As David pedaled homeward, the space in his gut where hope and optimism had burned so bright just twenty minutes earlier filled with the leaden weight of inevitable and unending loneliness.  He pedaled noncommittally, resigned to spending the rest of the summer, maybe the rest of his life, apart and alone.  He would turn into one of those sickly, pasty-faced kids that scuttled from class to class, never looking up, never speaking to anyone.  He could skip school for days, weeks even, and no one would wonder what had happened to him.

     Why did I have to try for the ball? He wondered, fighting back fresh tears.  I could have just stood and watched.  Eventually they would have asked me to play – if not today, maybe tomorrow.

     Why did I do it?  He thumped his fist against his handlebars.  He knew he could never show his face at the ball field – or anywhere in that neighborhood, for that matter – again.

     He fumed as he rode, not really noticing the houses he passed.   David could scarcely remember what life had been like back in Chicago before Janie died, but he knew it had been nothing like this.  With his little sister gone, it was as if someone had permanently dimmed the lights.  Everything had changed, had gotten harder and much, much quieter.  Conversation in the house had ground to a halt. 

       They had moved suddenly, “An opportunity to get ahead,” his mom had told him, trying to sound enthusiastic.

     David feigned disinterest, but he had been relieved.  Staying in the house had become unbearable.  Everywhere he turned he saw Janie; sitting and drawing in front of the TV, or across the breakfast table from him, her chin resting in her hands so that her lips were pushed into a duck bill as she stared desultorily at her oatmeal.  His mother had insisted on preserving her room like a museum.  David could never walk past her door without getting a chill and wanting to slam the door shut.  It was like his mom left the room that way as a constant reminder to him that he had failed – that it was his fault she was gone.   

     David suspected most people took some time getting their fresh start.  They thought, considered, planned, then started.  Not the Fuller family.  One day he came home from school to find a “For Sale” sign in the yard.  Four days later, they pulled into the driveway of their new home 6oo miles away in some little known suburb of Kansas City, of all places.  It was almost as if  his parents had just posted a map on the wall and thrown darts to select their new home. 

     During the twelve-hour drive, his mother had chattered on endlessly over how wonderful everything was going to be; Dad’s new job, his new school, all the new friends he would meet.  He wondered who she was trying to convince.  He’d heard enough snatches of whispered conversations to know his father had been fired and had taken this new job out of desperation.  David wasn’t deaf, and he sure wasn’t stupid.

     Despite himself he had been optimistic those first few days in this new place.  Here, no one knew anything about him or about what had happened.  He could literally be a different person, if he wanted, and no one would know.  He thought maybe that moving to a new town at the beginning of the summer would be the perfect time to strike up friendships to take into the new school year.  But that was before he knew there were no kids in his new neighborhood.   

     Their new house was on a cul-de-sac at the end of a road with four or five houses down either side, and no one had kids.  From the day they moved in, the most David saw of his father was the flash of headlights through his window late a night as he returned home from work. 

     “Billable hours,” his Dad explained – as if that meant anything to David.  After a week of whispered arguments they thought David could not hear through the thin bedrooms walls – and, Lord help him, he had tried stuffing everything he could find in his ears to keep from hearing – his mother had gone to work in some office.  She started wearing too much makeup and was on the phone all the time, using a high-pitched, overly enthusiastic, half begging tone of voice David had never heard before.   She said she worried about leaving David home alone, but not enough to do anything about it, he thought – that is until the Shelton and his parents moved in next door. 

      Why couldn’t a normal kid have moved in? Or even a girl.  At least that way, I’d be off the hook, David thought, miserably.

     He knew his mom was too relieved to be able to pawn him off on someone else to believe anything bad David had to say about his “new best friend.”

     David pedaled faster as his anger and resentment grew.  Maybe he didn’t need friends.  After all, he had been doing fine by himself the last couple of weeks. 

     If only he had just sat by his bike and watched.  Eventually they would have asked him to play.    And even if they hadn’t, at least they wouldn’t all think he was the World’s Biggest Loser.    David pounded his handlebars again.  The front wheel turned, and the bike swerved.  David’s legs slipped from the pedals, and he almost crashed again.  Once righted, he winced, lightly tracing the scabs on his arms and bruises under his shirt with his fingers. 

