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Authors: Jack Gantos

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BOOK: Joey Pigza Loses Control
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Virgilio leaned forward and sort of threw an overhand lob.
“Ballll,” mooed the ump.
“Ball on what planet?” Dad hollered.
The catcher threw the ball back to Virgilio harder than Virgilio had thrown it at the plate. I hadn't played before but I knew the pitcher should be throwing harder than the catcher.
“Now show him the
cannon
!
”
Dad roared at Virgilio. “Put some smoke on it!”
Virgilio threw the same slow pitch.
“Ballll two,” the umpire called.
Dad jumped into the air. “Ball?” he shouted. “A Seeing Eye dog knows that's a strike.”
On Virgilio's next pitch the batter slammed the ball into the outfield for a double.
“I said throw heat, Son.
Heat!”
Dad screamed. “This isn't T-ball.”
The next batter hit a double and drove in the first batter. The following batter cracked one up the middle
and Virgilio skipped out of the way and fell onto his side.
“Come on,” Dad groaned. “Show some bad intentions out there on the mound. Imagine you are throwing a brick through your teacher's window.”
It must have been a heavy brick in Virgilio's mind. He lobbed it in there and the kid hammered it over the fence.
“Ouch,” Leezy said, and winced. She got up off the bench to try and calm Dad down because he was hopping from foot to foot while calling Virgilio and the umpire a bunch of names and the coach on the other team was yelling back that this was a family activity and for Dad to “watch his language” or he'd report him to the front office. By then Leezy had her arm around Dad and I was glad she was bigger than him and she began to steer him around by his head like he was a calf she was going to wrestle to the ground and tie up with a rope.
By the time Virgilio got out of the inning we were down seven runs. He took a seat at the end of the bench and pulled his jersey up over his head and didn't move a muscle until he had to pitch again. At the end of the fourth inning we were down fifteen to zip.
“Okay, Pigza,” Dad said, and tossed me the ball. “Show them what heat means.”
“Me?” I said.
“Yeah, you,” Dad replied, and he pulled me to one
side. “One thing before you take the mound,” he said. “I have to give you my special ‘pitchers only' pep talk.” He put his arm around me and walked me away from the other players. “Okay,” he continued, “this is all you ever need to know about baseball. It is a game as old as the moment men went from animal to human and started hating each other. It comes down to this a caveman with a stick versus a caveman with a rock. And you are the caveman with the rock. Remember, the rock rules. The rock is always in control of the situation. The caveman with the stick can't do a thing as long as you control the rock. Now, get out there and show him who the superior caveman is.” Then he slapped me across the butt and before I knew it I was trotting out to the mound and I had no idea what I was going to do.
As I cut across the grass infield a kid in the other dugout yelled, “Mystery pitcher!”
I was a mystery, and I liked it. I stood on the mound and looked out at both dugouts and all the people sitting in the stands. Half of them wanted me to mess up, and half of them wanted me to succeed. It was about the same as being back in school, where some of the kids were hoping I'd get better and the others just wanted me to do something screwy to drive the teacher nuts and stop the lesson.
I always had people rooting for me both ways. I didn't realize it was preparing me for baseball.
“Okay,” the catcher yelled. “Put 'er in here,” and he punched his glove with his fist to give me a target. The batter was ready so I just reared back and threw one as hard as I could, and you could hear the clang of the ball as it hit the umpire right in his wire mask.
“Ball one,” the ump croaked as he staggered back and adjusted his mask.
“That's my kid who threw that heater!” Dad hollered as he swung his arms over his head. Then he cupped his hands around his big mouth and yelled at the other coach. “Watch out for my kid! He's a caveman.” Then he turned to me. “Show 'em what you got, Pigza!”
My next pitch kicked up the dirt around the batter's feet and he danced all the way to the backstop. From that moment on I knew he was afraid of me. I was the caveman with the rock and all he could do was stand there and wait while I squinted in at the catcher as if I couldn't see far enough to tie my shoe. My third pitch hit the catcher in the knee and he toppled over in agony I was getting closer. Then I reared so far back that my hand nearly touched the ground and I sprang forward and threw a smoker right down the middle.
“Strike!” the ump called out.
Once I got the target lined up the batter didn't have a chance. I struck him out on two more pitches. Then I threw six more pitches and we were out of the inning. It was pretty easy for me, and when I trotted off
the field Dad was beaming and his canoe smile was sailing the seven seas.
“Awesome heat,” he said. “You blew them away, caveman. You crushed them. Wow! Now give me five,” and he held his hand palm out.
I wound up like I was pitching and slapped his hand as hard as I could, which must have stung him a lot harder than it did me because I knew it was coming.
