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fouls in the cornfield

two strangers behind the batter's box

By Dane BHPublished about a year ago 4 min read
1
Bartholomew, by author

There was a rule at the community baseball field: once the cornfield at its edge reached knee height, players were required to rescue any ball fouled or flung into it. The adult leagues had a system to decide whether the catcher or first baseman had to lead the search, and how many beers were owed to whoever found the ball.

Bartholomew had mixed feelings about the turning point. He found it easier to hide among the stalks, which meant he could get as close as he dared to home plate. He enjoyed the vicarious thrill of the ball coming toward him and quietly calling balls and strikes. But the fouled-or-flung rescue requirement brought risk of discovery. Every time a player spotted him, the requisite harassment, traps, and hesitance to return to the field cost him two games.

Bartholomew was enjoying the early season, waking up against instinct to catch the daylight games. The corn was almost high enough to invoke the rescue rule, but not yet.

He liked his spot for its line of sight up to the pitcher’s mound, and also for its isolation. But when Bartholomew arrived at the season’s first Friday youth game, he saw a camping chair in his favorite spot.

The chair’s legs backed against the cornfield. Bartholomew, desperate to keep his position, decided to stay where the interloper was least likely to look. He ducked under the back and peered through both chair and human legs toward the field.

The game started with a pop fly to left field, but it being a youth game early in the season, Bartholomew knew it wasn’t a definite out - and sure enough, the left fielder caught the sun in his eyes and missed the catch, giving the hitter an easy base hit. The second hitter walked, and when the third hitter arrived - a player Bartholomew didn’t remember from last season - the person seated above him gave a shout.

“Yay, Ahmed! Do good! Do good! Run fast!”

Bartholomew smiled at the sound of the older woman’s voice. He saw a few heads turn from the bleachers, and couldn’t make out the expressions directed towards them. Anger? Confusion? He looked back to the batter’s box and saw the umpire’s right hand in the air, finger pointed to the sky. The pitcher nodded, sneered at the batter, and threw.

The batter swung late. Strike one. Above him, the canvas chair held still and tense. Shouts Bartholomew couldn’t decipher came from the bleachers. The umpire called for a time out and walked over, gesturing as he spoke sternly to the batter’s coach and the crowd. Once he called time in, the whole field seemed to hold its breath.

Come on, kid, Bartholomew thought. Above him, a quavering voice said, “Come on, Ahmed.”

The pitcher threw a better-than-average curveball. The kid swung earlier. Bartholomew heard the crack, then craned his neck to watch the ball go up, and up, and -

“Out!” The umpire shouted. Bartholomew heard a cry above him.

Why? He hit the ball! Run, Ahmed! Why do you say out?!” The woman’s voice broke as the umpire turned around. Bartholomew shrank as low as he could.

“Lady, I’m sorry and there’s no excuse for people to harass you, but if you’re going to sit here, don’t disturb the game!” the umpire said.

The woman above Bartholomew said nothing, curling back in her chair. Bartholomew heard a faint sniffle; the umpire turned back to the game. Bartholomew looked toward the dugout. The kids usually encouraged each other after a disappointment, but the players seemed shyer than normal.

Above him, the woman continued to cry. Bartholomew heard her mutter, “This country. They say welcome, welcome, but don't play with our children.

It’s not about him. It’s the infield fly rule,” Bartholomew blurted out. “It’s one of the most confusing rules in baseball, but it’s not personal.

The seat above him got very quiet.

Who is talking to me?

Um…” Bartholomew began. “You can’t see me, but I watch the games. And I know about baseball.

...and you speak Farsi?” A new note crept into the woman’s voice. Something lighter, higher. She sounded like she was about to cry again.

I speak to anyone who listens,” Bartholomew said. “I just...love...baseball.

She started crying again, but less intensely. “If you’re real, and if I’m not just imagining things, please show me who you are.

I can’t,” Bartholomew protested. “People are afraid of me.”

There was a long pause. Then a gulp and a warbly answer.

“People are afraid of me, too.”

Bartholomew crept out from under the chair. “Don’t scream,” he warned. “But I’m down here.” He looked up as the woman looked down. Somewhere on the ball field, a bat cracked and the crowd began to cheer.

Oh, my,” she breathed. “You’re a pretty thing, aren’t you?

Not what I usually hear, but sure,” Bartholomew replied.

What are you called?”

Bartholomew, ma’am.

Are there other Bart-barto-bartomomos?

Oh, no. There are other skunks though.

Skoonk?”

Skunk. You know…” and then Bartholomew realized - she didn’t know. “We live here, but maybe not where you are from?”

No, we don’t have skoonks in Afghanistan,” she said with a little smile.

Why do you watch from here?” he asked. “I’m usually the only one in this spot.”

She grimaced towards the bleachers. “They do not want us here. But my son wants to play, so…

Well,” Bartholomew said, “If you don’t mind my hiding under your chair I don't mind you sitting with me...and I could explain some of the rules, if you needed.

Her lower lip trembled. “I think that would be very nice, Mr. Bartomomu.”

A flurry of shouts and the sound of running feet pulled Bartholomew’s attention back to the field. He slipped under the chair and stuck his nose between his new friend's ankles. Ahmed jogged onto the field with his team, settled into position, and raised his glove toward them.

Nadia and Bartholomew waved back.

family
1

About the Creator

Dane BH

By day, I'm a cog in the nonprofit machine, and poet. By night, I'm a creature of the internet. My soul is a grumpy cat who'd rather be sleeping.

Top Story count: 17

www.danepoetry.com

Check out my Vocal Spotlight and my Vocal Podcast!

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