A day at 12

The walls shook as the train passed behind the house. The neighborhood was surrounded by train tracks on every side. There were only four crossings out. One on Austin, one on Harlem and the other two on Central and Narragansett. We were surrounded by trains and four blocks from Midway airport but nobody left. 

The walls always shook when a train passed. Just like everything else. This time it was early. If it wasn’t a Saturday, Mom and Dad would be at work and I’d be walking out the door to school with Emily. I love Saturdays because there is no school. In a few hours Dad and I will probably go to Minuteman Park to hit batting practice and take ground balls. I like playing shortstop but if I don’t start growing and my arm doesn’t get stronger, I’ll probably have to move to second base. Next year when I turn 13 the field gets bigger and the mound is further back. 

I can feel Bobby's music vibrating through the floor from the basement. The train drowns out most of the noise but I can still hear enough Slip Knot to get out of bed. Sometimes music sounds worse than the clashing of steel. Sometimes I pray for a train. 

Mom is also awake. I can smell Folgers burning in the kitchen directly outside of my bedroom. 

Dad yells “DEEJ. LET THE DOG OUT.”
Maple hears the screech of the back door and springs in from the front room.She is a puppy and looks like our last dog Courtney, but she is a yellow lab. Courtney was a chocolate lab before she was hit by a train. Now I always remember to close the gate. 

The dirt infield at Minuteman feels like stone under my cleats. Its uneven surface, littered with rocks, bottle caps, glass and weeds, often guides the baseball away from me.  “Bad hops are caused by bad feet.” yells dad from home plate.

 We’re working on fielding the ball, planting my feet and throwing it to first base. Backhand, forehand, slow rollers. Make the throw. 

All of my friends play baseball except Jon. He just skateboards and lives down the street. I like skateboarding too. It’s different from baseball. You fall more but there are less rules. 

Once the bucket is done dad and I walk to first base to pick up the baseballs. 

After three more buckets of grounders he sets up for batting practice. We yell “heads up” to the Mexican kids playing soccer in the middle of the park before he starts throwing to me. I wish Minuteman had a real fence. Once the bucket is done we have to pick up the baseballs and start over three more times. 

When I got home Emily was watching Disney channel and eating BLT’s in the front room with Jon’s younger sister Erin. 

It's past lunch and her parents are still in bed. Ours never sleep that late. 

“Is DJ home?” I hear through the screen door.

“He’s in his room,” says Emily

Jon bursts into my bedroom.

“DUDE Manny and I got into a fight with Joey”

“What happened?”

“He called me a hillbilly so I called him a kneecapless fuck and then we threw hands”

“Did you win?”

“Ya”

“Congrats. You’re still a hillbilly. 

The walls shook as the train passed behind the house. 

We ran into the backyard, behind the garage, and started throwing rocks at the train. 

Jon wore glasses and the same clothes as the day before. He was thin, not that tall and had a mullet because his mom cut his hair. 

When the train left we grabbed our skateboards and rode to the park.