Elegy - Chapter 15

** sorry for the delay on this.  I thought I sent it out two days ago, but it never sent**

After our confrontation, practice more or less broke up. I left it to Seth and Lyla to make sure Marco made it to the show and headed home to change. After, I found myself standing in the middle of my room, holding my phone, debating with myself. Lyla had been right, but it still felt like the kind of thing my father would do, which made me hesitant.

“Screw it,” I said to no one in particular, and hit his contact number.

After several long seconds, Warren answered. “Hey, Charlie. I saw you called a few times, sorry I didn’t answer. It’s been a little crazy here since last week. How are you holding up?”

“Okay, I guess. We’re all still a little wigged out. Uhh … did Kent tell you I talked to him?”

“About the lost instruments? Yes. Did you end up getting them replaced?”

“Yes. We went to Asheville and took care of it so we could play this weekend. That wiped us out though. We’re playing this weekend to essentially make up the difference and get back to just having no money. Sorry, I should have asked, how are you? How’s the leg?”

“I’m all right. I’ll be in a cast for a few months, but I’ll heal. Look, I owe you an apology for what happened in Raleigh. I should’ve checked that venue out myself, made sure it was the same management team, and made sure everything was set up right. I also should have called off the show as soon as we had the electrical problems. I knew that was a safety hazard, but I let you go on anyway. I made a mistake, and I’m sorry.”

It actually helped to hear that. I know Lyla had said basically the same thing, but I’d been holding onto my guilt for the show, since we wouldn’t have even been there if I hadn’t pushed Warren into setting it up.

“Okay, we can both feel guilty about it. Deal?”

“Deal. On the good side to address your immediate problem, the label is taking this very seriously. Legal has filed a suit against the management company and the building owners for breach of contract and negligence. That being said, they’ve already approved our paying for your lost instruments so you can get on the road again.”

“We already replaced them, though,” I said, my mouth getting ahead of my brain. Why I would try to talk him out of it, I had no idea.

“I may not have mentioned that part to my bosses. They should cut a check soon and get it to you. I know you’ll be in a tight spot until then, so I’ll do everything I can to speed it up. Between any payout we get from the management company and our insurance, I imagine we won’t have to eat any of the cost, so it shouldn’t blow back on anyone too badly.”

“Okay, well. I appreciate it. Actually, while I have you on the phone, there was something we wanted to ask about. We heard about the charity benefit show coming up next month and were hoping you could get us on the lineup. We understand it probably won’t be a paid gig, but the exposure would be amazing. We’d be fine with any spot we could get, and considering how well the New Year’s show went, I think we’ve shown we can handle it.”

“I actually already pitched that because you’re right, it isn’t that different from the New Year’s show, and the exposure would be tremendous,” Warren said.

“But …” I said, hearing the unspoken word in the tone of his voice.

“But my bosses don’t think it’s a good idea. The guy heading the show was in some of the meetings involving your father and his demands, and he is not your biggest fan.”

“So they’re penalizing me?”

“Yes. I know it sucks, but these kinds of guys hold grudges. Not forever. If you’re making them enough money, you could probably bump off one of their family members and they’d still invite you for the holidays, but if not … yeah. It’s not fair, and it’s why I’ve been warning you about Marco. If anyone makes enough waves for them to see it, you’ll get a black mark.”

“Does that include Raleigh?”

“Not against you.”

“But they’re going to hold it against you, right?”

“For a while. I think that might be another reason for them turning us down. You could try going through Kent and see if he could get you the spot, but between what happened with your dad and my connection to the Raleigh show, yeah, it’s a tough sell.”

“Damn. This sucks.”

“Yeah, I know, and I’m sorry about it. Like I said, the only way to fix it is by making them money, so let’s focus on Philadelphia and Florida. Those are both big shows where you can still get some good exposure and make good money. We do enough of those, everyone will be out of the doghouse, and we can keep moving forward.”

“Sure. We’re already working on some new stuff for those shows. We’ll be ready.”

