One's a Crowd

One's a Crowd

Gary Kinney

Smashwords edition

Copyright 2011 Gary Kinney

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

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Chapter 1

Jamie sat on the little wooden stoop beside the back door and stared at the clothesline. He was exceptionally thin for his ten years, and short, so he always combed his reddish brown hair into a curly pompadour for the extra height and breadth. And whenever possible, he wore shirts with vertical stripes for the optical illusion. In fact, that’s why he was sitting on the wooden platform leaning on the metal pole: waiting for his favourite tee shirt to dry in the evanescent sun of an early September morning.

Evanescent –now there was a word he’d have to use today. When they picked him last for the baseball game, when they argued over who had been forced to take him in the last game, he would look at them from the sidewalk, his eyes shaded and mysterious under the peak of his cap, and proclaim their preferences as ultimately evanescent… ephemeral. My god there was another one: ephemeral! He was on a roll, he realized. Let’s see, transitory –no, too common; they’d all recognize that one. Fugitive… not bad. Fugacious! Now there’s a word, he thought… or was it? He decided it had a definite ring to it, and pulled a dirty little ringed notebook out of the back pocket of his jeans, and wrote down the word with the tiny pencil that he kept trapped inside the rings. It joined a long list of other words that he had yet to look up. He was currently working on the E’s so he skipped to the next blank page to write 'fugacious (sp?)'.

He smiled and lay back on the now-warm wood to tan his chest, and closed his eyes to the glare. Sunlight, warming eyes through closed eyelids was therapeutic for the vision, he knew from his study of Sight Without Glasses, a book he’d borrowed from the local library. He’d worn glasses since he was seven and was determined to throw them away before he got into Grade six. Unfortunately that was in less than a week’s time, and he still couldn’t see the big E on the chart he’d also got from the library to test his eyes. He could cheat, of course –it was always a big E at the top. Problem was seeing the little pointing stick that the nurse always used to indicate the letters to be named… He took a deep breath and let it out slowly: part of the relaxation exercise. Well, even if it hadn’t worked yet, the sun was warm, and he still had a few days.

Jamie! a voice behind the screen door shouted. What in the world are you doing, sweetheart? Why aren’t you wearing a shirt? It’s September and you’ll catch a cold.

He shook his head mentally and sat up. Mothers could be so obtuse, he thought. Imagine believing that colds were a necessary concomitant of September. Colds were contingent –he smiled, pleased at his obvious mastery of the C’s. Contingent on cotemporal factors such as current health and perhaps comorbidities such as… he searched his head for another long and esoteric C word… Uhmm, cachexia? Good word, but weak, he decided. I’m just waiting for my tee shirt to dry, Mom, he said, pointing to the blue and grey striped cloth hanging mid-line between a white pillow case and a white sheet.

But you have a drawer full of tee shirts, Jamie…

He shrugged but he could feel her eyes full upon him from their hiding place behind the screen. An answer was required. It’s my favourite one, he said in answer to their glare, but he didn’t really expect them to understand. They belonged to a mature woman who, so far as he knew, never wore stripes of any description let alone vertical. Some things were simply beyond the ken of women. Even kith. God, did he have a head start on the K’s or what? He was gonna have to use that one for sure, although the opportunity might not come up at the game…

The door opened and his mother, a short, plump woman with greying brown hair bundled onto the top of her head like a sack, walked out into the bright sunlight and climbed the platform beside him. She was wearing a long, pink-flowered housecoat and fluffy pink slippers with little balls on them –a cat’s dream. Fortunately they had no cats. No cats, one dog, the latter stretched out on the grass under the sagging line of laundry as if he was bored out of his mind. I’ll see if the tee shirt’s dry enough to wear yet. And she proceeded to pull on the line to the obvious discomfort of the old pulley. As the squeak decibels rose and fell commensurate with her efforts, Skippy the dog, raised his head from the ground hoping for a sheet to come loose or a pair of underwear to drop –anything for a little grab and run. Unfortunately, despite her unlikely appearance, she was far too practiced at clotheslines, and the tee shirt made it into her hands without mishap. She felt it expertly and then flipped off the two clothespins as if they were peas on a plate and handed him shirt all the while shaking her head. It’s old and faded, Jamie. I should really be using it as a polishing rag…

