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  Spring Perfection

  Leslie DuBois

  Copyright © 2013 Leslie DuBois

  All rights reserved.

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  Leslie DuBois on Amazon

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  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

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  A Perfect Game

  I love the smell of spring. To me it smells like hot dogs, linseed oil, and the tight stitching on a new baseball. Spring brings my favorite pastime, the happiest time of my life. But not today.

  It is the top of the fifth inning. We, Charleston Preparatory School, are ahead one to zero. I am pitching a perfect game. It will be my first perfect game since joining the baseball team two years ago as a freshman. A perfect game is the dream of any pitcher. I mean, in Major League Baseball there have only been twenty perfect games ever! EVER! And I was on my way to getting one as a junior in high school. A perfect game means no one gets on base. No walks, no errors, no mistakes. Unfortunately, I don't know if this is possible. My head is not in the game. It is somewhere else completely. It is with Reyna. I made a promise to her and because of this stupid game, I don't know if I will be able to keep it or not. Of course, the game isn't stupid. Baseball is the greatest game on the planet. And if you ask my mother, she'll say this is the most important game of my life. But then again, she'll say every game is the most important game of my life. That's just the way she is. It will take too much time to explain my mother. And this isn't a story about her.

  In her defense, this is a special game. It isn't every day that a high school team gets to have a spring training game with a college team. And it certainly isn't every day that the high school team beats the college team. But winning will mean nothing without Reyna by my side.

  I look over at her normal place in the dugout where she usually sits next to Doc. She wants to be a doctor one day so he lets her tag along to all the games and watch how to take care of different sports injuries. It is free medical training for her future career.

  Today she isn't there and I know why. The reason tears at my heart. I momentarily step off the mound in order to get my emotions in check. Most people think nerves are kicking in. They think I realize that it's been five innings and I have not allowed a single batter to reach first base. But that is not what is eating away at me like termite in a tree house. I am a bad friend. I should be by her side instead of worrying about my baseball stats.

  I stick my face into my glove and inhale the scent of the linseed oil. It calms me for a moment and I step back on the mound.

  How did I ever get to this point? How did Reyna ever grow to be so important in my life that I find myself thinking about her instead of pitching my perfect game?

  I shake thoughts of Reyna from my mind and throw out a pitch.

  Strike three.

  I have survived another inning. Finally, I can retreat to the dugout and try to get my head together. I try to purge thoughts of her. I try to concentrate. I try to focus on Carson at bat, but I can't. Instead, I think of how Reyna and I first met.

  The Day that Changed my Life

  The day my life changed was November 13th, 2002. It was a Tuesday in English class which meant reading time. But to sixth grade boys, reading time was a synonym for a little game we called “Flame it and Blame it”. It was a highly intellectual game in which a winner was anyone who could fart in class and successfully blame it on someone else. I was a "Flame it and Blame it" champion three weeks running.

  The nation had just celebrated the one year memorial of the September 11th terrorists attacks, yet at that time, the most serious thing I thought of was how to keep my fart game winning streak alive. What can I say; I was a pretty superficial kid.

  That was the day Reyna Lewis breezed into my life. I couldn't take my eyes off of her from the moment she walked into the door and handed her schedule to Mr. Eckhart. Then her eyes scanned the room looking for an empty seat.

  She had a big dark curly afro that bounced as if in slow motion. She had an arm full of shiny bracelets that played music with each step she took. I had never seen anyone wear so many bracelets on one arm at one time in my life.

  At the wise old age of 12, the girls and boys of Charleston Preparatory School were convinced of only two things.

  1. Boys were gross.

  2. Girls were as boring as watching paint dry on grass.

  I was pretty sure both of those facts were engraved on bathroom doors somewhere. It was almost sacrilege for the two groups to mix at that age.

  As Reyna made her way through the classroom, stuck-up blond girl after stuck-up blond girl refused to let her sit down. Not because she was black. But because she was new. She hadn't yet proven what social group she belonged. No one wanted to take a chance by including her and later figuring out she didn't belong. Most people thought it was best to adopt a wait-and-see attitude.

  Reyna lifted her head unfazed and continued walking toward the back of the class where all the stinky...literally stinky...boys were found.

  "You can sit here," I said, offering the empty seat next to me. I heard my voice before I even thought the words.

  Reyna looked at me and smiled. Suddenly my mouth went dry and my legs turned to putty. Thank goodness I was sitting down.

  She sat down next to me and asked what I was reading. At least, I think that's what she said. The rest of class was a blur. All I remember was sitting next to her during lunch that day.

  "Why are you being so nice to me?" she asked as we sat in the cafeteria.

  I shrugged. I really didn't know why. I had never sat with a girl at lunch. Ever. Something about Reyna just felt right though.

