The Voices in Our Heads (10 page)

Doris looked back up at the ceiling she had been staring at most of the night, and the smell vanished. Her head ached and her eyelids felt like tombstones. She closed them, and the smell drifted back.

Enough was enough.

She staggered into the bathroom and showered, sitting on the floor of the tub and letting the water thunder all around her. She toweled off, dressed, and went downstairs. Put on a hat and her Nike walking sneakers.

Time to solve this.

She walked out into the oppressive midsummer blanket of heat.

To go to Home Depot.

Stevie Healy drove home from work exhausted, goofy orange apron rolled up and tossed in the back seat of his vintage Camaro. He didn’t like being questioned by the cops. It was all too close to the way those narcs had gone up one side of his twenty-four-year-old piece-of-shit brother and down the other last year when they had busted into the house, stormed the basement where he had been playing “Call of Duty,” and found ten ounces of weed under his beanbag chair. But the lady that had bought the appliance this morning had been weird, easy to remember, and the Sergeant promised that Stevie’s obligation would end after a detailed description of the transaction.

She had bought an industrial-grade ShopVac, the biggest and strongest model they had on the floor, highest amperage, the most CFM, a picture on the cardboard crate’s side panel of the nozzle sucking up a bucket full of number twelve-by-three-inch machine bolts. He had wheeled it to the parking lot and muscled it into her car for her.

Weird.

She had on jeans that looked too short for her, a wrinkled blouse, and a hat with a sunflower on the brim. Her face was red from more than the heat it seemed, and her fingers were raw. It looked as if she hadn’t slept for a week, and her eyes kept tearing. She was glancing all around the vac aisle like a crazy person, wiping her nose and dabbing at her eyes with this old hankie. Then the really creepy thing happened.

She held forward the damp, wrinkled handkerchief and asked Stevie to sniff it. She wanted to know if it smelled like garbage.

He hadn’t known whether to laugh or to barf, but he’d recovered with some lame excuse and rushed off for the forklift. He had gotten down the vacuum, purposely engrossed so he wouldn’t have to look at her, and remained similarly embroiled while sticking it on a hand truck. The rest was a bit foggy in his head until he stuffed the thing into the back seat of her station wagon from God knows what year and turned down the dollar tip she offered.

She said “goodbye” then, as if they’d known each other for more than twenty-three minutes. He had tipped an invisible hat and walked off, hands in his pockets.

The cop said her son found her an hour later after she blew a circuit that caused a blackout that spanned a one-block radius. “Get ready for your Greek tragedy,” he had said, Officer Burns was his name, and Stevie had no idea what he was talking about. Still, the image of what Burns next divulged
would
stick with Stevie Healy well into the night and the next couple of weeks. It would, in fact, haunt him even when he thought he’d moved past it, and make his eyes tear up. It would become a thing with him, a condition, an annoyance that would hound him for years.

She was found sitting on her kitchen floor, dead of a heart attack, vacuum attachment still in the grip of her red bony fingers. Her head was drooping to the side, her mouth ajar, and there were black craters where her eyes had been. They were later found in the belly of the vacuum.

There were thick trails of blood striped down her cheeks, and a note left on the table.

“In the end, we are alone,” it said.

And next to it were a pair of dishwashing gloves and a plastic bottle of Palmolive cleanser.

August

Georgie plays travel baseball.
(1)
Since the age of eight he has been competing in various township tournaments all over Southeastern Pennsylvania, and this year as a twelve, he joined an A.A.U. squad
(2)
out of Southern Delaware. Georgie bats in the two-hole
(3)
and plays center field. His batting average is .480
(4)
and his on-base, over 6. He had the game-winning hit against the Tri-County Sidewinders, a line drive off a hanging curve that he drove into deep right center, and he went three for three in last week’s semifinal against a team from Pittsburgh with nifty green trim on their gray uniforms. Georgie isn’t a big kid, but he has heart. He doesn’t have the greatest arm in the world, but he knows how to hit the cut-off man.
(5)
Georgie is fast, but not as fast as more
than half the kids on his new A.A.U. team, most of them jackrabbits looking for free passes.
(6)
Coach Rutherford still bats him at the top of the order.
(7)
He does this because Georgie can read a pitcher’s stretch
(8)
with the best of them, even the ones who have that sickening pick-off move
to second, where they turn on the plant toe.
(9)
Rutherford claims Georgie has a “high baseball I.Q.,” and little Georgie knows this comes mostly from Dad.
 