“Now you give me five,” I said, and held out my hand. By the steamed look on his face I knew he wanted to really get me back, and when he swung his hand down full-force I pulled mine away at the last second. He lunged forward and lost his balance and stumbled for a few steps before he grabbed the chain-link fence and held himself up.
By then I was doubled up and howling with laughter like a spotted hyena, and Leezy and a bunch of the guys who saw what I had done were laughing too and Dad just had to bite his lip and settle down. I could tell he didn't think it was funny at all, but I thought it was one of the funniest things I had ever done. I looked over at the team and I could tell they liked me after they saw their crazy coach get tricked by his own kid. I always had a way of getting people on my side.
“I'll get you back,” Dad said, trying not to sound too mean, but his face was red. “You watch yourself.”
“Sorry,” I said in a small voice.
“Enough fun and games,” Dad said, once he had
pulled himself together. “We're down fifteen runs. If we don't score some runs this inning the ump will call the game short because we're getting blown out. So let's show some backbone. Get out there and hit some balls hard.”
The first batter was a tall kid with a small face named Defoe who stood like a praying mantis at the plate. He struck out. But the second guy got a base hit. The next guy walked. The next guy walked. The bases were loaded and the next guy struck out without ever taking a swing.
“Oh, for the love of Pete!” Dad yelled at the kid when he scuffed back to the dugout. “What were you doing up there? Meditating?”
Suddenly everyone was looking around. “Next batter,” the ump yelled over at Dad.
“Joey,” Dad said, and smiled at me because he was still waiting to get me back. “You're next. Now show 'em you're double trouble. A pitcher and a hitter. Come on. Score some runs and save us from feeling like a bunch of losers.”
“I've never hit before,” I said.
Virgilio held out his bat. “Use this,” he suggested, “before your dad uses it on me.”
“Don't listen to him,” I whispered to Virgilio. “His own mother even says he's all mouth.”
I went out to the plate and stood with my toes touching the edge of it.
“You better stand back a foot or so,” the ump said, “or that guy will drill you.”
I stepped back and waited. I saw the pitcher wind up. I saw the white ball leave his hand and I swung. I hit nothing.
“Strike one,” the ump cried.
Then I swung again. “Strike two.”
And I swung again. “Strike three. Game over.”
I didn't even get close. And when I got back to Dad he said, “It looked like you were chopping wood out there.” Then he kicked the dirt like he was trying to leave a bruise on the planet.
“I tried my best,” I said. “I told you I never did it before.”
“I'm sorry,” he replied. “I'm just a little intense sometimes. I want to win for a change.”
“Hey,” said Leezy, and I swear I saw her reach out and twisty-pinch Dad on the back of his arm like she was turning his intensity dial down. “Great pitching. An awesome debut. If this were the big leagues you'd already be talked about as the rookie of the year.”
I smiled at her and would have just stood there forever with a silly grin on my face, but suddenly the pizza delivery truck pulled up and a guy ran out looking lost. Leezy waved to him. “Over here,” she hollered. “You're right on time to feed the next Nolan Ryan.”
THINKING
When I woke up I wiggled my foot around but Pablo had already crawled out the bottom of the bed and tiptoed out of the room. I left the bedroom door open so he could escape and pee. Yesterday I had kept the door closed and he peed on a pair of Grandma's terry-cloth slippers she had left in the closet. I didn't tell her about the slippers, and when she was at the front door getting another oxygen tank delivery, I stuffed them into the bottom of the kitchen trash then washed my hands.
I rolled out of bed, landed on my feet and hands, and hopped up. I walked over to my dresser. Dad and I now had a system where if he went to work early he'd leave a patch for me in a glass ashtray
But this morning there was no patch in the ashtray, just a couple of Grandma's cigarette butts, so I knew
she had been snooping around my stuff. And I figured Dad must not be up yet.
I pulled on my jeans and went looking for Pablo. When I entered the kitchen Grandma was sucking the air out of her tank so loudly it sounded like someone pumping up a bicycle tire.
“Hello, Sleeping Beauty,” she said with a voice that sounded like a board dragged across gravel. “I've been waiting for over two hours for you to get up.”
“Is Dad up? He didn't leave me a patch.”
“I'm outta cigs,” she cackled. “And I'm broke. And your dad's out. Said he had to do some big
thinking
.”
“I only have my emergency cash,” I said.
“That'll do.”
“I don't think I should give it to you,” I said. “Not until you tell me where Dad is.”
“He's gone,” she said. “Everything that man does is a binge and now he's on a
thinking
binge and he's in love with each and every one of his big thoughts. But forget about him for now and
think
about this, mister.” She stopped and sucked in a crackling breath. “No cash for me, then no dog for you.”