  She smiled again and I felt that funny feeling. If she kept smiling at me like that I might not be able to walk again. "That's okay. You don't have to explain. I don't think I've ever eaten a meal with a white person before. I just feel comfortable with you, though."

  "You mean, you don't know any white people?"

  "I've spent most of my life in Puerto Rico."

  "You're Spanish? You're black and Spanish just like Roberto Clemente."

  She started babbling rapidly in Spanish. When she noticed my confused look, she stopped short and covered her mouth.

  "Oh, I'm sorry. I was just really excited you knew about Roberto Clemente. I love baseball."

  A girl who loved baseball? This was going to be an amazing friendship.

  Just then my cell phone buzzed. Cell phones weren't exactly allowed at Charleston Prep for most people. But I was Scott Kincaid. I wasn't most people. A lot of exceptions were made for me.

  I dismissed the
call and stuffed the phone into my pocket. I couldn't deal with my mother right now. She was probably just calling to yell at me for not finishing my workout that morning or calling to remind me to run extra laps after school.

  "You don't want to answer that?" my new friend asked.

  I rolled my eyes. "It's just my mother. She'll have plenty of time to yell at me later. Right now I'm trying to eat."

  Reyna looked concerned. It was like she could somehow feel the pain in the relationship between my mother and me.

  "In my village in Puerto Rico, there was an old woman nicknamed La Cienega who once told me that someone can only make you unhappy if you let them."

  I thought about this for a second. No one had ever put it that way before. And three different therapists had tried.

  "Is that why you were able to smile even though those girls in class rejected you?"

  "That wasn't my smile. That was La Cienega's smile."

  I looked at her confused.

  "I'll tell you about her later. Not today. You're not ready. You'll just think I'm weird."

  She was right about that. I did think she was weird. And different. And exciting. And unique. She was the most fascinating person I had ever met in my life.

  Top of the Sixth

  We fail to score in the bottom of the fifth. Now it is my time to go out and keep my perfect game going. As I walk out to the mound, I feel that maybe I am still that superficial kid from the sixth grade. I like to think that I have changed a lot, that my friendship with Reyna has made me a better and deeper person. But sometimes I am not sure.

  Now is a good example.

  What am I doing here? This is just an exhibition game. It really means nothing in the long run.

  I throw a strike. The batter doesn't even swing. He expected me to throw high and away like the last time he was at bat. But this is why I am so good. I have so many pitches in my artillery, they never know what to expect from me. I have an awesome slider, curve ball and even a knuckle ball. And don't get me started on my fastball. I've already broken the high school record for fastest pitch ever thrown.

  I retire the first batter then look out into the crowd. I carefully avoid my mother's eyes. I don't know what to expect from her. Yes, I'm winning the game, but sometimes winning isn't enough for that woman. I know she wants this perfect game. It's not like I will get a trophy or anything for it for her to add to my side of the trophy room at home. Although, I could totally imagine her going to a trophy store just to create one for me.

  My mother wants this so bad because of the publicity it will bring. I know she thinks that it will help me get signed with a team. But I'm only a junior in high school. There is no telling what can happen between now and when I graduate. And what if I get injured or something? One stinking ACL tear and my career is probably over. I shiver at the thought. I don't know what I'd do with myself if I wasn't able to play sports. I love sports, but always having to win is starting to wear me down like tires on a race car. It's too much pressure. Besides, I want to go to college anyway first before jumping into professional sports.

  Instead of looking at my mother I look in the stands at Kimberley Mierson, my current girlfriend. Why isn't Reyna my girlfriend? I'm not sure. Maybe I'm too afraid to lose her friendship. Or maybe I'm just plain afraid.

  The rest of the inning is a blur. I throw six strikes so fast that my arm gets a little sore. I know better than to rub my shoulder in public though. Besides it being bad luck, my mother would be in the dugout before I could say 'Bengay' making sure I was okay and demanding that the trainer give me something so that my performance doesn't suffer.

  Instead of massaging my shoulder I plopped down in my seat, crossed my arms and closed my eyes. Then I thought about La Cienega's smile.

  La Cienega's Smile

  Weeks after that first encounter in English class. We sat together on the Merry-Go-Round in the play ground.

  "I dare you to kiss me?" Reyna said suddenly.

  "What?" I said nearly choking on my Tofu turkey wrap. I wasn't a vegetarian or anything, but Reyna was. And there was just something about her that made me want to be wherever she was and do whatever she did. That included eating this disgusting concoction.

  "I said I dare you to kiss me."

  "I heard you, but … but, why?" I really couldn't believe what I was hearing. Did she really want to kiss me?

