Summer's Heat

Four

Monday morning came and Renfro Summer, the black kid at the ballpark, had also pondered all weekend about what had happened, but for a very different reason. This morning, like many mornings, he was asked to go to the convenience store to pick up a few items for his family. There was no way to avoid the ballpark where the white kids were practicing. Renfro had gotten up early in the hope he could get to the store and back before Buster and his gang got to the ballpark.

Renfro walked out the front door of his two-bedroom frame house onto the narrow, barren, un-kept streets and hesitantly began his trip to the store. After he had walked several blocks south toward town on 5th Street, his surroundings changed. Sidewalks appeared on each side of the street and he veered over to one of them and continued. Four more blocks had passed and now the huge trees began to line the streets. He knew he was drawing nearer the field. He began weaving in and out of the trees, pausing occasionally, cautiously looking ahead toward the field. With each new block, Renfro's heart pumped harder and faster. Once in view of the field, to his relief, no one was there. His objective now was to purchase the groceries, and get back past the field, as fast as possible. He began to run. His long slender build covered ground quickly.

Renfro raced into the store. He knew the location of every item. Down isle one he grabbed a gallon of milk, on isle four a loaf of bread, and on isle five a bag of sugar. He hurriedly made his way to the checkout counter and laid the three items down along with his money. The clerk leisurely checked each item and called its price aloud as if to reassure herself she was entering the correct price and unhurriedly placed each item into the grocery bag. Renfro fidgeted impatiently. The clerk counted out his change, coin by coin, and handed him his receipt. Renfro usually had time to buy a few pieces of gum with the extra change but not today. He shoved the change and receipt into his pocket and bolted out of the store. If he could only get home he would be safe. Renfro sprinted toward the field not taking time to look for oncoming traffic as he crossed each intersection. As he got in site of the field he stopped dead in his tracks. There was Buster, as usual, batting. Renfro crossed over to the other side of the street, ducked his head behind the bag of groceries and began sneaking from tree to tree, pausing behind each one, hoping no one would notice him. Buster was launching line drives and high fly balls all over the field, boasting about how he was 'the greatest'. As Jeremy hurled a pitch toward home plate, Buster saw Renfro slipping by the field. Everyone anticipated the crack of the bat, but Buster lost his concentration. The only sound was the thud of the ball centering in Freddie's mitt. Buster had swung and missed. Everyone was astonished. Buster never missed a pitch.

Freddie, startled from actually having to catch a pitch while Buster was batting, looked up and asked reverently, "What's up with that, Buster?"

"Can't hit my pitching anymore can ya' Buster?" Jeremy proudly quipped, then strutted around like a rooster, flapping his arms.

Buster, a bit embarrassed, flung his bat against the fence and stormed off toward the black kid. "Hey you! We don't want your kind around here", Buster spouted, pointing at the kid.

No one else on the team had even noticed Renfro. Now everyone's attention was squarely aimed at him. Renfro ignored Buster but continued to walk, now hurriedly. Buster, enraged even more for being ignored, raced toward the kid in full sprint. Jeremy began to encourage Buster, "Get him, Buster. Get him!" Buster quickly closed the distance between Renfro and himself then drew his clinched fists into his chest, pointing his elbows outward. Renfro was surprised by Buster's onslaught and had little time to react. Buster bowled Renfro over knocking him to the ground. The force of the blow crushed the milk carton spewing its contents into Renfro's face. The loaf of bread was flattened under the weight of Renfro's body, which was sent skidding on his side down the street next to the sugar bag, which had punctured leaving a white granular trail. Renfro scrambled to his feet before Buster could make a second charge and ran off toward his home, leaving the ruined groceries behind.

Buster screamed at the black kid, "Don't you ever come back, nigger!"

As Buster strutted back to the plate, unruffled and smiling, Jeremy piped in, "That a way, Buster. You show'em who's boss."

When practice was over, Freddie left again without speaking a word to any of his teammates. He walked aimlessly toward his home. He felt sorry for Renfro and couldn't figure out why Buster hated the kid so much.

Freddie spent the next two days quietly in his room. He sat on his bed and flipped through his baseball cards over and over again, stopping each time he came across Johnny Bench's card to take special notice of the stats on the back - stats he had memorized the first day he got the card, but he looked again, none the less. He made sure not to miss the evening news and especially the sports. He would perk up when the Reds game score was given hoping to hear how many hits Johnny had that day. But the remainder of time his mind was on Renfro. He had to find the kid and talk to him.