“Eat your eggs,” his father says. He’s pretending to read the paper, and Georgie knows he’s pretending. He’s really thinking about baseball. He shifts the paper a bit, snaps it shut, and folds it over.

“You’re rolling it over to the shortstop
(10)
a lot, Georgie.”
 

“Only when I have two strikes. They all throw on the outside corner when you have two strikes.”

“Then let it come to the back half of the plate and blast it to right.
(11)
Use your head.”
 

Georgie picks at his eggs. Mom made them runny and he told her he likes them hard.

“I usually go one for two, or two for three,
(12)
Dad. Don’t you like my hits?”
 

“I like telling you how not to make outs. Baseball isn’t about the hits. It’s about conserving outs. And to avoid that two-strike count you’re starting to lunge when you see an early strike out of the hand, especially the ones at the knees.”

“I can’t hit those if they cross the front black.
(13)
My load-line
mechanics aren’t good for low pitches.”
 

“It’s
micro-mechanics with a linear approach,
(14)
and even though you’re drawing back
(15)
when the pitcher’s spreading,
(16)
it’s designed to let you bail.
(17)
Make a good decision. Don’t swing at the low ones.”
 

“I like the low ones. They look fat.”

“It’s the high ones that are supposed to look fat.”

“Dad.”

“And don’t ever waggle the bat like a fake bunt on 3 and 0.”
(18)
 

“Dad, I’m hearing voices.”

“It lets the pitcher throw a cookie,
(19)
and if you stand ready he won’t know if you’re green-lighted
(20)
or not.”
 

“From the rain barrel, Dad, the one by Ma’s vegetable garden next to the garage. The voices talk to me when I’m throwing to the pitch-back, or sitting on the tire swing. They echo and sound like ghosts.”

Dad goes back to his paper, talking at it, shaking his head.

“Maybe you should start taking strike one.
(21)
I mean, you can’t make a living anymore swinging first-ball fast ball with these guys throwing early breaking stuff.”
 

“I like to eat bugs.”

“And on two-and-one counts,
(22)
you’re still swinging at whacked-out
shit up at your letters and in on your grips. It’s got to be right in the wheelhouse.”
(23)
 

“I snorted dirt last week ’cause someone dared me at school.”

“And talking about these guys busting you in,
(24)
you have to swing early and smoke it down the third base line.”
 

“I sometimes dream that I hurt myself on purpose,” Georgie says. He gets up and walks to the far side of the kitchen. “I burn stuff in the back yard behind the shed, and I spy on Ma in the shower.”

“Yeah,” Dad continues. “You’re stepping in the bucket
(25)
on those and giving away foul balls. Every strike is like a bag of gold you just hand right back to the pitcher. Maybe you should go back to biting your sleeve to keep your head in.
(26)
Head leads, the body follows. It’ll make you stride right back down the pitcher’s throat.”
 

Georgie goes to the edge of the kitchen where there is a short utility area. There, he grabs his 19-ounce, 29-inch Easton Stealth
(27)
leaning against four bags of mulch Mom bought last weekend for the bald area by the front walk where they pulled up the ivy.
 

“Yeah,” he says to the back of his father’s head. “I pissed a little in your beer at the barbecue two weeks ago, and at dinner I sometimes rub my dick with a spoon under the table, especially if it’s been sitting in a pile of warm beans or corn. I was the one who pulled the fire alarm at school, and I sometimes think about licking the eyes of dead animals. And I hear voices coming from the rain barrel you put under the garage gutter. Don’t you hear me?”

Dad looks up from his paper, but doesn’t turn around.

“What? You trying to tell me you feel a slump
(28)
coming on or something? You hear voices? We all hear voices. They’re called
thoughts.
What do they tell you?”
 

Georgie assumes his stance.