“Pablo!” I shouted, looking left and right and ducking down to peek under the table. “Pablo!” I turned to face Grandma. “Where'd you put him?”
“He's fine,” she said. “Five bucks and I'll tell you where he is,” she said, and snapped her hand out toward me like a music-box monkey.
“Okay,” I agreed. I went into the bedroom and reached into my pillowcase, where I hid the money Mom gave me. I had a twenty-dollar bill and my quarters. When I returned to the kitchen I blurted out, “You can only have five.”
“Settle down,” she said. “I'll give you change.”
I held out the twenty and she snatched it with her quick fingers.
“Where's Pablo?”
“Check the TV cabinet,” she said with her voice grinding to a halt as a spasm of coughing left her bent over. She turned and spit something into a matted handkerchief, then leaned back against the counter and closed her eyes.
I ran out to the living room. The TV was tuned to a Sunday church show. I turned down the volume and could hear Pablo whimpering and scratching behind the cabinet door.
I yanked it open and there he was along with the slippers that he had peed in.
“You can't hide a thing from Grandma,” she said, inching up on me. “So don't try. If that dog pees on my shoes again I'll put a stamp on his butt and mail him to the Oscar Mayer factory.”
“Pablo baby,” I cooed, and held him against my chest so that he could look up and lick my chin. His fur smelled as nasty as the slippers.
“Come on,” Grandma said. “Enough of this love
fest. You have to get me to the corner store 'cause they won't sell you cigs on account of your age.”
“One minute,” I said. I got Pablo rinsed off in the kitchen sink and met Grandma on the front porch. The grocery cart with the old couch cushion still in it was on the sidewalk. I helped her climb up the stepladder and got her oxygen tank in place. Then I strapped Pablo in his baby seat and we were off. I went down the street to avoid the broken sidewalk. I wasn't worried about cars because with the way we looked I figured the drivers would be plenty worried about us.
“So,” she said, “Have you met Carter's girlfriend yet?”
“Do you mean Leezy?”
“Who else?” she said.
“Yeah.”
“I think she's a bad influence on him,” she said. “Every time your father gets a girlfriend he forgets he's a born mess, so it doesn't take him long before he loses control of his senses and goes down the drain.”
“I thought she was pretty nice,” I said. “Every time Dad got crazy at the game she settled him down.”
“Well, you haven't seen him unravel like I have,” she said. “And I can tell you his downfall always starts with getting a new girlfriend. Just don't tell your mom about her. If you have any hope of getting them back together again, you can't tell her about Leezy. I guarantee
you, once Leezy gets wind of how nuts he is she'll head for the hills. You can bet on that!”
I could feel myself being pulled apart between Mom and Dad as I kept pushing the rattling cart down the street. I was wondering if when you got married you always told the other person the truth all the time. Because it seemed to me that I could only tell Mom
some
of the things about Dad, and I could only tell him
some
of the things about her. Then I thought, maybe that's why their marriage broke up, because they couldn't tell the whole truth to each other.
When we got to the store there wasn't a curb ramp, so Grandma said to park her out front.
“Tell the cashier—either Betty or Claire—to come out here and speak to me if they need proof that the cigs aren't for you.”
I lifted Pablo and brought him with me. I didn't want her to dog-nap him for the rest of my twenty dollars.
When I asked the cashier for two packs of generic menthols she gave them to me without blinking an eyelash. “They're for my grandma,” I explained. “She's outside in a shopping cart.”
“Better her than you,” she said dryly. Before I could get out of the store I grabbed a can of dog food and a shoe-shaped chew toy for Pablo. He was already up to his old peeing tricks, and I didn't want him chewing
too. Next time Grandma might hide him in the freezer. I also got some new batteries for my tape player.
When I returned with the cigarettes Grandma ripped a pack open like they were the only medicine in the world to save her from a rattlesnake bite. She got one started and puffed so much that all the way home I kept thinking we were like an old train.
By the time I made it back to our sidewalk Dad was home and I was half wilted.
“Hey,” he hollered from the front porch. “Don't wear yourself out pushing Mom. She can get around just fine if she wants and we got an important game today. If we ace this one we'll be back in second place and breathing down the necks of that bogus O-Men Tire team.”
“Then help me get her out of here,” I said. “Last time I tried she almost fell over.”
Dad reached in and disconnected her hose. Then he picked her up with his arms under her knees and bony back. Suddenly he got a mischievous look on his face and began to spin her around and around in circles until she was dizzy, then he stood her up on the porch and she staggered over to the wall. While he slapped his leg and laughed she moaned and wheezed and inched her way toward the door.