     He braked to a stop at the top of the hill before the turn-off to his road and gazed westward.  The gray ribbon of road stretched out before him, rising and falling with the rolling hills as they marched toward the horizon.  He coasted down the hill, gathering speed.  He took the run onto Rosehill Lane without braking, bent low over his handlebars.   

     David relaxed and coasted the rest of the way down the hill, along the flat stretch, and up and into his garage.  He heard a scratching at the door to the kitchen and a muffled yip.  David eased the door open.  Pete pushed through the opening, slobbered once on David’s knee, then raced out to the yard.  Leaving the door open, David stepped inside and poured a glass of water from the faucet.  His throat was very dry, and where he wasn’t either burning or throbbing, he itched.  The phone rang. 

“Well hello, David.  Have you and Shelton been having a nice time?”

     David opened his mouth to say that ‘yes, they had been,’ but something in his Mom’s tone stopped him.  Sometimes, David knew, adults asked kids questions they already knew the answer to hoping to catch the kid in a lie.  David had always thought this practice a dirty trick, but so far had found no one to complain to.  It was an especially nasty trick when the truthful answer would land the kid in trouble anyway, so he really had no choice but to lie, thereby compounding his offense and increasing the punishment. 

     He quickly considered several possible replies; comparing each against the evidence he knew she might have against him, also aware that each millisecond hesitation he was losing credibility.  First, since he had answered the phone, she knew he was home and not next door.  Second, the only reason she had called over here was she probably had already called Shelton’s house and found he was not there.  There really was no way out.

     In his most earnest tone, David said, “Mom, I tried. I really did.  But the kid’s weird.  He…”

     “We’ll talk about it when I get home,” she said, her voice cold. 

     The line went dead before he could reply.   David slammed the phone down on the hook, sat back, and stared at the ceiling, seething with anger.  It was so unfair.  It was as if they were starting a whole new life, one that had never contained Janie and where he was like some moving box his parents didn’t really want but could not bring themselves to throw out. 

     Maybe he could just run away to live in the woods at the other side of the pasture.  He could just imagine running along a deer trail, his clothes hanging from his body in tatters, his face painted with ash from burnt logs and crushed wildflowers like the Indians.  He would squat before a small blaze roasting a charred piece of rabbit he had caught in a snare. 

     David shook his head and sat up staring resentfully at the phone and listened to the emptiness of the house.  His parents may be miserable, but that didn’t mean they had to go and make his life even more miserable by forcing him to hang around with the some retard.  Did they want him goin’ stupid, too?  He wasn’t sure if whatever the kid had was catching, and he sure didn’t want to find out. 

     David thumped his head against the back of the couch over and over until the popcorn texture on the ceiling spun.  Then he had an idea so simple, he almost felt embarrassed he hadn’t thought of it sooner.

     What if Shelton didn’t like him?  David leapt to his feet and began pacing back and forth, planning his next move.  He knew he couldn’t do anything to hurt or scare Shelton.  No, too obvious and he didn’t feel like being locked in his room for the rest of his life.

     What if he was just really, really boring?  He considered that for a moment, shook his head – no way to tell yet what Shelton would think was boring.  He’d just have to wait, watch, and then decide.

CHAPTER 3

David stood in the shade of Shelton’s front porch trying to sound out the name on the brass plate on the front door.  S-K-I-E-V-A-S-K-I.  Pete woofed lightly as if to say, ‘Hurry up.’  David took a deep breath and pushed the doorbell.  

Nothing happened. 

Hope surged in his chest.  Maybe they’ve gone, he thought.  He pressed his ear to the door and pushed the button again.  Between the chime tones, he heard the tinny, hollow voices and dramatic music of a television.  Then he heard footsteps and just had time to step back when the door jerked open. 

“Yes?” Mrs. Skievaski demanded.  She looked down at him, then still facing him, craned her neck to peer down the hallway.  David peered around her considerable bulk and could see the T.V. screen across the room at the end of the hall. 

“Uh,” David stammered, suddenly unsure of what to say.  “I’m David…,”

“Yes, yes, I know.”  She fluttered a hand at him without looking away from the television.  Then the hand hooked a thumb over her shoulder. 

