The Prospect, Eliot Parker [free ebooks for android .TXT] 📗

a grunt came from behind the two players. Walter stepped between the two of them, rubbing his fingers against the corners of his mouth.
“Ladies, whenever use two are done talking about whose pecker is smaller, I would like use to do something out here today.” Ryan could not tell if he was serious or light-heartedly joking with them. Chaz thought he was exhibiting a little of both emotions.
With that said, Ryan and Chaz walked towards different ends of the ballpark, much to the pleasure of their skipper.

***********
The life on a minor league baseball player revolves around practice, games, meals, sleep, and travel. It’s often a scramble to make time for other interests. For practical and team-building reasons, each minor league baseball teams travels together, normally on buses, for away games. Each baseball organization has a different attitude towards travel; some encourage wives or girlfriends to travel to away games, while others consider families distracting and they prefer that they stay home-or if they come to away games, at least stay in a different hotel.
Harlan Shea believed families were the most important part of society. He viewed families as the glue that held communities together. When he created his Sheaville Loggers company baseball team in the 1970’s, he encouraged wives, parents, and children to come to Clark Field and support the team. Many times throughout the year, Shea paid for and provided post-game picnics for players and their families. This was a huge success for several years, primarily because the picnics allowed the players and their families to get to know one another. Many of the players worked at the logging mill together, but the rigorous work schedule did not allow many of them to interact with one another.
Shea even encouraged families to travel with the team to other cities across the state. Most of the wives declined the invitation. After all, they had children to raise and a house to maintain. Life in Sheaville did not provide many opportunities for vacations or traveling. Nonetheless, Harlan Shea offered to pay for lodging, meals, and other personal expenses for any family member traveling with the team. Although the timber pioneer had no children himself, he had a great grasp of the importance of family on a person’s physical and psychological health.
Once the ABA was established in 1981, the equation of players, families, and away games resulted in a different solution. The league required individual teams to determine how and where the players would live during the season. Some of the more affluent major league baseball organizations in larger cities would buy huge apartment complexes and condiminium buildings and arrange for most of the players and their families to live in the same building during the season. During road trips, the organization would rent an entire hotel for the players and their families.
However, for minor league baseball affiliates from smaller cities, such as the Loggers, players were the only ones allowed to travel on road trips. During the season, the organization asked residents of Sheaville to house players throughout the season. Many of the elderly women in town-many whose husbands had died working at Harlan Shea’s logging mill or had died from other causes- loved taking in Loggers players. This gave the women a chance to have someone to converse with, cook for, and in some cases, a “strapping young hunk to keep them company”, as one elderly female Sheaville resident once said.
The residents of Sheaville always knew when the Loggers were preparing for an extensive set of away games. Usually the day before the trip, players would scramble around town gathering materials needed for the long bus ride to Delmarva, Lexington, Hickory, Savannah, or wherever. Each player had his own “to do” list. Many of the lists were similar. Players always made sure they had plenty of snacks to eat, batteries for their portable compact disc devices, and an abundance of clean clothes to wear before and after games.
Shane marched down Central Avenue and turned onto Maple Street. It was late afternoon and the town was flurrying with activity. Women and children raced across Maple Street, never concerned about traffic because there was very little during the afternoon, except for the occasional school bus. Doors to various stores and businesses, including Ruth’s Diner and Rodney’s Department Store, opened and closed dozens of times each minute.
Shane waved and said hello to several residents who spoke to him. Many of them congratulated him for being named ABA player of the month for April. Some of the townspeople just smiled and gave him a gentle pat on the arm. Shane felt a warm rush of joy come over him as he progressed through town. These people are really glad I am here he thought to himself.
The afternoon was quickly turning to dusk and Shane came into town for two reasons: to tell his Mama goodbye and to stop by the drugstore to get some items for the long road trip ahead.
Persistent rain had drenched Sheaville for over 12 hours yet sunshine finally crept out in the late afternoon. Shane always appreciated sunny days, especially when pitching; it helped him see every inch of home plate, from corner to corner, and top to bottom.
The door to Ruth’s Diner flung open nearly smacking Shane on the nose.
“Whoa!” he exclaimed. Not noticing who came out of the diner, Shane asked, “Can I help you with the door? It might save us both some problems.”
The only response given was a slight groan. Shane saw a heavy-set middle aged man storming out of the diner with mustard and ketchup splattered all over his white cotton shirt. Shane eyes focused on the face of the individual. It was Morton Mitchell, the mayor of Sheaville. And he briskly disappeared around the door down Maple Street, not even looking at Shane or responding to his question.
Shane walked into the diner, looking for his mom. He survyed the room, and saw and heard plenty of people talking, laughing, and eating sandwiches and French fries.
