Southpaw (3 page)

J
immy had trouble falling asleep that night, but he decided not to fight it. The rain was steady and it was blowing hard against his bedroom window, which looked across the alley to an apartment house.

He’d called his mom and that had been okay, but those conversations always left him feeling uneasy. She was only a hundred miles away, but she might as well have been on the moon. His only access to her was the telephone or e-mail. Besides, she had always seemed more interested in riding her horse than being with him or his dad. She almost never came to his athletic events when he lived there. His dad always did.

But he had heard something in her voice tonight, a sadness over the fact that he wasn’t with her. He’d tried all month to be upbeat about the new situation, but today’s news about making the team was the first really good thing that had happened to him in Hudson City.

He still felt bad sometimes for choosing his dad over his mom, choosing a very different environment over the cozy little town in Pennsylvania where he’d lived his entire life. But home was with his father, wherever that might be. He’d even heard his mother say it several times: “The boy needs his dad.”

It was true. As eccentric as Dad was—with all his symmetrical rules and quirky expressions—he certainly cared about his son. Sometimes it almost seemed like he cared too much, as if he thought Jimmy would shatter if his dad wasn’t there to guide him through the world.

Dad had grown up in New Jersey and had moved “out to the country” before Jimmy was born. When he lost his job in the bookkeeping department of a Scranton manufacturer—“down—sized” they called it, but they all knew a firing when they saw one—he’d taken an offer from a high-school friend and gone to work in Jersey City.

“This will be home,” he’d said to Jimmy. “You’ll see.”

But it wasn’t home, and they both knew it. Jimmy hadn’t had a lot of friends in Pennsylvania, but he did have some. Here, Ramiro was the first kid to show any interest at all, and that was partly from the excitement of making the team.

A truck was idling in the street below Jimmy’s window, and a couple of dogs were barking back and forth nearby. Headlights from the Boulevard lit up his walls every few seconds.

He pictured himself out on the mound, the sun blazing, spectators cheering, a bright red HUDSON CITY logo across his uniform chest. The bases were loaded with nobody out, and he’d been summoned from the bullpen to save the game. He threw a strike. Then another and another. One out. The fans were standing now, too excited to sit.

Two quick strikes on the next batter, then a surprise throw to the first baseman, catching the runner off guard and picking him off. Two down.

One more pitch would finish this thing. He wiped his brow, shook off a sign from the catcher, then nodded. He leaned back, went into his windup, and hurled one so fast that the batter never saw it coming. Strike three. Game over. His teammates rushed to the mound and embraced him.

A smile crossed his face and he shut his eyes and relaxed. But someone gunned the engine of the truck downstairs and it backed up noisily, jolting him from the imaginary ballgame.

Jimmy looked over at the clock on his bedside table: 11:52. Tomorrow was Saturday so it didn’t matter if he slept in, but his dad had to work. What would he do by himself? No way was he sitting inside all day.

He pulled a blanket over his head and tried to drift off to sleep. Sooner or later, he did.

The sun was shining when he woke the next morning, and he could hear music from a car radio in the alley. His stomach was rumbling with hunger.

“Nine forty?” he said aloud as he looked at the clock. “That’s about the latest I ever slept.”

Dad had left a note that he’d be home by four, and also a twenty-dollar bill.
Get milk and oranges and buy yourself some lunch,
the note read.

He’d have to go out for the milk and the fruit, so it looked like he was free to roam. What could go wrong in the daylight anyway?

He decided to walk the length of the Boulevard, scouting out the town on foot, then pick up the groceries on the way back.

First he’d get an early lunch.

A man was working on his car in the alley behind the building, bent over the open hood. Dad had obviously driven to Jersey City instead of taking the bus, since their parking spot was empty.

The weather had cleared and it was a lot warmer, but there were puddles all over the sidewalk as he walked up the Boulevard, which was filled with people walking.

He passed the YMCA and several small groceries and restaurants and clothing stores. At Eighth Street he reached Jalapenos.

He could see through the door that the restaurant was already busy, mostly men sitting alone or in pairs at small, square tables. At the front of the store was a counter with several dishes on a steam table. The food smelled spicy and delicious.

Jimmy stepped inside. A young woman behind the counter smiled at him.

“Ramiro here?” he asked.

“Ramiro,
sí,”
she said. She pointed toward a half-door with a sign that said EMPLEADOS SOLA-MENTE. Jimmy could see that it was the kitchen, with a steel table and sink and a large stove.

Ramiro came through the door and grinned. “Thought I heard my name,” he said. He was wearing a white apron.

Jimmy pointed toward the sign on the door. “Does that mean kitchen?”

“No,” Ramiro said. “That means ‘You ain’t allowed.’ Employees only.”

“Oh.”

“What are you up to?”

“Was hungry. What’s good here?”

“Everything’s good. What do you like?”

“Most things.” Jimmy nodded toward a table, where two men had plates of yellow rice and beans and chicken. “That looks great.”

“Arroz con pollo,”
Ramiro said. “It’s good and it’s cheap. We sell it by the ton.”

“I’ll have that then.”

“You’ll like it. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

Jimmy took a seat at one of the tables near the front. All of the tables had white tablecloths with yellow flowers printed on them, and all of the cloths were covered with sheets of clear plastic. The woman at the counter brought him a plate of the food and some utensils.

“Drink?” she asked.

Jimmy looked at the cooler of bottles beside the counter. The words Coke and Sprite were the only English words he saw in the whole restaurant. So he ordered a Coke and started eating.

The food was tasty and there was a lot of it. Jimmy tried to read the menu while he ate, but he didn’t know much Spanish.

Ramiro came out and sat across from him. “Good?” he asked.

“Great.”

“I work until two. You want to come back then and hang out in town?”

“Yeah. Definitely.”

