Page 74 of On Fire Island
Eddie took a few more swings before handing the bat to Matty, who immediately hit what would count as a home run in the actual game—up and over the rooftop of the second house in right field. I say up and over because this is often a field-clearingargument. Some of these men like to argue even more than they like to play ball. Not Ben, he’s more the peacemaker, but boy, a lot of them really get into it. Unlike the calamitous repercussions for hitting it over the left-field net onto the tennis courts, right-field shots are fair game. The general rule is, if it’s over the rooftop of one of the right-field houses, it’s a homer; if it hits or goes under one of them, it’s a double, and if they can’t decide if it cleared the roof or hit the house, they will argue for five minutes before compromising on a triple.
Matty did a casual victory lap around the bases just for fun as Ben pulled down the catcher’s mask and yelled, “Beautiful hit, Matty!”
Rico looked up from making the roster, shouting, “Save it for the game, kid!” with Shep countering proudly, “My boy’s got plenty more where that came from. Don’t you worry!”
The guys all stood around Rico as he put the finishing touches on the batting order and fielding positions. It’s a real ego thing with these guys. Aside from one just being seen as better than another, there is also the age factor. Two older men who had a ten-year rivalry over first base were both disappointed when he gave that position to Matty.
Matty hid both a smile and his nerves.
“Look at that. A ten-year conflict resolved for the greater good.”
“Maybe we should send Rico to the Middle East.”
Matty slipped on his shirt proudly as Joel patted him on the back.
“First time in the big game, kid. You nervous?”
“A little. Mostly psyched.”
“Good luck, Matty” was heard from all except the rival firstbasemen, who were suddenly commiserating with each other like best buds.
Dylan arrived, and Matty lit up.
“It’s time to get serious, boys. It’s been three years, and I want that trophy back!” Shep proclaimed passionately.
Bay Harbor was up first, because in this game home-field advantage goes to whomever won the year before. It’s called an advantage because the team that bats second gets last licks.
Rico grabbed his clipboard and announced, “Top of the order. Tony’s up, Joel’s in the hole.”
The game began with a triple and a double, putting Bay Harbor in the lead. Oceanview got one run and then out, and things went that way, back and forth and back and forth, until the fifth inning. At this point I lost track, until the ump changed the score on the board and announced, “Bottom of the fourth, five to three—Oceanview.”
Rico read out the order for the inning, “Matty, Ben, Shep.”
Matty stepped up to the plate. He let the first pitch fly by. He swung at the second and missed. The third hit his bat with a piercing crack and the ball ascended straight over the house in right field. The now huge crowd cheered; yelling an array of classic ball game jargon that I never quite understood.
“It’s a dinger!”
“It’s a yard job!”
“It’s a Texas leaguer!” as Matty casually took his victory lap.
Ben was warming up on the sidewalk when Josie showed up on my yellow bike, squeezing the ducky horn to get his attention. Her friend was riding a tandem behind her and had stopped to talk to someone she knew.
“Hey, Ben, I found your street!” Josie called out, following it up with her beautiful smile.
Ben’s face softened when he looked at her. It was one of the few times since my death that I had seen the pain leave his gaze. He answered her, uncomfortably, as opposed to apathetically. I considered it a win.
“Oh, hey, um, OK. You could just put it in my shed, if you don’t mind. I’m up next.”
“I’ll watch first,” she said sweetly, before catching eyes with Pam and Andie in the crowd. By the time Matty reached home plate, Josie was sitting in the stands with them, bouncing baby Oliver on her knee.
Matty partook in a round of celebratory cheers and high fives, and Renee and Tuck both proudly embraced him in a family hug. For a second, they looked as if they had reconciled, and I could feel all eyes on them. Renee could too, I’m sure. She took a step back and waved excitedly to the drummer in the stands.
He waved back at her, yelling, “Way to go, Matty!” He was again wearing shoes.
Ben breathed through the pressure and took his stance at home plate. Roger pitched. Ben swung low and missed.
“Strike one,” said the ump.
