CONTENTS      LAST VINEGAR STROKE     DOORKNOBS     ROCK MAGIC     FROM THE CHANCERY ARCHIVES OF KING HENRY V     A POCKETKNIFE AND A CIVIL UNION     EVEN YOU CAN BE A WINNER!     AUTHORS

       When I was twelve years old many changes took place. At the time, my mother's marriage and the acquisition of a stepfather seemed relatively unimportant compared with having to leave the brown shingled house where I had lived most of my life. I treasured so many parts of the that home — my bed in a safe corner next to the wall away from the windows; the garage we used as a clubhouse where on the wall I had boldly intertwined my initials with those of the boy down the block. I especially liked the rock. It stood about two feet high, shaped something like a giant pillbox, only rough and bumpy. It was in the middle of our front yard. N o other house on the street had such a rock. I knew it had some special meaning for my family. It seemed to have magical powers. If I wanted something very much — a new bicycle, a good grade at school, a smile from a particular boy — I would curl up on the rock and think very hard about what I wanted. I had to curl because the rock was small and I believed that the more my body touched it the more chance I had. This rock-touching process quite often got me what I desired. I could never understand why sister didn't use the rock as I did. She also didn't seem very upset about leaving our home. I cried quietly every night and spent hours writing notes to all my best friends telling them I would never forget them.
       However, some wonderful events did occur when we reached our new home. There was no rock in the front yard, but I found endless fields in which to roan and I could get on top of the world by climbing the apple tree in our back yard. Unlike the school I had attended through the fifth grade, which required only that we learn facts from books and listen while the teacher talked, I was suddenly challenged to use oil paints on canvas, to write a play about Egypt, to build a step stool, to weave a rug, and to play baseball. It was the last that was my undoing.
       Girls in this new school could throw and catch balls as well as boys. The Director's daughter could do so better than most boys. In the town where I had come from the girls did play Kick the Can and Hide and Seek and most of us could run as fast as the boys. But ball playing was for boys only. Even if I'd had a father, I might have reached twelve years thought a ball "like a girl." I'd never even imagined hitting a ball with a bat and catching one was out of the question.
       Every day at outside time the older kids chose two soft ball captains, who then chose their teams. It had taken only one game for the class to discover that I was an undesirable ball player, thus always among the last to be chosen and always given a fielder position where balls were seldom hit. I felt unwanted and inferior at outside time and longed for snow to come and bury the outfield and, indeed, the whole baseball diamond.
       Complicating social matters added to the baseball experience. After only three weeks in this new school, I fell in love with one of the oldest boys, who was also one of the best ball players. I wanted to be near him all the time. To do this, I felt I must play ball every day and face my inferiority. Couldn't use my sister's method to escape, which was to simply declare she did not care to play.
       Happily I had reason to believe that Tommy was interested in me. When ball throwing wasn't involved he sought me out and often sated after school to talk to me. One afternoon as we sat on a stonewall in the back of the school he put his arm around my shoulder. Again, being on a rock brought magic to my life. I liked the feeling of his arm on my shoulder. It had been a long time since I'd been small enough to sit on my mother's lab. Besides, she was now too busy giving hugs and kisses to her new husband.
       When Tommy and I left the stonewall and reluctantly headed off in our separate directions I realized part way to my home, that Tommy had failed to whistle for his dog, Zeus, and that Zeus had followed me. I quelled my first thought to tell Zeus to go home. There was still time for him to catch up with his owner. Instead I found myself plotting how to use Zeus to take me back to Tommy. I patted Zeus and said, "Good dog;" and invited him to continue following me. He wagged his tail and willingly trotted along beside me. We hiked across the fields to my new home.
       Once there, I phoned Tommy and told him that Zeus had followed me. I suggested that I would be happy to bring Zeus half was to his house if he would meet me. The strategy was successful. We met in the fields, we sat in another magic stonewall. I once again savored his arm resting on my shoulder. I danced, skipped, and floated home, thinking how exciting and delicious it was to be alive.
       In the next few weeks, I felt alternately loved and despised by Tommy. He was so attentive in the classroom and after school. But when it came to softball I could feel his scorn at my inability to throw, hit, or catch a ball. Not only would he never choose me when he was a captain of a team, but if by default I ended up with him, he never offered a word of encouragement. And I'm sure he maneuvered things so I wouldn't have a turn at bat. The harder I tried the more awkward I felt. I worried all morning hoping the clock would stop at 10:45 so we wouldn't be sent out at 11. Once on the ball field I felt lonely and abused.
       Which team I was on depended on the number of people playing. One spring day I had been the last person to be picked for a team. This meant I had not really been picked at all, and only went on the team opposing Tommy's because they were the last ones to choose. As usual, I was delegated to left field where I spent my time looking into space or at the ground, pretending I didn't care, that I was superfluous. When Tommy came to bat I watched with mixed feelings. I wanted him to hit a home run and he usually did. But I also wanted him to strike out so I couldn't be humiliated by my inability to catch a ball sent my way. Tommy stepped up to the bat with the usual self-confidence. His team members cheered as he grabbed the bat and bent over the plate, waiting for the pitch. He quickly slammed the ball directly at left field. I gasped as I saw it coming. There was no way I could ignore it. I needed some magic. I thought hard of the rock in my old front yard. Maybe I also remembered to keep my eye on the ball. I stretched my arms and opened my hands. The ball flew in. I held on to it tightly even though my right hand was stinging from the impact. I was grateful no one was on base. If I'd had to throw the ball to get someone out my lack of throwing skill would have detracted from my catch. Since that wasn't necessary a smile of triumph spread across my face. Not for long, however. Across the ball field came Tommy's voice. He wasn't proclaiming, "Good for you!" He wasn't even swearing, "Damn, I'm out!"
       "She c caught it!" he shouted. I heard the disbelief coupled with contempt in his voice. I felt the blood rush to my face. For once I was glad to be out in left field. Despite my blushing I tried to look nonchalant. I knew I was being insulted and by the best player in the school. But it didn't matter. It couldn't detract from the solid comfort of that ball in my right hand.

Copyright 2006 by Meg Barden Cline