“Shelton’s around back.”  She stepped back, and the door swung shut. 

David stood for a moment, staring at the door.  He looked across the yard and considered going home.  He thought again of what his mom had said on the phone, and with a sigh, he stepped off the porch and rounded the house. 

The back yard was a tangle of weeds, knee high scrub oaks, and thistle.  By comparison, his own yard looked like a golf course fairway.  As he rounded the corner of the house, he saw Shelton sitting in the shade of the patio with his back against the house.  He looked up as if he had been expecting David and patted the concrete next to him.

David stared for a moment, shrugged, then sat down next to him.

“What happened to you?”  Shelton asked.

David sat slowly, trying not to groan.  He meant to say, “None of your business,” but instead, found himself telling Shelton everything, the whole story, in detail.  He couldn’t stop.  He felt as if his head, heart, gut, and mouth were being gently squeezed until everything he saw, thought, or felt poured out of him. 

It felt good.  He felt as if he was able to look back over everything he had been through, roll it around and examine it, only this time without the physical or emotional pain.  He could look at it differently, and feel differently about what it all might, or might not, mean.

     He finally told Shelton about getting home, the phone call from his mom, and then his decision to come back over.  He finished, exhaling deeply and staring at his shoelaces.  Abruptly, David realized two things:  First, his chin, palms, in fact his whole body, no longer burned or ached.  Second, Shelton’s hand was resting on his forearm.  Shelton sat looking at David, a slight smile on his lips and one eyebrow somewhat cocked, as if waiting for more. 

David jerked his arm out of Shelton’s grasp and stood, rubbing the place on his arm where Shelton’s hand had rested.  He thought he should feel creeped out, but he didn’t – and that was confusing. 

“Feel better?” Shelton asked, his voice sounding somewhat older and calmer than David remembered. 

“Uh, sure.  Whatever.  I guess,” David answered.  He glanced back toward his own house.

“Had lunch yet?” Shelton asked, standing and opening the sliding glass door.  He paused in the opening, one hand open, palm up, inviting David inside.

“Uh, yeah, uh, I mean, no,” David stammered.  “I gotta go,” he said and hurried away to his house. 

That night, David told his mom he had fallen off his bike (the truth) and that Shelton and he had hung out in the yard (also the truth, kinda).  The latter made her so happy, she forgot their phone conversation.  David watched and listened in barely concealed horror as she ran to the phone, called Mrs. Skievaski and made plans for he and Shelton to spend at least the rest of the week together.  David groaned and slipped off to bed.

CHAPTER 4

 Each ensuing day David spent with Shelton revealed more of Shelton’s oddities.  He had no interest in board or card games – or rather his mother would not allow him to play ‘games of chance,’ and he never watched TV.  He didn’t know how to throw or catch a ball.  All he wanted to do was go outside and do crazy stuff - not regular crazy stuff like lighting farts or playing ding-dong-ditch-it on the neighbors, but stuff like with the ant hill, or scattering little bits of cloth and wire.  He said the birds would use them to help build sturdy nests. 

Shelton loved animals.  Not just dogs and cats, but everything, and he treated them like he treated people.  Once David asked Shelton why he sniffed dogs’ butts.  He said he was just being polite and introducing himself.  Each night, David would watch and wait, hoping, praying, that his mom would forget to call Shelton’ mom, and each night he went to bed disappointed, dreading the next day.

One night, David’s Dad came home in time for dinner.  He was smiling for a change and actually seemed relaxed.   He announced he had a surprise, which immediately put David on his guard.  Traditionally, surprises were unveiled during dessert.  The past year or so had seen a number of surprises, none of them good.  David ate slowly, tuning out most of what his parents talked about.  He realized he was actually getting used to this place and dreaded the idea of another upheaval.  He tuned in when he heard his Dad say, “…tickets?”  He was looking at David, an uncertain smile on his face. 

“Huh?” David asked.

“I said, I got the company tickets to the Royals this Saturday - three seats.  Whaddya think?”   David almost said, “That’s it?” but his Dad looked so enthusiastic, proud even, he held his tongue. 

“Uh, great,” David said, trying to sound happy. 

“Uh,” David’s mother said, “I’ve got an open house I can’t miss this weekend.”  Then her eyes slid to David and she smiled.  “Why don’t you ask Shelton?” 

