Sardines, Cheese and Soda Crackers

When you’re a girl growing up in the country you find your playmates wherever you can. 

My sister, Vicki, and I played together when she was in a good mood.   When she wasn’t, stay out of her way.  She spent lots of her free time with our animals.

Though I was fond of animals and played with things like snakes, I found myself riding bikes, playing tennis, and generally getting along with the guys.  Not to say they weren’t trouble most of the time, but we all seemed to get along particularly well on the ball field. 

We were out one hot July day for one of our regular baseball games.  The score was even and the tension was high. 

Baseball games with country boys are high stake events. It was like the last game of a tied world series and it was my turn to bat. 

My first two attempts were strikes.  My teammates started yelling at me.  “Come on, we need the hit.”  “Damn, what’s wrong with you? You acting like a little girl today!”   they said just enough to get me riled up and they knew it. 

Boys.

The next three pitches were balls.

It was time to take action. I thought. Time to hit that HOME RUN!

I put all my strength into the next pitch.  It was a good solid pitch aimed right for my bat and boy did I hit it - hard and straight.

My brother, Jeff, was on the other team. He was playing infield and it went straight toward him with a power and force he was obviously not expecting. 

As the hard ball hit his side he winced and fell to the ground.  We all ran over as someone said, “you killed him.”  He was motionless and then he woke up and screamed like I have never heard anyone scream before or since.  

“But I was just hitting the ball,” I said innocently.  Everyone gathered around.  We were stunned.

By that time our mother had run up to see what was going on.  I hoped she was not going to get mad at me.  She was too busy trying to help him to even hear I was the one who hit the ball. 

Within minutes a neighbor came over in her car and they were off to the hospital with him screaming just as loudly as when the ball first hit him.  Everyone went home after they left.  The game was suspended and called as a draw. 

Hours passed and no word.  No call.  

“Maybe he died.” I said to my sister as we sat in the swing next to the field. 

“I killed my brother with a baseball,” I said.

“Do you get put in jail for that?”