He smiled at her, refusing to take the bait. It was a well-used trick of hers: threatening ragdom. She’d already tried it on the jeans he was wearing –something to do with the hole in the right knee and the shredding cuff of the left leg. Immune to his entreaties, she’d actually gone as far as putting them in the dreaded rag box after she’d taken them down from the line. Her mistake had been in not burying them under some of the other stuff and he’d spotted them immediately. In the old days when he’d been a mere child she’d succeeded and he’d forgotten about the article, but with age came experience, and now he was constantly on his guard. Clothes Patrol he called it, and was proud to declare to anyone who’d listen, that he hadn’t lost a shirt in six months. Not bad for a kid with spectacles. He was trying for a year straight, he’d say proudly to his contemporaries –careful not to use the word friends, because he didn’t have many… any, actually, unless he counted Teddy –and nobody did. They thought he was weird and usually walked away.

Weird was why they didn’t choose him for their teams either, but he was rather proud of the description –the assignation, he corrected himself. The last thing Jamie wanted to do was fit in.

He smiled at his mother, put the shirt on carefully –it was weak with age- and walked carefully through the maze of sun-touched clothes on the line. Skippy jumped up and ran through the back yard to the gate by the shimmering white, wooden garage. Well, perhaps not shimmering, but Jamie liked the word. A gravel lane, and Teddy’s house, among others, lay beyond. It was the last Saturday of summer vacation under a typical prairie sky. The sun never looked the same at school, and never shone as brightly on the eagerly awaited weekends between classes. No, this was it for the summer: downhill and darker from here till spring.

Teddy was standing behind the gate on his fence like a kid in jail. Short blond hair on an extra large head on a tall plump body made him easy to spot from a distance, even behind bars. He waved tentatively at Jamie, as if to make sure he had really been seen. Teddy was shy and seemed to have adopted Jamie so he wouldn’t have to speak to anybody. Not that hanging around with Jamie allowed anonymity –controversy and derision followed his friend like a shadow- but Jamie accepted him without expectations. The two of them went everywhere together: fatty and skinny, morphological opposites, as Jamie used to say.

Do we have to go to the game where they don’t want us again, Jamie?

Don’t want me, you mean?

Whatever…

Jamie smiled mysteriously and looked up at the September sky. Maybe this time it’ll be different…

Maybe they won’t pick you at all, you mean?

Jamie looked at him for a moment and then blinked. Maybe I’ll assail them with such clever verbiage they’ll drop to their collective knees and beg me to play first base.

Teddy stopped walking and stared at his friend. Jamie, your talking is what gets you picked last. Maybe if you just showed up and didn’t say anything, they’d think you were somebody else and actually pick you... At least they’d understand you.

Very funny, Teddy. Words are very powerful. They can start wars, teach children, anoint the special…

And get you picked last…

Well maybe, but…

You’re gonna make one of those guys punch you out, you know.

Yeah, I suppose… But they’re such peasants, don’t you think?

Jamie, they’re big peasants. Big rules; small runs.

Ever heard of a Parthian Gesture?

A what?

I suspect I know the answer already.

Jamie, you know you’re smarter than me –smarter than anybody, actually…

Jamie rolled his eyes. A Parthian gesture is a parting volley. They were a tribe, or something that used to fire arrows and stuff over their shoulders while they were retreating.

A small light of recognition flashed across Teddy’s face. They were losers?

Jamie sighed. Yes, but they still killed the victors even while they were running away…

Teddy put his hands on his hips and half closed one eye. Uhmm, what’s that got to do with the baseball game?

Jamie threw his arms up in the air in a gesture of mock despair. Teddy, think in metaphors, eh? I mean that if the big guys try to beat me up, I’ll flatten them with devastating and embarrassing insults while I’m escaping.

Teddy still looked puzzled. Jamie, nobody understands your big words. They probably won’t even know they’re being insulted.

Good point. But running works.

The two of them ambled side by side along the rough track past the rotting fence smothered in ivy and the old grey stuccoed house built so far back that one bedroom window could be scraped by a stick from the lane. Past the yard with the huge dog that lunged at the wire enclosure holding him in, past the old lady’s property that reeked of urine on a still summer day… And finally Eccles Avenue and the Hospital field where they played baseball in the summer, football in the fall, and soccer in the winter if the snow wasn’t too deep.