Both parents looked at David, expectantly. 

“Oh no,” David said, shaking his head.  “Shelton hates baseball, and he’s afraid of crowds.  No, I don’t think he’d want to go.  Plus, his mom doesn’t like him to leave the house.”

“Nonsense,” his mom said, getting up from the table, “You just leave her to me.”

She went into the kitchen to make the call, returning a few minutes later looking amused. “Well, that was strange,” she said. 

“What?” Dad asked. 

“Well, I asked Shirley if Shelton could go to a ball game with you two, and she asked, ‘What kind of game?’”  David and his father exchanged glances.

“I told her it was a baseball game, and do you know what she said?”

David shrugged.  His dad shook his head.

“She said Shelton doesn’t play baseball.  I explained that they weren’t going to play, they were going to watch.  She still didn’t get it.  ‘Watch who?’ I couldn’t tell whether she was putting me on or not!”

“What’d you say then?” his Dad prompted.

“I had to explain that the stadium was in the city, just off of I-70, and that’s where the major league baseball team played.  All she said was ‘Well, ok.  If you think it’s all right.’  Then she hung up.”  David’s mom sat back down and sipped her tea, looking amazed.  “Honestly!  It’s as if they’re from another planet, or something.”

They looked at David.  “Well…..yeah,” he said, changing the ‘duh’ he had meant to say at the last instant.  He said nothing more and sat, hoping that maybe they would finally catch on. 

David’s mom shrugged and went back to her dessert.  “It’s settled, then,” she said.  David slumped in his chair. 

“Well, do you think he really wants to go, or would we just be dragging him along?”  David’s father asked. 

“He’s not really a sports fan…”  David said, thinking of the first time he had tried to get Shelton to play catch.  After first having to explain what it meant to  “play catch,” then finding out he didn’t have a glove, David had almost hopped back on his bike for another try with the kids in the park.  He found one of his old gloves in the garage, then found out Shelton didn’t know how to throw or catch.  David tried to show him, but his advice to “keep your eye on the ball” ended badly.  He had to admit, though, Shelton was a tough kid. 

As long as David was throwing and Shelton was missing and running after the ball, he seemed amused.  But when he finally succeeded in catching a ball in his glove without the ball first glancing off his body, he handed the ball and glove back to David, said, “That was fun,” and sat down on the patio.  David tried to explain that the point was to keep throwing the ball back and forth, and how he and his friends from Chicago used to spend hours playing catch in the street.

“Why?” Shelton had asked, looking incredulous. 

David was stumped.  Why did he enjoy standing in the street throwing a baseball, or a football, or anything else for that matter, back and forth – back and forth - for hours at time? 

“Well,” he ventured, finally, “Because it’s fun.”  Shelton rubbed the red swelling just under his left eye and said, “Oh,” unconvinced. 

CHAPTER 5

The next Saturday morning the phone rang three or four times.  Each time David’s Dad answered, and David heard him reassure either Mr. or Mrs. Skievaski that, “Yes we were still going,”  that “No, the slight threat of showers early this evening would not cancel the game,” that “Yes, it would be a good idea for Shelton to wear a hat, but that since the temperatures were likely to be in the 90s, and we would be home before dark, a jacket was not necessary,” and “No, there was food served at the stadium, so it was not necessary for Mrs. Skievaski to pack a basket,” and finally that “No a tie was definitely not necessary.  Shorts and a tee shirt were actually more appropriate.”  He hung up after the last call with a “Whew,” and wagged his eyebrows at David, then checked his watch. 

“All right,” he said, clapping his hands together once. “Time to go.  Let’s git before that phone rings again.”  He made a sweeping motion with his arm toward the door to the garage, like he was the bowler, and David was the bowling ball.   “Got your glove this time?”

