¡Levántate!”
Robi gets up as Papi asks.
Papi’s hand is on Robi’s chest. He’s driving my brother backward. They crash against the fence.
I drop my glove. I run for home. I get there just as a man with a badge rounds the corner.
Papi’s yelling. His fists are out. He’s not going to hit Robi. He’s just angry. The police don’t know that. All they see is a brown man losing control.
“Papi! ¡Tranquilo!” I put myself in front of him. I take his shoulders with my hands. Bryan gets to Robi. He brings him to the other side of the fence.
“You know how to catch the ball! I teach you that! I no teach you to drop it!”
“He’s just learning.” My voice is low.
“You never did anything so stupid.” Papi spits into the dust. “Even when you were five.”
“Is there a problem here?” One cop is at my side. The other, a lady, is talking to Robi.
Papi’s chest is like a train engine without a brake. I shake my head. Papi better keep quiet.
“Good afternoon, officers.” Yefri arrives from right field. His chest is going pretty quick too. “How can we help?” He has no accent when he speaks. Unlike Papi.
The officers say other parents in the park have issued complaints. They want to take Papi to the precinct to ask him some questions.
Papi can’t go there. He’s not good in those situations. He’s not good with authority unless the authority is him.
“You baseball fans?” Yefri asks them.
Of course they are.
Yefri puts his hand on the back of Papi’s neck. Papi’s looking at the water. He squints against the glare. His mouth is like a line between bases.
“Well this here’s a former Yankee. He and Jeter were rookies together.”
I see it happen. The change Papi always talks about. When folks learn to know you as someone more than what their eyes tell them.
The creases on the officer’s brow relax. He smiles an openmouthed smile. “No way, man. What’s your name?”
Papi’s still gazing out at the harbor. “I only played one year.”
“Eighteen months and twenty-six days,” Yefri corrects. He doesn’t tell them how many games Papi played. He’s trying to inflate what Papi did. Yefri whips out his wallet. Papi’s rookie card is tucked behind his driver’s license. Papi’s got a few in his desk. I’ve never seen anyone else with one.
What would Isa think if she were here? Would she see why baseball is important for someone like me? That it makes folks see me as more than just another moreno?
“Wow. That’s cool, man.” The officer gives Papi a fist bump.
“You see, my friend here’s passionate about the game, ya know? Sometimes a little too passionate when he’s coaching his own kids.” Yefri’s smiling like he’s got tickets to give away.
The officer glances at me, at Bryan, and Robi. The other players know enough to stay away. “These are your kids, sir?”
Sir. The cop didn’t use that word before.
“The little one, and this one here.” Yefri pats my shoulder. “This one’s got a future. They call him Big Papichulo because of his hitting and because, well, look at him, he’s a handsome guy.”
That nickname makes me want to gag. But I smile at the cop like he’s my favorite teacher.
“And he can pitch too. Did you see him play?”
The officer nods. “His pitching isn’t bad. Can I see him hit?”
All eyes turn to me. At least they’re off Papi.
What would the cop think if Isa were standing with me? If she were holding my hand? Would he still look at me the way he’s looking at me now? The way he did when he saw me pitch? Or would his look be different? Like the lion guy with the suit on the subway?
Yefri hands me the bat. Mr. Jhonny gets out his glove and takes the ball from me. Yefri signals him to throw a regular two-seamer. Something easy enough to hit. Mr. Jhonny nods, but he does something different. He throws me a slider. No matter.
I slam it like it’s the part of Papi I want to get rid of, the anger he holds inside.
José in left field turns and runs. He passes the dented orange trash can.
Papi’s not looking out at the water anymore. He’s looking at me.
•••
It’s after two when we get back. Yaritza meets us at the door.
“How’d it go?” Her eyebrows lift over her smiling eyes.
Robi walks up the steps and into her arms. He hides his face in her shirt. His shoulders shake like he’s cold. Yaritza glances at me. She doesn’t look at Papi who goes to the kitchen and opens the fridge. She purses her lips at the sharp snap of a can opening.
I pick up the glove Robi dropped on the stairs. “It smells delicious. Tamales?”
Yaritza’s smile comes back. But only to her mouth.
She takes my sleeve as I go by. “Did you ask him yet?”
I shake my head. Her eyes narrow as she strokes Robi’s hair. We’re both thinking the same thing: Later.
“I found one that would work. I pressed it for you,” she whispers.
I kiss her forehead. I kiss Robi’s hair.
After I shower, I set the table and help put the food out. Robi pokes at his meal. He eats enough to not draw attention.
When Papi’s belly is full, and Yaritza is sprinkling cinnamon on his café con leche, I ask if he has a suit I can borrow.
Papi puts down his cup. He looks at Yaritza. She turns her back and walks dishes to the sink. “What’s it for?” he asks.
“A dance performance,” I say. “Of a friend of mine.”
Papi’s eyes slide closed. He sips his coffee and grins. “A dance performance, eh? ¿Con una jévon?”
Isa isn’t just a pretty girl. I don’t want to tell him how much more she is until they meet her.
Yaritza slaps Papi’s arm with the dish towel. “Déjale. The boy needs proper clothes. His old ones don’t fit. Look at him, he grew un centimetro while we were eating.”
“Es como su papá. Big and strong. Takes after me in other ways too, eh?” He winks.
“Está guapérrimo. Súper handsome. How they say—you’ll have to be beating them off with the sticks?” Yaritza beams at me as she scrubs a plate.
“What do you mean, beating them away?” Papi drawls. “The way to deal with flies is to give them a taste of the honey.”
Yaritza swats him again with the towel. Papi grabs hold of the end and pulls her toward him. She falls into his lap, giggling. Papi makes wolf noises as he kisses her neck. Robi brings his plate to the counter and leaves. I want to go after him. But I need that suit.
“Remember, only a taste.” Papi tickles Yaritza. Her shrieks make him smile. “You need to save up for lo más importante, your games. Te lo prometo. They will be falling over themselves to get to you. Like this one here was.” He kisses Yaritza again. “You’ll get your reward. You’ll see.”
I shift in my seat. When his hand goes under her blouse, I look out the window. A father plays catch with a little girl in the yard next door. Her ponytail swings as she throws. I wonder if she and Robi are friends. I’ve never asked him about his friends. I never see any around.
Yaritza whispers in Papi’s ear. Papi pulls her upright. He stands, one hand around her waist, the other massaging her back. They move to go upstairs.
“You know that’s not why I do it, right? That’s not why I play ball.”
Papi stops and looks at me. Yaritza slips out of his grasp. He spanks her bottom as she scurries up the steps.
“Of course not. You play because you love it.”
The stairs groan as he follows her up.
I go to check on Robi. He’s curled on his bed, asleep, a manga under his hand. Ace of Diamond is written below the Japanese characters. I slip it out without waking him. I flip through animations about a boy who’s a gifted pitcher. Papi’s scrawl is on the inside cover. For Alex. It’s dated the year I was in fifth grade. I don’t remember getting it.
Robi’s clock, a baseball player holding a bat and a glove, shows the glove near four, the bat at ten. I go to get my bag. I’ll have to come back before Saturday to get the suit. I also have to tell Papi I won’t be able to spend the night next weekend. I’ll be with Isa.
A garment bag hangs on the front door. Below it is a bag with foil-wrapped tamales, enough for me to share with Bryan and Mami when I get home.
Yaritza is the best.