“They say to keep my feet inside my shoulders,
(29)
bend my knees, and hold my sightline level. They tell me to transfer my weight to my back foot on the spread, and to push through to a ready hitting stance as the ball approaches. If it looks good, I poke the handle down as if I’m kingfishing, and slice the bat through the zone so fast it whistles. I don’t squash the bug,
(30)
but push off the back toe, and I release the bat with my right hand, and carry it to glory with the left on the follow-through. Like this.”
 

1. A team made up of a particular league’s “all-star players,” as opposed to those assembled in a draft. Travel teams most often play after the regular Little League season against other all-star teams from neighboring townships in single or double elimination tournaments (often with seeding rounds).
   

    
   

2. While township all-star teams are limited to players offering proof of residence in a determined geographical area, A.A.U. teams (those formed through the Amateur Athletic Union of the United States, Inc.) have no logistical restrictions in terms of player enrollment. In effect, the given coaches can build “super-teams” limited only to how far their players are willing to travel for games and/or practices. Often, players from A.A.U. squads come from different states. Township-based travel teams are permitted to compete in A.A.U. tournaments, but A.A.U. teams are not permitted to compete in township-based tournaments.
   

    
   

3. The second batter in a batting order. Typically, the second batter is smaller than most of his teammates and proves to be a solid contact hitter. His job is to move runners, maintain a high on-base percentage, run the bases aggressively, and bunt when called upon to do so. The first five batters in most lineups are the best hitters on the team. The lead-off hitter (first batter) is often the smallest boy on the team and the fastest on the bases. It is common that this is a player who looks at a lot of pitches, allowing the rest of his team to see the opposing pitcher’s repertoire. He especially tries to expose the opposing pitcher’s “out pitch,” which is the “trick pitch” used on strike three to fool batters. In twelve-year-old baseball, this is most often a “curve” or a “changeup,” the former—a pitch delivered by snapping the wrist down away from the body and producing a spin that causes the ball to “curve in mid-air and drop.” The latter (the change) is a slow pitch deceptively delivered with the same arm motion as the fastball (the grip is most often what is known as the “Circle Grip,” constructed by the pitcher burying the ball in his palm to create drag, making an “OK” sign with his thumb and index finger, and holding the ball with the weaker fingers). To continue . . . the third batter in most rotations is the best hitter for average, the fourth is the team’s long ball hitter, and the fifth a mirror of the fourth, possibly with more strikeouts.
   

    
   

4. At Georgie’s level of play, this batting average is exceedingly good. “.480” means he gets a hit (contact with the ball that allows him to reach base safely in a manner other than the result of a fielder’s error, dropped third strike, or fielder’s choice) at a rate of nearly one per every two at bats. In travel and A.A.U. competition, pitching is nearly comparable (at least relatively) to the major leagues, where the best batters in the world average three hits per every ten at bats (a .300 average). For reference, the best, most revered, and scouted seniors in high school ball usually have batting averages ranging between .400 and .500.
   

    
   

5. This is the infielder who offers an outfielder a shorter throwing option than a toss directly to a base. A common scenario involving the cut-off man would be a line drive to the left-center gap going all the way to the fence. Here, it is most probable that the center fielder would track down the ball, and the shortstop would run ten to fifteen feet into the outfield, holding up his hands as a target. In this case, the batter has probably reached second base already, and the shortstop has a close view of whether or not it is best just to hold the ball (and the runner at second) or possibly to throw home if there was a man (or men) on base (first or second . . . if there was a man on third he would have already scored) prior to the hit.
   

    
   

6. Many teams that don’t have good hitters depend on base-speed to win games. Teams with “jackrabbits looking for free passes” typically have smaller players who look at a lot of pitches, often early strikes, in order to work the count and eventually walk. On the base paths, they are often aggressive, challenging pitchers to throw over a lot and, therefore, make mistakes. By taking big leads, these base runners can also take the pitcher out of his game, causing him to throw the next batter more balls. This also puts a lot of pressure on the catcher, because multiple and double steals require split-second and explosive execution. There is also the threat of passed balls, which, especially with deep backstops, make stealing home a regular possibility.
   

    
   

7. The top of the order starts with the first batter. Since the best hitters on a team usually bat one through five, the “top of the order” means the pitcher is about to reach the part of the opposing rotation that is most challenging.
   