“See, that’s what I like to hear.”

I didn’t know if I was relieved or disappointed when I hung up. I’d been worried about either getting Warren in trouble or giving the execs another reason to be annoyed, and both of those had been true without me asking for anything. On the flip side, everyone had been right, and that show would have been good for us. I hadn’t realized that I was actually hoping we got it until I was told we wouldn’t be able to get it.

***

Sunday was the first baseball game of the year, and it wasn’t going well for us. Both teams had scored early, putting up runs in the first inning. After that, it had turned into a pitcher’s duel, and no one had managed to score another run. There had been lots of foul balls, and the count had gone full more times than I could count. We had to sub in David as our closer in the bottom of the fourth, and he was already starting to get winded.

They were better behind the plate than us. Except for one incredibly lucky triple that turned into an infield home run after an error, we hadn’t scored another hit all night. They, on the other hand, had gotten multiple men on base. We fought each time to keep it from turning into a run, but it hadn’t been easy.

Worse, they were up in the bottom of the inning, which gave them another chance to tie it up or win the game. And David was running out of steam.

I didn’t have room to judge anyone since I’d had a terrible game so far. I hadn’t had any serious plays in the outfield, yet, and I’d struck out looking two times. Heading out to the field, looking at my teammates, it seemed like we all had a bad feeling about how this inning was going to go.

The leadoff batter strode up to the plate, smacking his cleats menacingly with his bat. David glanced at Coach, who gave him a nod of encouragement. We were all nervous, but I think David had it the worst. The first game of the year would set the tone for the whole season, and he didn’t want to let the team down, not when our opener had done such a good job holding things together. I wouldn’t say these guys were better than us, but I also couldn’t completely deny it. I could see David tense up from where I stood in the outfield. That was a bad sign.

The first ball left his hand, curving low and outside.

“Ball!” the umpire called.

He shook it off, took a deep breath, and threw again. The second pitch sizzled over the middle of the plate.

“Strike!”

The batter stepped back, slapped the bat against the bottom of his shoe, and went back to the plate, pulling his bat back up, ready to swing. He didn’t really need to bother. The third pitch veered off course, nearly hitting the batter.

“Ball!”

David put his hands on his hips, looking down for a moment, clearly frustrated, before holding up his glove for the catcher to throw the ball back. He took a deep breath, stood up tall, and let another one go. I don’t know if he tried putting too much on it, overcompensated, or if he just lost control, but this one dipped low over the plate, the batter letting it pass unanswered.

“Ball!”

David tugged at his ball cap again. Three balls, one strike. The batter had the advantage, and I was pretty sure he knew it. David paced around the mound, taking a moment to refocus. His next pitch had to be perfect. He wound up and snapped his arm forward, releasing a fastball straight down the middle.

“Strike two!” the umpire shouted.

The batter tensed up now that the count was full. David reared back and threw with everything he had. The ball rocketed towards the plate, and the batter swung with all his might, not even coming close.

As the guy stomped off, I exhaled in relief. One down, two to go. Hopefully, he was starting to settle down.

The next batter fouled off three pitches in a row, each barely over the line. David managed to get two strikes in, filling the count, followed by another four foul balls. If he kept this up, he wasn’t going to have enough energy to make it through the inning. He wiped his brow, adjusted his cap, and all I could do was stand out here in right field, waiting for something to come my way.

David threw again. The ball spun end over end, arcing toward the plate. The batter’s eyes lit up as he swung and connected solidly. A line drive into right field.

I sprinted left, tracking the ball’s path. My outstretched glove was inches away from snatching it out of the air, but the ball was just a fraction of an inch too high. Soaring over my glove, it hit the ground a few feet away and continued rolling. I cut hard to get back to it, scooping it up and rocketing it to second as the runner neared the base. I wasn’t going to stop the double, but I could at least keep it from being a triple.

“Damn it!” I muttered under my breath.

I saw Harry gesturing my way and knew he was making some remark about me missing the catch, but I knew Coach Dean had seen it and would recognize that I gave it my all, and it was just too high for me to reach.

