Steckland Russ (I.iv)

    (iv) --



    There is one more event to recall from this memorable day which, after reflecting upon it these past twenty hour hours, seems worth mentioning. I had just walked down the front stairs of the rotunda after my encounter with Soraunen when a baseball rolled down the steps past me. I hurried down to pick it up, in case Mrs. Hawker saw it, and once it was mine I turned to see if I could discover the source. A boy, lanky, short haired, young, Korean, came down the steps and stopped as he saw me, eyeing the ball in my hand.

    'Is this yours?' I inquired.

    He nodded. As I had never seen him in any class, I determined he was at least two grades below me. There was an enthusiasm to his manner, a hustle to his nature. I could tell he imagined such perfection to his routine that my interruption had muddled his whole dynamic. As someone who often contemplates the game of baseball, I craved a response from this stranger.
     
    'Be more careful with this.' I said, handing him the ball. 'If Hawker or Principal Boller walk by and see this, they don't give it back.'

    The stranger looked down at his baseball then at me, without any kind of expression. I turned to leave but then a voice turned my attention right back around.
 
    'Do you play?' he asked me.

    His pronunciation was choppy but clear, understandable.
   
    'Um, yeah. A little bit. I try to.' I answered. 'It's hard to find a place though, you know? Especially in the city.'
    'The place I go is pretty good. Not far from here.'
    'Where's that?' I asked.
    'Sumach Street. Near Riverdale.'

    Our conversation faded from there. Awkward silence was followed by awkward goodbye and awkward nod. Only as I was halfway through the front doors did I think to blurt out:

    'Hey kid, what's your name?'

    I had not meant to call him kid, and felt brutish for doing so.

    'Hoosyan.' answered he, and was gone.

    I considered this strange encounter with Hoosyan as I wandered outside and straight into the smoky welcome of Mal Larson. He was surrounded by a few other boys, class skippers like himself, all with baseball caps showing the authenticity sticker prominently. By the circle they were gathered in I could tell a cigarette was being passed around, like a precious nugget of gold for we the underaged.

    'Hey Steck, want a puff?' called Mal Larson.

    I politely declined. Not for any personal, health, or political reason, but just because the damn thing stunk so much. I'd never been offered a cigarette before, and I don't believe it will be hard to turn one down again. The circle had an opening, and despite the unpleasant smell I felt invited to join by curiosity. They were all laughing, smiling, adjusting their caps, so I too tried to do the same so as to not stand out.

    'Shit, son... Mr. Corpas is on me hard, yo...'
    'Man, whyddyou even take Biology for, D? You know Corpas don't play.'
    'Thought it'd be a class to get my sleep on, know what I'm saying? Shit about organisms, cells and shit. Naw son, I wish.'
    'You know you gonna have to dissect like a dog, right? Yo my bro took Biology and said like, we hadda dissect this dog and shit, it was gross. Gross...'
    'A dog? They can't do that. You playing me.'
    'I'm tellin' you boy, you gonna have to dissect a dog. Or a cat. Shit, maybe one of them dead people. You know, from the morgue and shit? Damn boy, you in it now...'
    'Yo cats, I'm out. I'll catch you later.' said Mal Larson, after taking a long last puff of the cigarette.

    I didn't care to linger awkwardly with people I barely knew, so I nodded farewell and went up with Mal. Words, precious insightful words, failed me here. I could not have broken the silence if given five hours, luckily Mal needed only five seconds.

    'How're you gettin' home, Steck?'
    'No idea. Walk it I guess.' I replied.
    'You live close?'

    Talking too fast I'm sure, I explained to him what had happened to me on this day. The bicycle being smashed, the police at the intersection, all of it. None of it seemed to affect him, and I felt small and exposed.

    'What's your deal, anyway? What are you looking to do with yourself, school-wise? Who are you?' Mal asked me a moment later.
    'I don't know.' I replied simply.
    'You don't know?' he repeated in surprise, and suddenly I knew I had snatched his attention. 'Like, what do you, like to do?'
    'A lot of things. Almost everything interests me in some way. I just don't know what to do.'

    It was here that Mal Larson gave me a look that I may just never forget. He looked into my face with a cocktail combination of sympathy, understanding, and newfound appreciation, and from this I don't believe we shall ever see each other the same way again.

    'It's cool Steck. I see you, bro. I'm not sure where I am either. But I'm looking for anything to pull me in. Something I can get into, something worth it.' he told me. 'There's a big old world out there, and Highview is just a little place in a little city in the big picture of things. I know what I'm looking for isn't in one little building.'

    We had come to the bustle of Yonge and Bloor, and the subway stop Mal Larson had been walking towards without me realizing. A nod goodbye and we went our separate ways: he on a train to wherever stop he lives near, and I on foot to my lonely house many dozen minutes away. The loss of my bicycle hollowed me, yet my experience with these unfamiliar people filled that hole most reflectively. 
   
    (iv) -- First Base