Shane noticed Jack Busby, Ruth Busby son, pounding numbers into the cash register and watching the metal cash drawer fly open. He noticed Shane standing by the front door.
“Hey Shane! What are you doing here?” Jack motioned for Shane to come and sit at the counter, but Shane decided to stand instead.
“I am just looking for mama. We are heading out of town in a little while and I just wanted to tell her goodbye. I will not be home for ten days.”
Jack twisted his left eyebrow and rubbed his small grease-stained hands together. “She left a couple of hours ago, right after the lunch shift. Said she wasn’t feeling well, but she looked fine to me.”
A rush of concern came over Shane’s face. “Is she sick?”
“Not that I could tell,” replied Jack. “Joann wasn’t herself today. Usually she is always so bubbly and cheerful, but today she just kinda moped around. In fact, she did not greet one customer when they came in, and that is not like her at all.”
Shane sauntered towards Jack and eventually reached the front of the diner, dropping his hands on the countertop. His hands formed into two fists and he began tapping them lightly on the wet countertop. The counter smelled like bleach
Shane felt the muscles in his chest tighten and he pulled his blue Nike t-shirt away from his chest. Jack thought he was going to tear the center of the shirt, but nothing happened.
Grinding his teeth, Shane muttered. “She told me she was ok…she promised me she was better. I knew it, I knew I shouldn’t have fallen for it.” With that said, he slammed his fist on the countertop, causing some plates and glasses of other paying customers sitting at the counter to rattle and vibrate.
Jack did not know what to say. He was unsure of the relationship Shane and Joann had, although he always assumed it was an amicable one. Flustered, Jack wiped his fingers against his grease stained apron and leaned forward towards Shane, nearly touching him nose-to-nose.
I am sure it was nothing, Jack said soothingly. “People get sick all the time and sometimes they just need some time to rest and recover.”
Shane looked at Jack through the top of his eyes. Jack was taken back from the cold, frozen stare exhibited by the young pitcher. Somehow, someway, Jack wondered if he should have kept his mouth shut and let Shane find out how his mother was feeling.
“Please, Jack, do not fence with me. You know Mama’s depressed, she’s been depressed for as long as I can remember. For some reason, this place upsets her and I cannot understand why. She has gone to Charleston, Huntington, and even Morgantown for treatment and the medication doesn’t seem to be….”
Shane’s tone was placid and pleadingly serious. Yet nothing was going to prepare Jack, the co-owner of Ruth’s Diner, for the next feature of this downward spiraling conversation. Shane broke his frozen stare with Jack and noticed an empty glass abandoned by a customer who had just finished eating. Shane slipped his right hand around the glass and launched it across the diner against the wall behind Jack, the wall located next to the kitchen. All Jack could do was duck behind the counter as the glass shattered against the wall under the force of Shane’s throw.
The diner was instantly silent. Jack slowly rose up from behind the counter, only showing the tips of his furry black eyebrows. As his eyes peered over the edge of the countertop, he noticed Shane turned around, staring at the other customers in the diner. When Shane turned around to face Jack, a tear ran down his eye.
Jack held his breath and waited for Shane Triplet’s next move. All the young man could say was, “I am sorry about that. I..I guess I lost it.”
Shane’s voice trailed off as he began to sob quietly. “I do not know what to do Jack.”
The rest of the diner, realizing that Shane’s incident was a solitary event, began to eat and talk calmly. Jack, now standing tall above the counter once again, reached into his tee-shirt pocket underneath his aprin.
“Listen, uh, do not worry about the glass. Look, I shouldn’t have said anything. It was none of my business to mention your Mom. But there is something you should have.”
Jack extended his hand and slowly retreated his fingers to reveal a crumpled piece of yellow paper. “I found this emptying the trash a couple of days ago. I figured you might want it.”
Jack watched as Shane’s head rose slowly and met his stare. Shane ocean blue eyes were drowning in tears, hovering on his eye-lids like a river getting ready to spill over its banks. Shane took the paper and clenched it in his hand.
Without hesitation, Shane walked across the diner, and flung open the door, just like Mayor Mitchell has done a few minutes earlier.
Shane’s mind was completely occupied with what Jack had said, what his reaction was, and the condition of his Mama. How was she? What if she was depressed? What if she was really sick, like from the flu? Wait...if she was really sick, then why did she not miss the entire day of work instead of coming in and then leaving? These questions bounced around his brain like a pinball.
His eyes barely noticed the people passing him in on the sidewalk. In what seemed to be seconds, Shane was walking down Central Avenue, away from Clark Field and heading home.
As he briskly walked up Central Avenue, he managed to smoke two cigarettes, which calmed him slightly. His blue shirt was now soaked with sweat, and his neck was stained with the