As they crossed the empty street, they saw and were seen by a crowd of boys at the far end. And as mutual recognition dawned, the figures slowly clotted and began to seep into the trees like gypsies. No bat, no ball, no team…

Well, at least they’re not arguing over who has to have me on their side… Jamie said as he continued to walk towards the rapidly evaporating group.

Teddy looked uncomfortable and grabbed Jamie’s tee shirt to slow him down. A portion of it tore off in his hand. Jeez, Jamie, you otta get a new shirt…

Ought to, or have to? Jamie said, not fazed, or for that matter slowed in the slightest.

They were closing in on the trees, and they could see faces poking out from behind the trunks like deer in a forest. They’re all big kids, Teddy whispered.

Jamie smiled but he seemed fixated on something on the ground where they used to play. Suddenly, he made a dash for it and picked it up.

Hey, what the hell are you doing, a gruff voice shouted from the trees and ran towards him. It belonged a boy of about fourteen dressed in jeans, black tee shirt, and pimples.

Stealing a base! It’s what you’re supposed to do in baseball, right?

It’s my jacket, asshole, he said tearing across the grass towards Jamie.

Jamie ran like a border collie, and began loping crosswise to him. So if I give it back, can I play on your team?

The kid made a lunge for the jacket, but Jamie had anticipated it and suddenly bolted left. Pimples fell on the ground then got up grinding his teeth and swearing. His face was blue with anger, and he stamped his feet in frustration. He looked so ridiculous a few of his friends began to titter in the trees. One even began to laugh.

The teenager, Terry was his name, shrugged and walked back to his friends shaking his head. If I ever catch you, Jamie, you won’t be able to play on either team, he muttered, more to save face than to make a point.

The others began to come out from the trees and re-organize themselves into the teams they'd obviously already chosen. Jamie walked over and threw the jacket to Terry, being careful to stay out of jumping range. Just thought the baseball metaphor might help your choices, gentlemen.

Very clever, said one of them winking at Terry. But you never even get to a base, let alone steal one. So why should we let you play at all?

Jamie pretended to think. I admit I’m a bit bat challenged at times; and sometimes I drop a fly ball, or throw it to the wrong guy, but what the heck; what I lack in talent, I more than make up for in spirit. That’s gotta count for something in this game.

They all looked at each other and then back at him. No, I don’t think so, said somebody and everybody guffawed.

Terry stared at him for a moment. Look Jamie, you’re just not an athlete. You can’t throw, you can’t catch, you can’t bat… He smiled and looked around. Have I missed anything? Everybody shook their heads. Frankly, all you can do is talk. Steal a base? Steal anything? Hell you don’t even know how to cheat!

It was supposed to be a clever and stinging rebuke, but Jamie found it intriguing. Cheat? He couldn’t help thinking about it. As he walked back towards Eccles and the lane he turned to Teddy and said, It was a total non sequitur you know… Teddy shrugged, having no idea what Jamie was going on about. And yet I can’t help wondering whether he was on to something. Some aspects of my life have been passing me by, Teddy. I’ve lived too far to the right of the bell curve: I’m a perpetual virgin whenever I turn left into it…

Huh?

The bell curve.

Uhmm, the what?

It’s a graph of statistical distribution, Jamie said absently, his mind elsewhere.

Oh…

One can’t live as a virgin forever; it’s not natural…

Earth to Jamie… Teddy’s mouth kept opening and closing in absolute bewilderment. Talk earth-language to me, Jamie!

He stopped in his tracks, half way across Eccles and stared at Teddy without seeing him. Don’t you see, Teddy, he said with a far away look in his eyes. I’m a dishonest-virgin…

Chapter 2

School arrived before the benefits promised by Sight Without Glasses but Jamie decided he would initiate a change anyway. On that first day in Grade six, seated as always beside Teddy, he failed to put his arm up when the teacher said Jamie Armstrong. Everybody turned to look at him, wondering what the delay was. He wasn’t fussing with something in his pocket, or talking with Teddy, he was sitting up straight, facing Mr. Martin and looking despicably keen.

Silence, and a moment of eye-wrestling. Then, after folding his arms tightly across his chest and rocking gently back and forth: "Jamie, it’s customary to indicate your presence with at least a