“Hey, Dad,” I said, and reached out to steady Grandma before she fell over. “Can I call Mom?”
“Sure,” he said, still laughing at what he'd done.
I led Grandma into the house and set her on the couch.
“My oxygen,” she begged.
I ran back out to the cart and brought it to her. She smiled and gave my hand a squeeze and I looked down at her and couldn't feel anything else about her except for how sorry I felt that she was in such bad shape.
“You okay?” I asked, as she began to breathe more evenly.
She just nodded. Then between breaths she said, “Mark my words … I'm gonna get … that son-of-a-gun. He's been sneak-drinkin' again and all I got to do is call your mom and”—she snapped her fingers—“she'll be here in a second.”
I turned and ran for the telephone. I wanted to get there first. Mom answered right away and I was so happy to hear her voice I started talking like a switch had been flicked on.
“I pitched in a game and it was great and I have another game today,” I blurted out, full of happiness. “I like baseball and I didn't even know it.”
“I used to love baseball,” she said. “Get your dad to show you the Roberto Clemente ball I gave him a million years ago. It should be worth a bundle by now.”
Whoops, I thought. I didn't want to tell her I had
skinned that ball all up so you could hardly find the signature. “I didn't know you liked baseball,” I said.
“There are a lot of things about me you don't know,” she replied, suddenly sounding like a stranger, as if I had always lived with Dad and she was the one I didn't know.
“Dad likes baseball too,” I said. “Maybe you could come down and the three of us could go to a game together.”
“Don't go there, Joey,” she said with the same cold voice she had used on me in the car. “Ask your dad to show you the scar over his eye where I bounced Roberto Clemente off his thick head.”
But I wasn't listening to her. I just had a picture in my mind of Mom, Dad, and me and Pablo at a Pirates baseball game. The four of us in a row, or in a circle, or a square, or standing on top of each other's shoulders like a nutty circus act, all eating those foot-long hot dogs and sharing a bucket of soda. It didn't matter how we were—as long as we were four. “Hey, Dad,” I yelled across the room, “do you want to talk with Mom?”
As I waited for his answer I could hear Mom saying, “No. No. Joey, no. Joey, do you hear me?”
I heard her, but I wasn't listening.
“Sure,” Dad said. “I'd love to speak with her.” As he came toward the phone he passed a mirror and for a
moment he paused and ran his hand through his hair as if Mom was at the front door and he was trying to look handsome for her.
I handed him the phone. “Hi, Fran,” he said, and then turned away and hunched his shoulders over for some privacy.
“Tell her she can come visit,” I said, and circled round to see his face, but he kept circling away from me until the cord had him wrapped up like Houdini.
“Tell her to visit!” I yelled, and danced from foot to foot. “Visit! Visit!”
He turned to me and snapped angrily, “Stop it. She doesn't want to visit.”
“Make her,” I said. “Tell her you want her to come.”
Dad jammed his finger in his free ear as he listened, and spoke. “Yeah, I've been keeping up with his medicine. Yeah, I think he's changed it today. Yeah, I know it's important. Yeah, I'm living up to my responsibilities. No, I don't think I need your advice. Yeah, here's Joey.”
He handed me the phone like it was something smelly.
“Have you been changing your patch?” she asked.
“Yeah,” I said. “Well—not today yet.”
“You sound just like your dad,” she said.
“We're guys,” I replied. “This is how guys sound.”
I glanced over at Dad. He winked at me and I
winked back. “Hey, Dad,” I yelled so Mom could hear over the phone, “when can we go back to the tattoo parlor?”
Dad's eyes bugged out and he put his finger over his lips.
“Joey,” Mom said, “listen to me. I want you to hang up this phone and immediately change your patch. You got that? Or do I have to come get you?”
“I got it,” I said miserably, knowing I had gone too far. “I was just joking.”
“How come I'm not laughing?” she said. “You know why? Because you scare me when you get carried away and I'm not around to know if you are joking or gyrating. You know what I mean?”
“I know,” I said, while suddenly wanting to get off the phone as desperately as I had a few minutes ago wanted to get on it. “I'll let you know how the game goes,” I said.
“Yeah,” she said. “Do an official score sheet and mail it to me. I like stats.”
As soon as I put down the phone Dad had his hand on my shoulder. “Come on,” he said. “You seem fine to me, but we better get that patch changed before your mom shows up with a lawyer.”
“Hey, Dad,” I asked, “let me see the scar over your eye.”
He squatted down and pointed to a red line that looked like a tiny railroad track. “This is where she
beaned me,” he said. “And now that I think of it, I bet you got your good arm from her.”
BOOK: Joey Pigza Loses Control
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