I wasn’t always the way I am nowadays. I remember when my
best friend, Joey used to come to my apartment on Eighth Avenue in Park Slope,
Brooklyn, to ask my mom if he could take me out to play with the rest of the
neighborhood kids. Mom would always smile at Joe and say: “Sure, Joe, have lots
of fun but first, take some of these cookies.”
I used to
play stickball with the guys. The sewer plate in the middle of the street— the
one that had purple bubble gum stuck on it—would always be home plate. First
base was Mr. O’Malley’s car tail-light. Second base was the next sewer plate,
and third base, was the Johnny pump across the street from Mr. O’Malley’s car.
I remember one time I hit the pink spalding rubber ball so hard the it split in
two, and another time Joey socked one all the way down the block. Must have
passed three or four sewer plates.
A few times
the pink ball got away from us and rolled right into the opened sewer hole on
the side of the curb. That’s when we used our trusty coat hanger to retrieve it
‘cause I certainly wasn’t sticking my arm down there in that muck to grab it.
Then one
Saturday, when the traffic was a lot busier on the block, I remember hearing
Joey scream my name. I was trying to track down a fly ball that was hit my way
but the sun kept getting in the way. The last sound I heard was a deafening
screech of tires sliding against asphalt. Then there was an unbearable pain in
my hip and I saw trees and cars spinning around me while a breeze whisked by me
until I felt my whole body draped like a wet dish rag on the hood of a parked
car. I couldn’t speak and all I saw was my own blood coursing down the side of
the car. Helpless and unable to move, I felt a heavy weight close my eyelids
shut.
I never ran
for a fly ball after that and never played in the street either. Stickball was
a thing of the past. I dream of running for one more fly ball—heck I wouldn’t
mind going after a spalding that fell in the sewer—muck or no muck. But I
can’t. No, nowadays I’m in an ungodly looking wheelchair, trapped. Have been
ever since that accident. My hip was destroyed, paralyzing me from the waist
down and I lost all feeling in my right arm.
Still, Joey
comes by every day and carries me down three flights of stairs and then gets my
chair, so I can watch the other guys play. I cheer from the sidewalk and keep
score for all the games.
I know I’ll
never walk again, but I really don’t think it will bother me. You see, I figure
as long as I have a friend like Joey, walking is going to be the least of my
problems.