“We’ll find something to do. Maybe play some basketball.”

“Good deal.”

Jimmy chose the Bonanza Supermercado to get the groceries: CARNES, FRUTAS Y VEGETALES. Big posters filled all of the front windows: EXTRA LARGE EGGS/HUEVOS, RICE/ARROZ 20-POUND BAG, GREEN PLANTAIN, FRESH BEEF TRIPE. He didn’t know what plantains were, and he didn’t think he
wanted
to know what tripe was.

He walked down a very narrow aisle stacked to the ceiling with cans of beans and tomatoes and bottles of olive oil; dog food; baby food; and cereal. There were dozens of types of beans, mostly in cans labeled GOYA or LA FE. Mops and brooms for sale hung from the ceiling.

In the back of the store was a meat counter, and alongside that some produce bins. He put four large oranges in a paper sack, found the dairy case for a half-gallon of milk, and took a can of red beans just for the heck of it. Then he paid at the front counter and headed for home.

 

Ramiro was out in front of the restaurant when Jimmy returned, dribbling a basketball and wearing a yellow baseball cap backward.

“How much you work?” Jimmy asked.

“Just weekend mornings. Most of us work at least some—my brothers and cousins.”

“You get to cook?”

“Not for customers. I know my way around the kitchen, though. I make my own stuff sometimes when I’m hungry.”

“I wouldn’t mind being a cook,” Jimmy said. “I like being around food.”

They walked to the YMCA, which had an outdoor basketball court around back. Several high-school kids were playing a half-court game at one basket. Jimmy swallowed hard when he saw Spencer and Lamont and a few other seventh-graders down at the other end, just shooting. They were all quite sweaty; they must have been playing for a while.

“Phlegm alert!” said Spencer when he spotted Jimmy.

Ramiro smacked hands with Spencer, who was giving Jimmy a smirk. “What’s been good?” Spencer asked.

“With me?” Jimmy asked.

“Yeah, you.”

“I don’t know.” He wasn’t even sure what Spencer meant.

“You don’t know what’s good?”

The other kids were standing close, looking Jimmy over. They’d seen him many times, of course, but always in school or at practice. This was the first time he’d come close to hanging out.

“It’s finally getting warm,” Jimmy said. “That’s pretty good.”

“Yeah,” Spencer said. “The weather’s gonna do what it do.... You got some height. You play hoops?”

“Of course.”

“Maybe you can handle Jared—he’s our center. Me and him’ll take Ramiro. You be with Lamont and Willie.”

Jimmy shrugged. “Whatever you say.”

Spencer and Jared had been starters on the school basketball team and played together well. Jared had a couple of inches on Jimmy and a bit of bulk, so he had no trouble scoring off feeds from Spencer.

“We smashed you,” Spencer said after hitting a long jumper to win it. The game hadn’t been close. Jimmy managed just two baskets against Jared, who had scored almost at will.

“Quicker game than out in Ohio, huh?” Spencer asked.

“Pennsylvania,” Jimmy corrected. “Home of Temple, Villanova, LaSalle. The Sixers? You ever heard of them?”

Spencer laughed. “Philly’s a long way from the Poconos, though. Ain’t it?”

Jimmy shrugged again. “I guess.... Sturbridge is more of a football town.”

Jared shook Jimmy’s hand and said, “Nice game.” His T-shirt said HUDSON CITY SUMMER LEAGUE. Jared was the only other white kid in the game, but he fit right in. He and Spencer seemed to be just about best friends.

Spencer walked over to the chain-link fence at the side of the court and uncapped a bottle of Gatorade. He sat on the asphalt and took a drink. Then he ran his fingers through his hair, which wasn’t very long, and stretched out his legs. “I’m done,” he said. His skin was dark against his plain white tank top, and his muscles shone with sweat. “Toss me that top,” he called to Willie, who picked up Spencer’s sweatshirt and threw it at the fence.

Lamont and Jimmy teamed up for a two-on-two game against Ramiro and Jared, which they lost but were much closer.

“I gotta leave,” Jimmy said, figuring that his father would be home soon.

“Me, too,” said Jared.

“I’m out,” said Lamont.

So Jimmy walked off while the others gathered their stuff. No one had quite said good-bye, although they’d kind of acknowledged that he was leaving. City kids were different, but not so different, he figured.

He looked back as he reached the gate. Ramiro had his back to him, talking to Spencer and laughing. Lamont caught Jimmy’s eye and pointed at him, holding his finger out and nodding quickly. They were all waiting for each other; they’d leave together and get sodas or go to someone’s house to hang out.

But Jimmy felt all right. The game hadn’t ended up in a fight or an embarrassment. He hadn’t made much of an impression either way, but nobody had given him grief. Just Spencer’s usual routine.

He wasn’t a great basketball player, but anything athletic was Jimmy’s best way of relating to other kids.

He’d be okay. It wouldn’t be easy, but he’d find a way to fit in.

T
he first day of April was bright and warm, and Jimmy could hardly contain his excitement as he and Ramiro tossed a ball back and forth. In just a few minutes the season would begin. They were nervous and excited, even though they’d be starting the game on the bench.

Jimmy felt a rush of pride as he looked at Ramiro’s bright-red cap with HC emblazoned on the front. He was wearing that same cap and the same white uniform with the red pinstripes and socks.

Neighboring Union City was visiting on this Wednesday afternoon, and the bleachers held a reasonable number of spectators. The base paths on the dirt diamond were lined in white, and the not-quite-green grass had been neatly trimmed. The digital scoreboard beyond the center-field fence was lit up with zeroes.

“Let’s go!” called the umpire, and the Hudson City starters trotted onto the field. Jimmy and Ramiro entered the dugout, where they stood behind the protective chain-link fence, their fingers gripping the links.