  Reyna drew in a breath and made her cheeks big like a blowfish. She always did that when she needed to think. She held her breath for several seconds, then let it out as she said, "According to my sources, we're the only two sixth graders who haven't had a first kiss. Most everyone in our class has gone beyond kissing."

  I stared at her completely confused. I remember totally not understanding what she meant by 'beyond kissing', but I knew I wanted to try it. And I wanted to try it with her.

  "I mean, I know you would rather kiss Amanda Stratfield, but I figure you can practice on me. That way when you finally kiss Amanda, you'll be really good at it."

  I didn't really want to kiss Amanda Stratfield. She was actually kind of annoying the way she always asked me stupid questions about baseball just so she could have an excuse to talk to me. I mean, really, she doesn't know what a sacrifice fly is. Reyna does. She would never ask me that.

  "Um ... " I managed to say. I couldn't think of anything else. I didn't know what I was supposed to say in this situation.

  "We can go behind the slide if you want, so no one will see," Reyna said.

  "Um ... okay."

  Reyna grabbed my hand and pulled me to a secluded spot behind the slide at the edge of the playground, a spot hidden from the rest of the field. And then we did it. We kissed. We kissed a lot. Reyna was a little bit of a perfectionist so I knew we would be at it for a while until we got it just right.

  "Did you feel that?" Reyna asked me after our fifth attempt at a successful kiss without teeth getting in the way.

  "What?"

  "A flutter in the pit of your stomach. I felt it in mine."

  I closed my eyes and thought about it. Yeah, I had felt the flutter. I had felt the flutter everywhere.

  "Yeah, I felt it, too," I said.

  "La Cienega just smiled."

  I just looked at her and I couldn't help smiling. I probably had the biggest, stupidest grin on my face. But I couldn't help it. I was just that happy.

  "You always talk about this Cienega person. Are you finally gonna tell me who she is?"

  Reyna sat cross-legged on the ground and pulled me down next to her. She closed her eyes and rested her head on my shoulder. She seemed as though she was being transported to another time and place. I just sat there quietly waiting for her to speak. And secretly hoping that soon the kissing would start again.

  "In my village in Puerto Rico," she began finally. "There was this old blind woman named Milagros. That means Miracle, you know?"

  I nodded as if I knew. I really didn't.

  "It was an appropriate name. She was the miracle of the village. If there was someone having a hard time paying their bills, they would miraculously find a wad of cash under their door. If someone didn't have enough to eat, they'd miraculously find a bag of rice and a chicken on their doorstep."

  "Wait. A live chicken?"

  "Yes, a live one. That's how we roll in Puerto Rico." She laughed for a moment and then suddenly became serious. "Everyone knew the gifts came from her. She was so giving and caring. She took care of everyone. She even tried to take care of my mother when...when she got sick." Reyna paused for a moment and tried to hold back the tears. "After my mom died. I thought my world had ended. I thought I would never be happy again. It actually made me mad to pass her on her porch every day and see her smiling at nothing. I honestly believed that no one in the world should be happy because my mother was gone." She paused again and took a deep calming breath. "Anyway, one day I got too angry to hold it in. I marched up to her and asked her why in the world was she smiling? Actually, I think what I said tr
anslates more accurately into 'Why the hell are you smiling?' But, do you know what she said?"

  I shook my head.

  "She said that she smiles because she's blind."

  I looked at Reyna oddly.

  "Yeah, I was confused too. But then she said, 'It's not what you see that makes you truly happy. What you see may not always be there. Oh, but how you feel never has to go away. There's nothing better than that tingly happiness that courses through your body and lands in your face causing your cheeks to rise into a smile. Because I'm blind I don't get distracted by what's really there and what's not. I get to have that feeling all the time.'"

  I sat in silence for a while as I let those words sink in. I had to admit, that was probably the most beautiful few sentences I had ever heard in my life. No wonder those words had stuck with Reyna for so long. But I was still confused about something.

  "Rey, I thought you said her name was Milagros. Where does La Cienega come in?"

  "That was her nickname, " Reyna said. "It's not actually even a real word, but it’s roughly translated to something like 'the marsh.' I used to sit on her porch for hours and watch the sun rise or set over the marsh. It was beautiful and peaceful and made me feel like...like...home."

  "Well, we have marshland here. This is Charleston after all. Do you feel at home here?"

  Reyna shook her head. "It's not the same. Yes, there is marshland here, but this isn't an island. There is something different about living on an island. There's something different about the feel of the wind, the smell of air and the taste of the breeze. The sunset on an island surrounds you and feels like warmth is hugging you."

  For a moment I thought she was getting confused in the English language. Her English was nearly perfect since her father was American, but sometimes I noticed that she couldn't exactly translate things the way she wanted. But after I thought about it for a moment more, I realized she had said exactly what she meant. I also realized that one day I was going to help her have the feeling again.