    
   

8. When opposing batters reach base, a pitcher switches from the wind-up to the stretch. The wind-up is made up of a number of complex preparative motions used to launch a pitch, including a back step, the turn of the plant-foot, a leg-kick, a long stride, and a deep follow-through for momentum and velocity. Since base runners are allowed to steal on the first motion of a standard wind-up, this multi-step action takes too much time to be practical. “The stretch” is a “half wind-up” of sorts, where the pitcher puts his plant foot at the front of the mound rubber, steps forward to “cock it,” then steps back in ready position—in effect, the halfway point of the pitch, so he can peek at the base runners. At this point, even though technically in the middle of his wind-up, he can throw over to any base as long as either a) his foot moves behind the rubber (the move used by righties to first base) or b) he doesn’t make a move toward home plate (applicable when runners are on second and third). When he does pitch the ball, he simply slides the front foot forward and throws, therefore eliminating much of the lead time a wind-up would give to a base runner.
   

    
   

9. The pick-off move is a pitcher’s throw to a base when he is in the stationary mid-point of his “stretch” move. He does this in order to check the runner, catch him leading too far, or breaking early. The “turn on the plant toe” describes a right-handed pitcher who has a pick-off move to second base where, instead of straddling the rubber with the back foot and twisting around to make his throw, he gives a leg kick (careful not to make a forward motion toward home plate, which would be called a “balk,” a deceptive move that unfairly fools a base runner—penalty, all base runners move up a base) and pirouettes on the plant toe 180 degrees, positioning himself to make an accurate throw he can step into. To straddle the rubber and spin to a ready-throwing stance is common as well, but the “toe-turn” gives a better illusion of the pitcher preparing to throw to the plate, often fooling (within the rules) the base runner.
   

    
   

10. This is a weak ground ball hit to the shortstop (by a right-handed batter) for an easy out. Often a pitcher forces a batter to do this by working the count to less than three balls and up to two strikes. Now the batter must “protect” by swinging outside of his comfort zone for fear of “going down looking”—watching the third strike go by without swinging—the act (or non-act) that has attached to it the worst stigma in the game. That being said, a common strategy for pitchers with batters accumulating two strikes is to have the catcher move to the outside part of the plate, knowing that most batters are trained to make contact with the ball parallel to their front knee (usually synonymous with the front black stripe of home plate). With the ball the furthest distance away from the batter and still remaining a strike (and sometimes not a strike; youth baseball umpires are notorious for calling the third strike up to six inches or more off the plate), this “contact slightly out in front” causes him to “roll the ball over,” in effect, pushing it across into the field of play rather than striking it more directly, as would be the case if he made contact as the ball crossed the plate at its center.
    

     
    

11. The best defense for the outside pitch is to let it come to the rear part of the plate, or rather, just before the back knee, and then drive the ball hard the opposite way. (For a right-handed batter, this would be to right field.) This is exceedingly difficult, since batters are trained to hit baseballs down the middle at the front of the plate for maximum power and distance. The difference between the front black and the back part of the plate is approximately seven inches, meaning an alteration of timing framed by a literal mili-second. This is especially arduous when Little League pitchers stand but 46 feet away (and Cal Ripken, 50 feet away) and are often throwing upwards of 70 miles per hour.
    

     
    

12.  “One for two” means that the batter was up twice and earned one hit. That is a batting average of .500 and represents a fine day of hitting. “Two for three” means the batter was up three times and earned two hits. This is a batting average of .666 and represents an even finer day of hitting.
    

     
    

13. As mentioned before, the front of home plate, usually marked by a black strip approximately one inch thick.
    

     
    

14. Micro-mechanics are the positions and motor functions the batter uses to hit the ball. “Micro” means that attention is given to certain specific body parts throughout the overall progression. A “linear” approach is often used with smaller hitters who don’t strike out a lot, emphasizing the shifting of weight to the back leg during the pitcher’s wind-up, which promotes a continuous motion from approach through the swing, allowing the hitter to bring the carriage forward through the hitting motion with great momentum. In a linear approach, the hips stay in as opposed to a softball swing (a rotational approach), which flicks the hips, often throwing the front shoulder out of the “hitting line,” which is ideally aimed straight back toward the pitcher. A batter needs a “good eye” for this approach, since the head is brought through three planes during the execution. The opposite to the linear approach would be the “load step,” like the one utilized by Ryan Howard of the Philadelphia Phillies. Here, the batter “steps into it” during the pitcher’s wind-up, pointing and landing the front toe and slightly raising the hands into a hitter-ready position. The batter then “freezes” in wait for the ball, and when it crosses into the hitting zone, he simply swings, or “throws the hands.” Since this swing does not afford the batter momentum, it is best used by batters with a lot of upper-body strength. Batters who tend to strike out a lot use this approach, because the head is stationary throughout the swing.
    

