After Forever (19 page)

He was returning the last of the bottles for
the day when Jimmy and Biff spotted him. They watched with interest
as Jon Flanders put the coins in his hand.

Flanders saw Bottles’ nervousness.

“What’s wrong, son?”

Bottles shook his head, but glanced
outside.

“Them?” Jon gestured.

“Yeah.”

“Who are they? They look like shady
characters to me.”

“They’re my cousins. Dad left them living at
home.”

He put a fatherly hand on the boy’s
shoulder. “Are they bothering you?”

“Nothing that I can’t handle, sir…right now
anyway.”

“You let me know…”

“Sure, Mr. Flanders.”

Bottles got on his bike, but the cousins
blocked his way. Flanders watched as they pulled the boy off the
bike. While one held him, the other shoved his hands in the boy’s
pockets, pulling out his precious pennies.

They laughed as Bottles began to cry.
Humiliated, he pedaled away.

At home, the scene was even uglier. Aunt
Louise sat him at the table demanding to know where he stole the
money from.

“I… I didn’t steal it. I earned it from my…
my job. I have a part time job.”

“Who’d give you a job?”

“It doesn’t matter who. I have one and I
have to do it every day.”

“We’ll see about that.” She turned to her
sons. “Boys, I think it’s time you entered the world of
finance.”

While they discussed the boys finding a job,
Bottles ran out and rode into town. With school starting in a few
days, he decided to go to as many games as he could. Yet, as much
as he loved the team, his heart wasn’t in it. He lasted to the
seventh inning and left, slowly riding back home.

Had he stayed, he would have seen the grand
slam that sailed over the fence right into his friend’s glove. Not
only that, he would have been invited inside the stadium along with
the other wall rats.

He pulled his bike into the cellar and went
to bed.

It was not every day the Raccoons made the
playoffs with home-field advantage for the first games. Because of
that, the first day of school was delayed.

Back at home, the cousins came up with a
novel way to earn money. Bottles would do the work, and they’d take
it from him. Bottles figured as much, so as soon as he finished his
chores, he headed into town. After cashing in the first batch of
empties, he headed to Myer’s Hardware.

“Hi, Mr. Myers. I’m here to—“ Bottles
stopped talking. Sitting on the counter was a baseball holder with
an autographed ball inside it. “Wow!”

“Nice, huh? The team is giving this away
along with these.” The man showed the boy an album of autographed
team photos. ”There are four of these, that stuffed raccoon over
there, and a few other things.”

“How do you win them?”

“It’ll be drawings of ticket stubs. Are you
going to the game?”

“I’d sure like to, but…”

“Say Bottles—I didn’t see you in the stadium
on Tuesday. Weren’t you at the game?”

“I was there. In the stadium? No, I was
outside the fence.”

“It’s a shame you missed catching that grand
slam home run ball. Jack Marshall caught it. Then everyone that was
outside was invited inside. Why didn’t you come inside? I know you
love the team.”

Bottles lowered his head. “I’ve been having
some problems at home since dad left. Guess that happened after I
left the game.”

“You dad walked out on you?”

Bottles looked up. “Oh, no sir. He went out
of town to look for work.”

“Who’s looking out for you?”

“My Aunt Louise is there. But so are her two
sons.”

“Tell me what’s going on, son. Start at the
beginning.” He gestured to a chair behind the counter.

And so, Bottles revealed the ugly details of
life with his surrogate family.

“You listen to me, son. There are laws
against what they are doing to you.”

“But—”

“No buts. You let me deal with them.” He
glanced at the autographed baseball. “You do know the manager of
the Raccoons, don’t you?”

“Yes, sir. Joe Kiski. He used to play in the
majors. I only saw him once when I tried to get my ball signed. But
he was busy.”

“Joe is my brother-in-law.”

Bottles’ eyes opened wide. “Really?”

Mr. Myers nodded. “Let me make a few
calls.”

“Wow. Your brother-in-law.” Bottles shook
his head. He put his hands in his pockets. Feeling the change, he
remembered why he was there. “Oh, Mr. Myers. Here’s my money to pay
for the padlock. I almost forgot.”

The owner pulled out the ledger and marked
the charge entry paid. As he was putting it away, he spotted the
familiar red ’57 Chevy driving by.

