Three Strikes

“I’m bored, Moms.”

Helen Belden, known as Moms to her brood of four, looked up from the pie crust she was rolling out.

“Trixie, you know how I feel about that phrase.”

“But there’s nothin’ to do.”  Trixie propped her chin in her hand and stared out the window.

“Why aren’t you playing ball with your brothers?”

“They kicked me out.  Mart said he had to practice for his tournament tomorrow.”  Trixie sighed again.

Moms ever so slightly rolled her eyes.  “Why don’t you run down to the mailbox and see if the mail has come yet,” she suggested brightly.

“Nah.”

“How about filling the watering can and giving my flowers a nice, cool drink?”

“Nah.”

“You have that pile of books you got at the library.”

“Nah.”

Moms laid down her rolling pin and carefully placed the crust into a pie pan.  After pricking the bottom, she slid it into a hot oven.

Trixie got up and shuffled over to the back door and looked out toward the shady orchard where her two brothers, Mart and Brian, were practicing baseball.  “They won’t even let me play with them,” she muttered, her face growing dark as she heard the distinctive crack of a bat making contact with a ball.

“Now, Trixie.  I’m sure they’ll let you play,” said Moms.

Trixie spun around.  “Only if I play the outfield and then I have to stand in the driveway.”

“The driveway?  But that’s on the other side of the house, away from the orchard.  Why would you stand there?”

Trixie scowled.  “So Mart could tell you they let me play, but they wouldn’t actually have to play with me.”

“I wish you’d told me you wanted to play baseball this summer.  We could have signed you up.”

“I don’t.”

“But I thought you wanted to play ball with your brothers?”

“Well.. I do want to play ball with Mart and Brian but I don’t want to play on a baseball team.”

“I see.”  Moms pulled out a large crockery bowl and began making the filling for her lemon meringue pie. “When Bobby gets up from his nap, maybe you could help him ride his tricycle?”

“Nah.  Hey, Moms, can I go over to the pond and go swimming?”

“Not by yourself. You know that.”  

“You never let me do anything.”

“Okay, Trixie.  I’ve heard enough whining.  Now go get one of your new books and read it.”

“Do I have to?”

“Yes.  Then when Bobby gets up, you can help make his snack.”

Trixie turned and skulked out of the kitchen, muttering softly under her breath with every step.

 

At dinner that night, Mart carried on about his hitting practice with Brian.  “I know the next time I come up to bat, I’m gonna smack the heck out of that ball and get a home run.”

Beside him, Trixie rolled her eyes.  “Yeh, like that would ever, ever happen.  You can’t even hit it to the driveway.”

Mart scowled at his sister.  “What do you know about baseball?”

“Enough to know that when you go up to bat, you’re supposed to actually hit the ball.”

“I do hit the ball,” replied Mart hotly.

“Do not!”

“That’s enough,” ordered their father, Peter.  “Let’s clear the table so we can get to the pie I saw sitting in the refrigerator.”

“Okay, Dad,” said Brian, who carried the burden of being the oldest heavily on his shoulders.  “Come on guys, let’s get busy so we can have our dessert.”

The three older Beldens dutifully carried away the dishes while Peter and Helen sipped their glasses of iced tea.  Under the large maple table, Bobby played with his little matchbox cars, driving them on the circular paths made by the various yarns in the braided rug beneath him.

“So, Mart,” said Peter after they had dug into the creamy pie, “tomorrow’s the big day.  Do you think you’re ready?”

Mart bobbed his head.  “Yes  and after dinner, me and Brian are going to practice fielding.”

“Brian and I,” corrected Moms softly.

“He did pretty well, Dad,” said Brian.  “We’ve been working on keeping his eyes focused on the ball when it’s pitched.”

Trixie looked at Brian quizzically.  “What else would he be doing with his eyes?”

“He tends to close them as the ball approaches,” answered Brian.

“He closes his eyes?” shrieked Trixie. “Even I know you’re not supposed to do that.  Gleeps, Mart, how is your team going to win if you’re doing that? You’re going to be the worst player on the Blue Jays.”

“Even though the other teams are pretty tough, my team’s gonna win everything,” boasted Mart as he sent a quick smirk toward his sister.  “Our first game is against the Eagles.  I don’t think they’ve lost a game all season.”  He frowned slightly.  “They have a really good pitcher but I’m ready for him, aren’t I, Brian?”

Trixie snorted loudly.

“Trixie,” warned Moms.  “Manners please.”

“Then, after we beat everybody, we’re going to have an awesome pizza party in town.”  He leaned toward his sister.  “And you’re not invited.”

“Don’t start counting on it yet,” cautioned Moms.  “You have to beat the other teams that want to win as much as you do.”

“Yeah,” echoed Trixie.

“My team’s the best. I know it.”  Mart shoved a glob of the sweet meringue into his mouth.  “You and Dad will see tomorrow.”

When dinner was over, Brian and Mart went back outside to practice fielding while Trixie moped around, wishing her brothers would let her play with them.