     
    

15. This is the shifting of the weight to the back foot during the pitcher’s wind-up in the linear approach.
    

     
    

16. This is the moment in the pitcher’s wind-up where his hands separate. This occurs after the knee-kick, when the lead hand follows the front knee toward the plate and the pitching hand is drawn back to the “cocked” position.
    

     
    

17. Georgie’s father uses an inaccurate word here. “Bail” gives the impression that the batter “backs out,” and what he means is that the linear approach acts like a “pendulum with an auto-stop button,” yielding to the hitter the ability to “freeze-frame at six o’clock” in his “hitting ready position” if the ball is not in the strike zone.
    

     
    

18. A “3 and 0” count means that the pitcher has thrown three straight balls. In this case it is normal practice for the batter to look at the next pitch no matter where it is thrown, since chances are the pitcher is fighting for control. Here, the batter gambles that the pitcher will throw a fourth pitch out of the strike zone, causing a “walk” or free base. When faced with a “3 and 0,” many batters will put the bat across the strike zone, similar to the positioning used in a “bunt,” because they feel an obstruction crossing the target might rattle the pitcher. (Note: If the bat is pulled back before the ball crosses the plate, it is not counted as a swing.) Moreover, some batters will “waggle” or jiggle the bat because they think the motion will distract the pitcher even more. This, however, is rather juvenile. First, it makes it obvious that the given batter is not going to swing (as is always the batter’s option), therefore permitting the pitcher to lob in an easy strike with no possible consequences. It also smacks of bad sportsmanship.
    

     
    

19. A slang word for a pitch of average speed, predictably right down the middle and easy to hit.
    

     
    

20. Georgie’s father illustrates the idea presented in note 18, in that better hitters are given the “green light” or rather the permission to swing when they have earned a 3 and 0 count. The rationale here is that the pitcher is aware that most batters will look at the next pitch without swinging. He will therefore (most often) try to throw a pitch over the center of home plate, and at the height of the batter’s belt. Good hitters tend not to foul this pitch off or miss it. The key here is that the pitcher does not know whether or not the hitter has received a “green light” (usually forwarded from the bench by the head coach to the third base coach, who communicates to the batter through hand signals like touching the cap, the chest, the nose and the chin, most of these decoys, the real signal—say, “hit” or “green light” equaling, say, a touch to the brim of the hat—kicked off by an “indicator,” the sign before the sign—maybe a touch to the tip of the nose) and in not knowing whether or not the batter is going to swing away, the selfsame pitcher will have a more difficult time throwing that pitch accurately. Again, if the given player “waggles” the bat, he gives away the fact that he is not going to swing, therefore eliminating the question in the pitcher’s mind and firming up that pitcher’s chances of throwing a lazy, easy strike.
    

     
    

21. Since the game between the pitcher and batter is really a battle over the “count” (three strikes and the batter is out; four pitches called out of the strike zone and the batter walks), and having more balls in the count than strikes helps the batter get better pitches to hit, many batters look at the first pitch, gambling that it will be called a “ball,” outside of the strike zone. Since pitchers are aware of this, many of them throw a straight fastball over the heart of the plate and at belt level to get the advantage of being “up one strike.” Many batters like to see a lot of pitches and “work the count,” utilizing the philosophy that a) gauging velocity helps a later swing, and b) chances are (especially in youth baseball) that the pitcher will throw more balls than strikes as the count advances. The other philosophy is that the best pitch of the at-bat is often that first strike, since chance claims the pitcher is trying to “start ahead,’ and certain batters look to hit that first pitch. This aggressive approach works well for some, like Chipper Jones of the Atlanta Braves. It did not work well for Philadelphia’s Doug Glanville.