Alice Bliss - Laura Harrington [73]
She closes her eyes and it’s a September afternoon. Clear blue sky, bright sun, cool breeze. She and Matt are in the garden picking tomatoes. He finds a flawless Brandywine, wipes it clean with his shirt and passes it to her. He finds another one for himself, polishes it, and takes a bite, like it’s an apple. He pulls the kitchen salt shaker out of his pocket, sprinkles on some salt and savors every last bit of it, tomato juice running down his chin. Nothing has ever tasted better. The sunwarmed flesh of the tomato, the sharp, acidic tang of the first bite, the kick of the salt intensifying everything. This is a ritual with them. The finding, the picking, the perfect late summer beefsteak tomato, the salt shaker stolen from the kitchen, the hum of the crickets heralding fall, and the explosion of flavor in their mouths. No words required.
April 29th
It’s the Red Wings’ home opener against Syracuse. Alice is sitting in the bleachers with John Kimball, his father, his kid brother, Joey, and Mrs. Minty. A very short and very chubby high school girl from Mendon with beautiful long, dark hair has just sung “The Star-Spangled Banner.” How is it possible to belt out notes that high? The team sprints out onto the field to take their positions as the announcer introduces them. They get a welcoming standing ovation. Rochester loves its Red Wings. Not that Frontier Field is full; but it’s a respectable crowd. Rowdy, too.
It’s cool and windy but John and his father know where to sit to get some shelter from the wind and to take full advantage of whatever sun there is. They’ve got peanuts in the shell and, true to his promise, John has gotten Mrs. Minty a hot dog with all the trimmings.
Mrs. Minty is wearing her usual skirt, blouse, cardigan sweater, and tie shoes, but over this she has layered an extra sweater, her winter coat, and two scarves. She has also brought fuzzy mittens that look homemade, and to top it off she is sporting a well-worn Red Wings baseball cap. They are all wearing Red Wings baseball caps, which makes Alice feel slightly ridiculous.
Mrs. Minty has already purchased her season player roster and she has not one but two sharpened pencils in preparation for keeping up with the box scores. This is more baseball ephemera than Alice and her dad usually indulge in, though her dad reads the box scores every morning in the paper. Or used to.
She leans over to John.
“Do you understand box scores?”
“Yeah.”
“My dad explained it to me once, but honestly, I stopped listening after about two minutes.”
“I wouldn’t worry about it.”
Everybody’s a little stiff and formal, except for Joey who is happily dashing up and down the bleacher steps following one of the vendors around. Is this because none of them know one another well, or because Mrs. Minty is there and they’re all trying their hardest to be polite and not yell and swear, or is it because John is wishing he’d never invited this weird girl to a baseball game and John’s father is probably wondering what’s going on because he thought John already had a girlfriend? That Melissa Johnson who calls every night and wants to talk on the phone till all hours.
Joey is back, panting.
“Dad! Dad! I want to sell peanuts. Can I sell peanuts?”
“I think you have to be fifteen.”
He’s crushed. For a moment.
“Dad! Dad! Can I sell peanuts when I’m fifteen?”
“Sure.”
“How long ’til then?”
“Eight years.”
“You think I could be an assistant before then?”
“Ask him!”
“Ask who?”
“The kid you’ve been running after.”
“He wouldn’t have to pay me.”
“Don’t tell me, tell him.”
Joey sprints off, in pursuit of the fifteen-year-old demigod selling peanuts.
Mrs. Minty begins a discussion about the new shortstop, Rich Gelbart, and what the pitching coach is saying about him. John listens carefully but doesn’t say much as his dad and Mrs. Minty assess Gelbart and his strengths and weaknesses, until Mr. Kimball turns to John and says:
“You could be there, son. You work hard and you could be there. Right on that field.”
“Dad . . .”
“You’re quick, you can hit, and you