THE AMERICAN DREAM

1.08 ▫︎ MAY, 1931 ↦ BUCKY

"Ma, can we please go swimming?" Bucky asked his voice, much darker, now that he was fourteen years old. He was a handsome boy. A real specimen in the works. Even at fourteen, he was tall and lean. His dark hair was straight as a board and fell handsomely in the middle. It wasn't long. Very short at the back while his bangs touched the ends of his eyebrows.

But none of that had anything on Bucky's eyes. They were beautiful. Like priceless crystal. And he was always smiled. For a boy who had lost me than he should have at that age, he was always happy and funny and suave. A very popular and well-liked young man in Shelbyville.

He had followed his mother outside. It was the morning, but not very early. The August summers were the worst around and he wanted to swim rather than play ball, which is what he usually would have done.

"No," his mother said. "Go get those boxes and put it in the back of the car."

He did as he was told. The pastor had driven his car to their home so that his mother can deliver all the clothing scraps she had gathered. The old women would see them into clothes for the poor. She also canned meat and vegetables for extra money. She was going to use his car to deliver them all

"Do you want to come, Bucky?" asked his mother.

He sighed. "I'd rather go find Jim," he said. "We said that we'd meet up at the sandlot at 10."

Blanche nodded. "Fine. Go get Becky and Will. I need their help."

Bucky smiled. "Thanks, Ma."

"Come give your mother a kiss," she said, holding out her arms.

"Ma..." Bucky groaned, jogging over to his mother and planting a kiss on her cheek.

"I love you, my oldest," she called after him as he ran up the driveway to go get his siblings.

"Love you too, Ma!" she heard him call back.

Once his family was off on their errand, Bucky grabbed pocketed an apple and a quarter, stuck his glove in his back pocket and was on his way.

He walked the town streets, greeting people he knew and smiling at people he didn't know yet. He stopped at the drug store and bought two colas and pocketed the change. Then he made his way to the sandlot, making sure not to shake up his drinks.

"Bucky!" greeted Jimmy from across the yard. "You ready for a game. About ten guys here."

"Why do you think I came, Jimmy?" Bucky asked, tasking his glove out of his back pocket. "Mitt's hot."

Jimmy cracked a smiled. "Alright then, Big Shot," he said, tossing Bucky the baseball, which he caught. "You know your place."

Bucky smiled as he jogged up on top of the mound while Jimmy called all the boys together. Bucky had grown into being a full-throttle pitcher. He was tall and had a strong arm. But it was even better because any left-handed pitch intimidated a batter.

But Jimmy was shorter. Beefier. He wasn't fat, he was just pretty built. They were pitchers and catchers for the town's team. They played on the varsity team too, but not too much since they were only fourteen. They knew each other better than the backs of their hands. They would both shape out to be good players in their high school years.