BILLY AND ME

The following is the first of a series of stories that are only partly true. I say partly because I will use different names to protect people’s identities, and because some people who know me may read this blog, and I don’t want them to be able to pinpoint the event, or the results too easily. So, you will never be able to tell what part is true, and what part is not. Some of these stories will be mostly true, while others will be mostly false. Enjoy!

Billy was a trouble maker as a teenager. He spent more time in detention during High school than anyone I knew. But he was my best friend. We had known each other since childhood. Billy lived behind me, one house to the west. We used to get into all sorts of trouble together, including getting caught playing doorbell ditch-it numerous times.

Once, when I was fourteen, Billy and I were doing something really intelligent. We were picking up rocks from his mom’s garden, and throwing them across the street. We couldn’t really see if cars were coming, because Billy’s house was blocking our view of the oncoming traffic from the north. Well, I picked up a rock a little larger than a golf ball, and threw it. An instant later, we heard the sound of tires screeching to a halt, and a car door opening and slamming shut. We boogied out of there as fast as we could, but consequences always seemed to catch up with Billy and me. As I got home minutes later, thinking everything was safe, here was my mom with the man whom I had hit with the rock. He wasn’t hurt all that bad, although he was bleeding.

He also didn’t seem all that angry. My mom was a different story, though. I didn’t think she’d ever grab my ear at the age of fourteen, but sure enough, she did, and she dragged me towards the man, and said, “Look at what you’ve done!!!” I saw alright. The rock I had thrown had flown right through his driver’s side window, and belted him in the head. He told me the rock had been slowed somewhat by the window, and I told him how sorry I was. He could see that I meant it, and I could tell he was uncomfortable having my mom hold onto my ear like that. I however, was no longer aware of the pain in my ear. I could only see the look on the man’s face, how forgiving he was.

“Ma’am”, he said, “Let go of the boy’s ear. He didn’t mean to harm me. It was just something boys do. I threw rocks at his age, too, and I wasn’t always that careful about where they ended up, either.” Mom let go of my ear, and asked the man if he thought she should punish me. He just smiled and said, “No, I think he has already been punished enough. My insurance will cover the damage. Let's just forgive and forget, okay?” Then he looked at me and said, “Tom, there are better ways to make use of your arm than throwing rocks. I see you and Billy have some strong arms, to be throwing rocks as fast as you do. Tell me, do you play baseball?”

Do I play baseball? This was turning into a strange encounter, I mean, a fourteen year old doesn’t quite make all the connections that adults do, and I had no idea why he asked me that. I told him yes, I did. I told him I was a pitcher, and Billy was too. We hadn’t decided who threw faster yet, because we weren’t allowed to throw in front of radar guns at our age. In my town, they were always trying to protect kids from being pushed too far too fast, especially in sports.

The man, whose name I later found out was Earl, just happened to be the high school baseball coach. He looked back at his car, and I looked with him. The rock I had thrown hadn’t shattered the window. Instead, it had cut threw almost cleanly, leaving a hole slightly bigger than the rock. He handed the rock to me, and said, “I hope you can still throw like that when you try out for my team, Tom. It takes some sort of arm to do THAT to a car window. Billy was hanging in the background, just sort of sniggering, and Earl looked at him, and said, “You, too”. He smiled, and left. I won’t go into the details of how my mom told me how embarrassing I was to her. She had every right to say it, as I look back now.

Billy and I entered high school the following year, and sure enough, there was Earl, our future coach, and suddenly our physical education teacher. As he was reading off the role call, he came to my name, and he glanced up and saw Billy and me standing next to each other. He chuckled and asked, “Do you two do anything apart from each other?” I just said, “present”, and tried to hide myself.

As our first year progressed, we became friends with Earl. He sort of took us under his wing, possibly hoping to keep the two of us out of trouble long enough to play for his team, or so I thought. Athletics were always in doubt for Billy and me, as we always seemed to be in trouble.

There was a group of “jocks” in our school who weren’t really very good at anything except cutting other people down. Well, Billy and I had always stood up for each other, so when several of the jocks started picking on Billy, I stepped in, and somehow, a brawl started. That is how we managed to be kicked off the football team.

When basketball season started, Billy and I knew we would be starters, until we both got caught drinking beer at a high school party. It was then that Earl began to take us aside, and give us “special attention”.

I recall something Earl said to us. “You two boys aren’t as stupid as the way you’ve been acting. Tell me, which sport do you most want to play?” We both loved baseball best, and he knew it. So he told us this one piece of wisdom that will live with Billy and me forever, “Boys, I’m not going to say this but once. From now on, the only thing you’ll be tossing back is baseballs, not beer cans. And from now on, you won’t be throwing anything but baseballs either, not punches, or rocks. If you truly want to excel, I can help you, but I can’t be smart for you. If you don’t stay out of trouble, in trouble is always where you’ll be. You won’t play for me, because you will be in trouble. So, if you want to play for me, if you want to do anything in this life, you have to find a way to stay out of trouble. I won’t tell you how to do it, you’re going to have to figure it out on your own. But I’ll give you a hint; anything, and I mean ANYTHING, that doesn’t point to your goal of staying out of trouble, is probably a good thing to avoid. Get me?” We got him, and for the most part, stayed out of major trouble for the rest of the year.

