she's a catch | benny rodriguez

Chapter 20

An old man with a dark completion came to the screen door. We all stared in shock; this was the man that the kids of this neighborhood told stories about. Stories of him being an evil man who hated kids and made his dog eat a little kid. I wasn't sure if I really believed the kid being eaten by the beast, but him being an evil old man was still a possibility.

"W-We brought your dog home, sir." I could tell Smalls was quite intimidated by the old man behind the screen door.

Old man questioned how his dog, who's names is actually Hercules, got out. With every question that was shot by the old man I'm pretty sure they was color lost from Smalls face. Smalls tried to answer but he couldn't make up single word. I my hand on his shoulder to calm him and shot Benny a look. He must have gotten the hint because he took over.

He explained. "Well, what happens was we hit a baseball into your yard, we tried to get it back."

"So you're the ones been making all that racket." Smalls replied with an immediate yes sir. "Did you get it?"

I handed the baseball to Smalls and he handed the baseball to the old man. The old man felt the baseball and held it close to his nose, using his other sences to examine the ball.

"Well first time anybody got the best of old Hercules." Smalls tired to Benny and I with a shocked expression." Why didn't you just knock on the door, I would've gotten it for you."

As soon as the words left his mouth I bit my lip to refrain from cursing the hell out of Squints. The boys on the other hand didn't even try to hold back. They attacked his from each corner with punches, slaps, and shouts. Squints, being Squints, tried to justify his big mistake by repeating, we got the ball back didn't we.

Loud chuckles brought the attention back on the old man. I figured he understood how we got into this situation and found it very funny. Looking back on it now it probably was in a way, but I still want to give Squints the punch he deserves.

Mr. Mertle thanked us for bring back Hercules and then, to our, surprise he invited us inside. He held up the baseball motioning us inside the house saying, "We'll talk about this baseball, come on."

The three of us on the porch exchanged skeptical and anxious looks more entering the house.

My eyes wandered all around the walls that were covered with photographs of baseball teams, flags, posters, and even some vintage wooden baseball bats. Shelves were clutered with trophies and bobble heads of famous baseball players. It was the baseball collection I could only dream of having in my life time.

The boy's conversation faded away from my ears as I stopped at a display case. This display case was set aside from all the other priceless collectables in the room. Instead of trophies, jerseys, or bobble heads, each rack held framed black&white photos and baseball headlines from newspaper articles. And I thought I was a die hard baseball fan, I silently mumbled to myself.

I skimmed through the many framed articles until I caught a familiar headline. I, once again out of impatience, skimmed throught th article only to be baffled. I turned around to Mr. Mertle, "Do you know John Hale?"

Mr. Mertle scratched temple, as if trying to recall the given name. Mid-way scatcjing his temple Mertle broke into a chuckle. He walked over to a dresser, his hand scrambling inside the drawers until he found what he was looking for.

"Lil Johnny boy, huh. I haven't heard his name in years," Mr. Mertle retired back to his seat with a photo at hand, he continued. "that boy was so young when he entered the big leagues. Balancing his wife and kids with 'ball, he was a real man." His head hanged low as if recalling those long past times.

I held my head in my hand still processing the information being given to me. "My father never..."

The old man switched his cane to his other hand and reached his hand out to me. After a contemplative second I reached out to his hand and took it in mine. His hand was surprisingly cold against my warm, slightly sweaty, palms. Mr. Mertle gently held my hand, his face was almost unreadable; very contemplative.

I bet two of the boys beside me were just as confused my the situation as I was. As it did show on their face.

"Oh, little ol' Oliva. I didn't think I woulda ever meet you. Certainly not under these circumstances, but you are your father's daughter." The old man chuckled to himself, not aware of the.

I couldn't believe what this man was saying; he knew my father, but not only that, George 'The Babe' Ruth knew my father. You'd think my father would mention that he knew one of my greatest idols. Me, Benny and Smalls all shared the same skeptical look, 'This man must be off his rocker'

Mr. Mertle must have caught on to the awkward silence as he let out a light chuckle. He turned his head toward Smalls and pointed a sharp, yet weak, finger at him, "Hey, son," Smalls breath hitched staring down at the finger pointed in his direction "please go into that display case and pull me a paper, New York Times headliner, you'll know it when you see it."

Smalls, managing to get the breath knocked back into him, glaced at Benny and I before he continued to the display case. He shuffled through the newspapers on display for a few moments, before his search came to an end. He took out a paper and turned back to us, his facial expression struck with shock.

Benny snatched the new paper from Smalls and shared the expression as the kid, "Liv you may want to see this."

I walked over to him and pulled the paper into my sight. My eyes scanned the front paper and skimmed through the paragraph, the further I read the more I felt my hands stiffen and head was spinning in circles.

The headline itself, 'Hale Homerun family Win' questiom what was on this paper, ready to call this bullcrap. But the front picture is what sold it for me, and made me want to potentialily breakdown. My father looked so young and fit, much like he does now but with more wrinkles, but there was something missing that my dad doesn't have now, the blissful glimmer in his eyes. And beside him was mom, my beautiful mom, wearing her most elegant dress paired with her finest jewelry. She looked like a shinning diamond among the people.

Not only my parents but all of us, my family, we were on the front page of The New York Times. My mom and dad surrounded by my young rugrat brothers, with mom holding a securely bundled up baby, me. I don't think I've ever seen us so... happy, at peace. I don't think I've ever seen my father look so genuinely...

"Mr. Mertle I know that this is to much to me to ask for but... may I have-- no, buy this paper from you. I-Its just this paper..."

Mr. Mertle laid back comfortable in his chair holding on sternly to his cane. The creases of his face turning in though, "Tell you what kids, you come by and talk baseball with me I'll call it an even trade."

With an obvious agreement Smalls took Mertles had with a big smile settling the agreement.

As we turned to the doorway Mr. Mertle called out, "And Miss Olivia," I look back "Tell John to come visit this old man once an for all."

The three of us left the house with satisfied smiled to the gangs surprise. I held the newspaper in my hands with a firm grip, glancing back to Smalls, I couldn't help but notice a new clean baseball filled with signatures in his hands.

"Hey where'd you get the ball?"