The next at-bat was short but very much not sweet. He hit it right out toward left-center field, but our shortstop intercepted it and tossed it to the third baseman. The only thing that saved the runner at second from getting caught in a ‘pickle,’ between second and third, was his hesitation. He’d waited to see if the shortstop was going to get it, and so was close enough to get back to second base before we could tag him out.

It was now one out with men on first and second.

We had a little bit of luck and had reached the end of the lineup, their pitcher was up. They trotted out a designated hitter, but either he hadn’t been prepared or he was just having a bad game because he struck out on three pitches. They were even far from the best pitches I’d seen David throw. But we’d take it, giving us two outs and two on base. We just needed one more out to put this game away.

David was struggling, and I think everyone could see it. I could see him shaking his arm, trying to get some life into it after so many pitches. Taking a few deep breaths and looking at the bases for movement, he wound up and threw a fastball on the outer edge of the plate.

“Strike one!” the umpire called.

He’d gone the full count on the first batter, and way past that for the second, so I knew it was a faint hope, but I hoped this was a sign of him getting his wind back.

The next pitch was off, high and outside, and the batter let it go by, putting the count at one and one. David shook his head, and I could see him doing that thing he does when he starts to mutter to himself.

The third pitch was another ball, low and away. He couldn’t keep doing this. If he ran up the count on every batter, pretty soon he’d start walking in runs. After he threw that third pitch, the runner at second took a few tentative steps toward third until our catcher rocketed the ball over David’s head and right to our second baseman. The runner made it back, and I hoped that was enough incentive for him to stay where he was.

David lost all control on his fourth pitch, the ball slamming into the batter’s leg. The batter yelped, grabbing his knee, but walked it off after a few steps after the umpire only warned David instead of ejecting him. Faking a serious injury was a cheap move, just trying to get our guy thrown out.

I smacked my glove against my leg in frustration. I’d never seen him hit anyone before. He was unraveling. Coach Dean came out to talk to him, patting him on the back. David looked tense, and I knew he was feeling the pressure. He nodded at whatever Coach said, took a deep breath, and readied himself for the next batter. The bases were now loaded, the top of their lineup was hitting, and we were only up by one run.

That wasn’t a position I’d want to be in if I was pitching. Especially as their leadoff hitter, the only guy to score a run for them all night, stepped up to the plate. Even from the outfield, I could feel the tension from my teammates.

David was clutching the ball like it was a lifeline, turning it over and over in his hand. It was a nervous gesture, and I think the batter saw it as he turned and gave a nod to their coach, as if saying, ‘I got this guy cold.’ Maybe I was reading too much into it. I couldn’t actually make out his expressions from this far out, but everything about the way he moved said cocky. The guy smacked his bat against the plate and took his stance, as if making my point for me.

Unfortunately, David gave him exactly what he was looking for—a fastball straight down the middle of the plate, and the guy got all of it. The ball shot off the bat, high and deep, coming straight towards me. I raced back, sprinting as fast as I could to the warning track. The ball sailed over my head, still climbing higher and farther away.

This one was going out of the park, no doubt about it, but I wasn’t ready to give up on it. I pushed as hard as I could, trying to get to the fence. If I missed it, it would be game over.

The ball reached the peak of its arc and started to descend, but I still had a chance. It had been a high arc, so it was coming down sharply. Instead of going out into the parking lot, it was going to end up in the first row or two of the outfield bleachers. Kids in the stands already had their hands up, thinking they were going to be the ones to catch it.

The ball plummeted faster, picking up speed as it dropped. I leaped, planting my foot against the fence and pushing up as hard as I could. I put my hand on the top of the fence, pulling myself up more, the edges of the chain link biting into my palm.

The ball was about to drop out of sight, but I swung my arm out, leaning over the fence, reaching as far as I could. For a second, it felt like I hung there, suspended in mid-air. It felt like time stopped. And then the ball smacked into my glove.