They both grinned at the memory of a White Sox game a couple of years before.  Their seats had been a couple a couple of rows up from the fence in the right-center field bleachers.  It was David’s first game ever, and he had not known that every kid, and some adults, brought their ball gloves to the game.  In the top of the 3^rd inning he found out why.  The Sox were playing the evil New York Yankees.  He was seated as comfortably as the wooden benches would allow, a chocolate frosted malt slowly turning to soup as he tried, somewhat successfully, to spoon the mush into his mouth with the flat wooden spoon that came stuck to the side of the carton, when he heard the crack of a bat.  He felt and heard everyone around him stand.  No one was seated in front of him, so he had an unobstructed view of the ball screaming directly at him.  The air was so clear, and the ball seemed so big as it approached, David could see the red stitches as the ball rotated.  He froze. 

Reliving the incident later on the ride home, David imagined that he had his glove, that he leapt to his feet, stood on the bleacher, stretched to his full height and snared the ball with the effortless, athletic grace of a born center fielder.  He imagined that, after the game, a scout from the Sox stood outside the gate as the fans issued out, on his toes, head bobbing and weaving, looking for him - the next Rookie-of-the-Year. 

What really happened was, David’s Dad and two guys behind him, collided going for the ball.  They missed, the ball slammed into the empty bleacher seat in front of him, and his frosty malt ended up all David’s shirt. He spent the rest of the game in a sticky puddle getting crusty. 

David remembered getting home from the game and telling his mom and Janie about the incident.  Janie had reached out to touch the dark stains on his shirt, then put a finger to her mouth.  “Hmmmm,” she had said, licking her lips.  “Chocolate.”  She had insisted on going to the next game so she could have a ‘frosty mutt.’   

The memory made his throat ache.  He suddenly didn’t feel much like going to the game – especially with Shelton.  He turned away from his dad, walked silently to the car, and climbed in.

David’s father pulled the car into Shelton’s driveway.  As they got out the Skievaski’s front door opened, and Shelton walked out, flanked by both parents.  His Dad blinked in the bright sunlight while his mom bent over Shelton fussing.  David took one look at Shelton and almost laughed out loud. 

“Be nice, now,” his dad cautioned quietly, the smile clearly audible in his voice.

 David coughed and covered his mouth.

“Are you all right, David?”  Mrs. Skievaski asked.  She placed a protective arm around Shelton’s shoulders and looked at David worriedly.

David took a deep breath. “Yes, Mrs. Skievaski.  Something just went down the wrong pipe.” 

“Hey Shelton, ready to go?” David’s Dad asked, clapping his hands together enthusiastically.  Mrs. Skievaski looked David and his father up and down, comparing the shorts and T-shirts they wore to the slacks, black leather shoes, and oxford Shelton wore.  David rolled his eyes and suppressed a groan.

“Oh dear,” she muttered and hustled Shelton back into the house. 

“Well,” Mr. Skievaski said, rocking on his heels, “who’s playing?”

“Uh,” David’s Dad said, “the Royals and the Yankees.”  The smile remained in his voice.  David wondered how he could manage to keep a straight face.

“Should be a good, uh, match, then, hmmm?”  

“Yes, it should.”  David’s father rocked on his heels, staring skyward, his Adam’s apple bobbing convulsively.

An awkward silence settled over the front porch.  Looking upward, anywhere but at Mr. Skievaski, David noticed a mud dauber building a nest in the upper corner of the porch ceiling.   He had been stung once before, right in the webbing between the first two fingers of his left hand.  It had felt as if someone had driven an ice pick through his hand.  He ducked, pointing upward.

“You’ve got wasps, Mr. Skievaski,” he said.

“Good God, where?!” he gasped ducking so forcefully his glasses hopped to the end of his nose.  David stuffed his fist into his mouth and coughed, trying to cover his laughter.  Mr. Skievaski straightened out of his crouch standing next to David’s Dad.

“Allergic,” he mumbled.  David’s father made an “Oh” with his lips and nodded, knowingly.  He winked at David.  David turned quickly and pressed his hands against his stomach hoping to quell the spasms threatened.  He walked out and sat in the car to wait. 

Shelton and his mother reappeared with Shelton wearing baggy shorts, a T-shirt that looked like it was probably his dad’s, and a cap with an overlarge bill that made David think of Elmer Fudd.

“Great,” David’s dad exclaimed, clapping his hands together once.   “Let’s get going.” 

Shelton climbed into the backseat next to David, and they all waved as they pulled out of the driveway.  Mr. and Mrs. Skievaski waved back, standing shoulder to shoulder, watching as they drove away.