It was the summer of my 13th year. I didn’t know it yet, but my life was about to change. I was soon to become fast friends with the middle daughter of the new schoolteacher, who turned out to be a unique girl for a small town environment. We didn’t become friends right away. No siree bob. We more or less got off on the wrong foot, or the wrong tooth, you might say.
I was where I tried to be every waking moment on a heat-soaked July day — on the school ballfield. Flying high on my throne as usual — the pitcher’s mound – ruling the roost, as my mother would say, I guess I was the first to see the two strangers approach: Laurie and her younger sister Lois.
“We’re gonna play,” the younger girl flatly stated.
Well now, that was kind of a surprise. They were strangers in town; that meant they should’ve asked first, not invited themselves. We soon found out why Lois was so nervy. As the daughter of the new school teacher, she felt entitled to anything connected to the school — the schoolhouse, the schoolyard, and, as it turned out, even the kids playing in that yard.
Not that it mattered about them playing, not really. In a town of 508, we weren’t about to turn away anyone who wanted to pick up a glove. We never ever had a full team of nine. In fact, the catcher was always a player from the other side and first was the only base covered. So we let them play, of course, nervy attitude and all.
It turned out that Lois could even catch, so right away we stuck her behind the plate. But her older sister Laurie wasn’t very good at all. So we stuck her on third where there was never much action. We woulda stuck her in right field if we’da had more players, but we never had that many.
Things were going along pretty well until I chucked the ball to Laurie on a practice throw – just to check out her catchin’ arm. As she reached high overhead for the ball, it tipped off her glove, bounced, then rolled downward. Smack. Right in the old kisser.
Well she started yellin' and screamin' like a banshee. Lois threw down her glove and ran out to her sister. Then Lois started yellin’ and hollerin’ like she was the one who was hurt, and telling everyone that I broke her sister’s tooth and I was gonna be in big trouble. My ears burned and a sickly sensation crept down my back. I figured sure, the strap would be waitin' for me the first day I met the new teacher.
The other kids closed in to witness the spectacle. I went in for a look too, just so we could get the game going again – and to see if there was anything to really get in trouble about.
I knew Lois had to be lyin' about the tooth 'cause we’d all seen the ball tip off her sister’s glove and roll down real gentle like. It didn’t even hit her in the face. But Laurie sure was a-howling. I guess we were all pretty amazed she’d bawl right in front of everybody like that.
Well sir, I tell you, I edged up close and got a good look at that tooth. And bedarned if it didn't turn out to be broken after all — snapped off clean in a diagonal line, it was, blood already running along the line like rainwater washing along an old railroad track. Gory, what a sight! And a front tooth to boot. Gory!
I wanted to shut up Lois’s yelling and Laurie’s caterwauling, mostly to get the game moving again and more than a little to make sure some adult didn't come pokin' her nose in and really gettin' me in trouble. I tried to shrug casually, “It was an accident, anyone can see that.” I glanced around at the other players for agreement, but they were all too busy staring at the bawlin' kid with the new sawblade tooth.
And lordy, now if Lois didn't want to fight me. That really surprised me too. I didn’t really want to fight over such a stupid thing, I just wanted to play ball, but there was no easy way out of it. She wouldn’t listen to reason. If I backed down, everybody’d call me a coward, and the new kid would be a hero. So, I shrugged my shoulders again and got myself into fighting mode as the circle began to ring us in.
Sizing up my opponent, I could see she was about my height but heavier than me. That part didn’t really matter. I was pretty skinny, but real wiry. Anyway, she probably didn’t have a chance because no girl could ever beat me in a fight. Not many boys either. But here she was threatening my reputation. An unpleasant thought flashed into my brain bright as the coming feature sign on the Delou Theatre, What if she’s tougher than she looks? I’d be in big trouble if I couldn't get her to quit before I did, or at least get her to agree to quit.
You see, there were only two good ways out of a fight. You either trummel your opponent until she starts crying, at which point you let her up and say that you don’t fight cry-babies. That made you the winner and not a bully. The other way was, if it seemed like it was gonna be a draw, you could save face by sort of calling it off, trucelike you know, saying something like, “Hey, what are we fighting for? I thought we were going to play ball. Boy are we stupid.” If your opponent was smart, she'd say, "Yea, let's play ball, eh? This is a waste of good time." Then we’d clap each other on the back and, with newfound respect, become buddies from that day on.
But that day we all learned a third way of ending a fight. Just as Lois and I were about to start swingin' and jabbin' and pokin', Laurie swiped away the tears, smeared away the blood with the back of her hand, and declared, “It was an accident. I know it.” She even smiled at me through all that sticky mess. Well, from that moment on, we became good buddies. Her sister and I never did get along though.
I never did have to fight Lois, which turned out to be a good thing because I later found out she was a year younger than me. It was a sure sign of a coward if someone older fought someone younger, no matter even if the younger one was bigger. It just wasn’t done.
Author's Note: The above is an excerpt from a book in progress, a Bildungsroman that takes the reader through the emotional, psychological, spiritual and physical growth of a small-town prairie girl, from childhood to adulthood.