I very nearly somersaulted over the fence, which would have given them the run, I thought, but I managed to hold on, gripping the fence tight even with the pain in my hand from the cuts I was getting from the chain link, and threw my weight backward so I landed on the warning track, smashing onto my back. I lay there in disbelief, arms raised to the sky, the ball secure in my glove. I let out a shout of triumph as my teammates erupted into cheers.

My back, legs, abs, and hand all screamed in pain from the abuse I just gave them, but I felt like a million bucks. The game was over.

The hitter slammed his bat against the plate, and it nearly hit the umpire on the rebound, who promptly ejected him. He’d been positive he was about to hit a grand slam for the first game of the year, and instead, it would just be counted as an out.

I struggled to my feet, holding the ball up high, and was nearly tackled when my teammates swarmed me. Well, almost my whole team. Harry and Paul were slinking off to the dugout. I didn’t care. This wasn’t about them.

***

I had thought that would be the biggest moment of the night. I just had the best single play of my entire life. It was late, and I had to make it to the Blue Ridge because, after all that, I still needed to play tonight, and there was only about forty-five minutes between the end of the game and the start of the first set. I finished up the high-fives and congratulations and ran to the locker room to grab my stuff before heading out to the parking lot, where the cars were just starting to clear out, while the rest of the team headed to get showered and changed. I was going to shower at Chef’s, which was preferable to the prison-style mass showers any day.

Normally, I would have parked up close to the school, in the lot next to the field, so I could get in and out of my car faster, but I knew I’d have to rush out, and parents would still be leaving when I was leaving, so I’d parked around front in the teachers’ lot. It had a separate driveway which would let me avoid all the cars lined up to leave by the fields. I’d just crossed around the corner of the school and stepped into the teachers’ lot when I saw something that stopped me cold in my tracks. Standing by the front entrance to the school was Mr. Packer and Aaron’s father, the district attorney. Mr. Campbell would occasionally look around, but I was just next to the building, in a long shadowy area not covered by the lights in the parking lot.

The two men were standing close together, talking conspiratorially. From their body language, Mr. Campbell was doing the telling and Mr. Packer the listening, and I felt pretty sure that Aaron’s father was the one in charge. Mr. Campbell was gesturing with his hands, pointing at Mr. Packer, pointing in the distance, making slashing motions, while Mr. Packer was nodding.

I stood there, captivated, watching the byplay for several minutes. I didn’t want to walk to my car because I’d have to walk out into the parking lot lights, and they’d see me start my car. I was just trying to figure out what to do when I saw Mr. Campbell pull out a thick envelope and hand it to Mr. Packer. My first thought, by the way it bulged, was that it was money.

Was this why Mr. Packer had been so pathologically out to get me over the last year? The first semester after I started school here, he’d been a bit of a jerk, but he hadn’t seemed to be actively trying to get me. After last Christmas, though, he’d changed. He’d been the one actively arguing that I should be kept out of school when Aaron’s dad got the restraining order against me. He’d been the one to try and expel me over a fight. He’d been behind the whole Salt thing and tried to expel me again. Then there’d been the planting of the drugs in my locker. Every time, I’d wondered what I’d done to make him hate me so much that he was actively trying to frame me.

But it wasn’t anything I’d done at all. Aaron’s dad was paying him to get me kicked out of school. I’d heard Mr. Campbell was vindictive and mean, and it all had started after I injured his son, possibly endangering Aaron’s chances of a career in sports. It had escalated when I got into the fight with Aaron at the prom, and he’d been arrested. Yeah, his dad had gotten him off, but he clearly still held a grudge.

Everything that had been happening at school now made so much more sense. And yet, I didn’t think there was anything I could do about it. It would be my word against theirs that I saw the money change hands. I guess someone could dig into Mr. Packer’s finances and figure it out, but that would take me being able to convince someone with that ability that I was right.

Even after they finally left, I just stood there, trying to process this revelation. I’d been asking myself questions about why all this had been happening for over a year. I now had answers, but absolutely no solutions.