“Bottles—I thought you said your dad was out
of town.”

“He is.”

“Then who is driving his car?”

The boy ran to the window. “My cousins.
They’ve already dented a fender. They’re looking for me—to steal my
money again.”

“Do either of them have a driver
license?”

“I don’t think so.”

He picked up the phone. “Mabel? Ring up the
police chief will you?” He hung up the receiver.

“What are you gonna do?”

“Don’t you worry none.” The phone rang;
Bernie answered. “Hey Bill. A couple of young hoodlums are driving
Bottles’ dad’s car. No. no license. They’re his cousins, but I
doubt they have permission. Pull them over will you? Great.”

“Are they going to be arrested? They sure
deserve it, but what will Aunt Louise say?”

They watched as the police chief flagged the
car down to stop. Both boys got out of the vehicle. Bottles and Mr.
Myers could see there was an argument going on, but couldn’t hear.
Sure enough, after a couple of minutes, the chief escorted the boys
to the town’s jail.

“They sure don’t look happy,” Bottles
observed.

“No they don’t,” Bernie chuckled.

Bottles looked at the clock. “Oh, I’m late.
I have to go, Mr. Myers. Thanks for having them arrested.” Bottles
laughed.

“You’re welcome son. And Bottles, don’t
worry. Everything has a way of working out.”

“Yes, sir.”

When the boy left, Myers picked up his phone
again. “Mabel? Connect me to Joe Kiski over at the stadium.”

CHAPTER 7

He saw Aunt Louise walking down the road. He
stopped next to her.

“Aunt Louise? Where are you going?”

“Into town.”

He shrugged. “Why not take dad’s car?”

“Harrumph. Too nice a day. Thought I’d
walk.”

“Okay. See you later.”

He rode away, but she called to him. “Have
you seen my boys?”

“No ma’am. I finished my job and was coming
straight home.”

“Make sure you do that. And do the laundry.”
She turned around.

He shook his head. “Laundry again? How do
they dirty so many clothes?”

As he turned into the driveway, Bottles
decided he’d better lock his bike away every time he was home. He
realized if his cousins were grounded, the bike would be the first
thing they’d come after.

He wheeled the bike down the steps and
closed the hatch door. He ran inside to the cellar. Locking the
hatch door from the inside, he hid his money, tossed in a load of
laundry and went upstairs to shower. He figured he had roughly half
an hour before they’d return, providing the chief let them out.

When he was finished, he looked in the
fridge. His aunt had made a roast, but Bottles knew better than to
eat any of it. Instead, he made a boloney sandwich and headed to
the cellar. After swapping the load of laundry, he went back
upstairs with a book and sat on the porch.

Sure enough, the red ’57 Chevy pulled into
the driveway. Aunt Louise did not look happy. Neither did his
cousins.

Stomping up the porch steps, Aunt Louise
stopped long enough to tell him to put that book away and that
supper would be ready in fifteen minutes. Then she turned to her
boys and ordered them inside.

During dinner, someone knocked at the door.
Bottles opened it.

“Mr. Myers? Come in.”

When Louise saw it was a man, she ran her
fingers in her hair, pinched her cheeks, and shifted her breasts
for maximum exposure.

“Who is it, Ralphie?” she screeched.

“It’s Mr. Myers from the hardware
store.”

“How nice of you to visit.” She placed a
hand on her hip and practically shoved her bosom in his face.

He stepped back. “Actually, I came to ask
Bot--, I mean Ralph, if he would help me tomorrow.”

“Oh,” she screeched again, “Is this about
his job?”

“No, ma’am. I was just wondering if he could
help me carry a few boxes.”

“Sure I can, Mr. Myers. Be glad to.”

“Thanks. Oh,” he reached into his jacket
pocket. “I also wondered if you and a couple wall rats would like a
few tickets to the first playoff game against the Madison Muskrats
tomorrow at five o’clock.”

Bottles eyes lit up, just before Louse
reached over and snatched them from the man’s hand.

“How very kind of you.” She counted them.
“There’s only three.”

“That’s all I could get.”

“Well the boys and I thank you.”

Bottles’ eyes teared. “What about me?”

“What about you, Ralphie?” Jimmy
sneered.

“Don’t worry, son. I’ll try to get another
one, for you .”