That spring, we started baseball!! At fifteen, for the first time ever, Billy and I were going to get to see just how fast we could throw. During tryouts for varsity, Earl brought the pitchers in early during the mornings, before school started, and set up the radar gun. A lot of the older players wondered just who these two skinny kids were, Billy and I. Then, Earl had several of the seniors throw for him, and we noticed that none of them even broke eighty miles an hour. Still, it seemed like they were throwing awfully fast. I remember mumbling to Billy, “Man, I don’t know what we’re doing here. We aren’t going to throw any better than any of these guys. Look at the size of them!” Billy nodded, but didn’t say anything. I could tell he was as afraid as I was to embarrass himself.

After twenty minutes or so, it was my turn. I warmed up for about five minutes, not really wanting Earl to turn the gun on anytime soon. My arm felt good, but I hadn’t let it fly yet, I was afraid to. I desperately did not want to be laughed at. So, when Earl turned the machine on, unbeknownst to me, my last warm up pitch registered at eighty –two mph. I wouldn’t have known it if Billy hadn’t said, “Hey Tom, look at the gun!” I looked, saw the numbers, and wondered if I had thrown that speed. Then Earl asked me if I was bringin’ it yet. (“bringin’ it is just a way baseball guys have of saying throwing it as hard as you can). I said no, I was just warming up. Earl raised an eyebrow. What else could I say? It was the truth.

“Well, Pearl,” Earl said, Anytime you’re ready, hum fire.” (Earl is the only coach I ever heard say that. He meant “bring it”) So, I brought it. Ninety miles an hour. The next pitch was better, because the faster I threw, the more my arm loosened up. I ended up with a high of ninety-two mph, and the older guys were just standing there, silent. As I walked past, I heard Billy say, “Great. How am I supposed to match that!?”

Match it he did, and he went one better, ending up at an average of ninety-three mph. Earl looked like a kid on Christmas morning, hopping around everywhere, and laughing, trying not to favor his two newest varsity pitchers. He would never have called us his stars, but the older guys did. I was amazed at the acceptance they gave us. It was the first time any older kid had ever given me the time of day. I guess making them look silly in batting practice can change things quickly, although Billy and I caught on fast. We didn’t make them look too silly, they were, after all, our teammates!! Awesome!! What were the odds of two kids the same age, living almost right next to each other, starting as freshmen pitchers on the varsity baseball team?

And this team was good, even before we got there. Two of the guys Billy and I had rumbled with, Chris and Dave, tried out for varsity too, thinking the team couldn’t be all that good, after all, Billy and I were on it. When Chris, (a guy who hated me for no reason I could understand) came up to bat, the first thing I did was throw one at his chest. He flopped backwards onto his butt so fast all I could see was a cloud of dust. I hadn’t hit him, and I hadn’t meant to, but he got the message. Earl did too, and he just said, “Save it for the game, Pearl”. Honestly, I have no idea why he called me that, and dumb as I was as a kid, I never realized it rhymed with his first name. Was it a compliment? I don’t know. He called Billy “Jack”, and at times, I don’t think it was a compliment.

Earl was a great coach, and I loved him. But he had a way of saying things that was unlike anyone I had ever met. As a freshman pitcher on the varsity squad, I wasn’t a good hitter. Most of the time, I struck out. After striking out one time, I remember looking at Earl, who was holding his arms eighteen inches apart, one above the other. I took that to mean I had missed on my swing by that much. I laugh about it now, but it wasn’t all that funny then. The guys on the team just sort of giggled and said, “you’ll get’em next time, Pearl”. Yeah, right!!

Billy was a little better than I was, although he got into trouble on the mound because he didn’t like slowing down his fastball to gain control over it, and no matter how much Earl yelled at him, encouraged him, or just plain benched him, Billy wouldn’t listen. Still, he was the best pitcher we had. So it was no surprise that Billy started the state championship game for us, while I sat on the bench. Billy hummed fire all night long, striking out nearly every batter he faced, and we won, seven to nothing. We were champions, and it was time to celebrate.

Freshmen celebrating with seniors is not a good idea. Billy and I got drunk, and Billy went off with one of the seniors for more beer. That senior’s name was John, and I am sure now that he never meant to run that stop sign, but the beer had severely hindered his judgment, and in the end, an oncoming car crashed into the right side of John’s car, the side where Billy was sitting.

Billy and John both survived that crash, but Billy’s right arm was broken in three places, and his leg was broken as well. I think his spirit was broken a little, too, that night. Like I said earlier, consequences always seemed to catch up with Billy and me.