“Thank you, sir. What time did you need me
tomorrow?”

“Can you be at the store by four
o’clock?”

He nodded.

Mr. Myers turned. “Enjoy the game tomorrow.
Be sure to keep your tickets stubs,” he added. “There’s going to be
prizes. Free hotdogs, too. Be sure to be there early.

Bottles watched Bernie pull out, then ran
inside. “Why do you want the tickets? You don’t even like
baseball.”

“So?” The three of them laughed at the boy.
“Free food and prizes. And Ralphie? After you finish helping that
man carry the boxes, you come straight home. I’ll have some chores
for you.

He glared at them and ran to the cellar.

~*~

Bottles arrived at the hardware store by
four o’clock as requested. The bell above the door jingled when he
entered.

Mr. Myers had a box packed on the counter.
It contained the signed baseball, the album of photos and the other
stuff that was on display.

“Would you carry that to my car, Bottles? I
have something else to get. Just put it in the back seat.”

“Sure thing.” The boy slid the box in the
car and went back inside. He did not see his cousins standing
across the street watching.

Jimmy nudged his brother. They went over to
the car and looked inside. Opening the door, they removed the
photos out of the album and took them along with the signed
baseball. They closed the door and looked around. No one saw them.
They casually walked towards the stadium.

Inside, Mr. Myers waited with a box for
Bottles. “Here.”

“What’s this?”

“Open it.”

The boy took the lid off the box. “What is
it?”

“You don’t expect to be a bat boy wearing
jeans, do you?”

“A bat boy? Me?” His eyes opened wide. “I’m
going to be a bat boy for the Raccoons?” He hugged the man and
started crying. “No one ever did anything so nice for me. I don’t
know how to thank you.”

“You can thank me by having fun. You deserve
it, Bottles. Do you want to leave your bike here?”

Bottles sobered. “I have to be home before
my aunt is.”

“Okay. You ride over to the stadium and I’ll
take the uniform and meet you there.”

CHAPTER 8

The afternoon was perfect. At the stadium,
Bottles ate as many hotdogs as he wanted and got to meet all the
players, including manager, Joe Kiski. The boy was in awe, but once
the game started, he was all business.

As games go, it was one for the record book.
It was tied at zero, going into the seventh inning. Both teams had
hits, but no runs. The first drawing was held after singing ‘Take
me out to the Ball Game.’

“Will the holder of ticket number: Section
237, seat 14 come to the main concession stand to claim your
prize.”

By then, Myers and Joe Kiski discovered most
of the prizes were missing. Luckily, Joe had some extra photos in
his office and the drawings went off without a hitch. The only
prize not immediately available was the signed baseball originally
on display.

Kiski had an extra one, but he was going to
give it to Bottles.

“The boy will have to wait. Who could have
taken the stuff?”

“I don’t know, Joe, but it wasn’t the boy.
He was with me.”

“We’ll have to question him.”

“I know, Joe. I know. But wait until after
the game. Let the boy enjoy himself.”

The game continued. Eighth inning, no score.
Ninth inning, no score. Tenth inning, the tide changed. The
muskrats had nothing. Then the Raccoons were up. A couple of
singles had players at first and second. Left fielder Jeff
Smithers, stole third. The next two batters struck out. Then
‘Ranting’ Hank Rickles strode to the plate.

He swung at the first pitch. Strike one. He
swung at the second pitch. Strike two.

Bottles couldn’t contain himself. “Relax,
Hank.,” he yelled out. “Relax.”

The batter smiled at the boy and settled in.
He was not going to fall for another fast pitch. Ball one. Ball
two. Ball three, a full count. The winning run was at third
base.

Rickles settled the bat on his shoulder and
stared at the pitcher, who wound up and released the ball. It flew
fast and straight. Rickles waited until the last possible second
and swung.

THWACK!

Rickles knew. Bottles knew. Everyone knew.
They were on their feet. It was a home run. The ball sailed over
the far wall. Smithers stepped on the home plate. Kemper rounded
third and ran home. Rickles jogged around the bases, stepping
squarely on home plate.

The game was over. Three zip. Game one went
to the Raccoons.

Bottles, meanwhile, knew he had to get home.
Not bothering to change, he hopped on his bike and pedaled as fast
as he could. His other clothes were in the basket on his bike.