“Read to me,” demanded Bobby, holding up a Peter Rabbit book.

“Okay,” sighed Trixie.  “There’s nothing else to do.”

She pulled her brother up onto the couch and the two read about the adventures of the naughty rabbit.  A short time later,  Moms took Bobby upstairs for a bath.  Trixie  returned to her post at the back door and watched Mart practice getting down on the ground and scooping up low balls.

“I think I’m ready,” he yelled to Brian.

The two came into the house where they met up with a scowling Trixie.

“I could have played with you two,” she pointed out.

“We weren’t just playing; we’re getting ready for my tournament,” answered Mart haughtily.

“You know what, Mart?  I can’t wait for tomorrow.  I bet you strike out every time you’re up at bat.  You’ll be so bad they’ll ask you to leave. Then I’m going to laugh really hard.” Turning her nose up at her brother, Trixie left the kitchen and went to her room.

Brian shot Mart a warning glare.  “That wasn’t very nice.”

Shrugging, Mart went over to the refrigerator in search of a snack while Brian headed upstairs.  As he passed Trixie’s room, he popped his head in.

“Tell you what, Trixie.  We’ll all go swimming in the pond tomorrow after Mart’s game.  How’s that?”

Trixie smiled up at her brother.  “Really? That sounds like fun.  We can even take my new raft out.”

“Deal!” said Brian.

“Deal,” nodded Trixie, happy to have a plan that promised to be full of fun.

 

The next day, the family was eager to get to the local ballfield.  Moms packed a cooler full of drinks and snacks while Peter put two lawn chairs in the back of the car.  

“Oh, dear,” said Moms as she came into the kitchen.

“What?” asked Peter.

“Bobby’s sound asleep.  I think I put him down for his nap too late.  I hate to wake him up now.  We’ll all pay if I do that.”

Brian stepped up.  “Why don’t I stay here with him and you and Dad go watch Mart.  Then, in between games, you can come home and get us.”

Moms spun around in surprise.  “You’d do that?  But you’ve been working so hard with your brother.”

Brian shrugged.  “It’s okay.  Even though the tournament is a single elimination, Mart’s pretty sure his team will go all the way. I’ll catch his second game.”

With the decision made, Peter, Helen, Mart and Trixie piled into the car and drove to the  baseball fields that were located in the town’s expansive park complex.  When they arrived, they found it bustling with activity.  Peter searched for a parking space while Trixie anxiously watched out her window.

“Hurry up, Daddy.  You don’t want Mart to be late.”

“I know.”

After finally locating a spot in a shady corner, Peter pulled in and the family hurriedly exited the car. Peter grabbed the cooler while Mart sprinted off to join his team  with Trixie trotting along behind him.

“Hey, Moms, look!” said Trixie when they arrived at Mart’s assigned field. She pointed to a small stand that was doing a hopping business of selling Snow cones.  

“Can I?’ she pleaded with her father.

“How about we wait a bit.”

“Okay.” Trixie wandered over to a set of metal bleachers that stood behind  home plate and sat down, wincing when the backs on her legs made contact with the hot surface.

Looking around the festive ball park Trixie noted that plastic pennants were draped across the backstop of the two ball diamonds and posters supporting the Blue Jays and the opposing team, the Eagles, bobbed up and down amidst the congregation of spectators.  A shady area in between the two fields held several wooden picnic tables that were surrounded by half-loaded wagons, strollers and gear bags.  Eager fans, who were chatting and laughing amongst themselves, filled the other sets of bleachers.  Out in the grassy field, Trixie saw additional teams practicing for their own tournament game.   Despite the animosity between Trixie and Mart, she couldn’t help but hope his team would win the tournament and decided she would be cheering the loudest for the Blue Jays.

As Trixie watched, Mart’s team finished practicing in the field and returned to the diamond where they worked on catching pop-up fly balls. When all the Blue Jays had arrived, they lined up in front of home plate and posed for a team picture, their cocky grins spreading across their hopeful faces.  A sudden dust devil spun up, then twisted and wriggled away until it disappeared into the bright sunshine. Trixie wiped away the sweat that had beaded up on her forehead as she left the bleachers and joined her parents, who had set up their chairs in the shade near the third baseline.

“Moms, I’m thirsty.  I’m going to have some water.” Trixie reached into the cooler and grabbed her Ninja Turtle water bottle and greedily gulped the icey contents.  “Ahh, thanks.”  She put the bottle back into the cooler then wandered around the ballpark, stopping briefly at the crowded playground before returning to the bleachers.

When it was time for Mart’s game to begin, the Blue Jays and the Eagles lined up and shook hands.  Then they broke apart and congregated at their respective benches with the Eagles then  sprinting to the outfield. After a few practice throws, the pitcher wound up and let go of the first pitch of the game.  The sound of the bat smacking the ball filled the air.  The spectator’s cheers grew louder as a young player took off for first base. Trixie watched the pitcher strike out the next player.  She groaned as the second player returned to the bench in defeat.

“Come on,” yelled Trixie from the bleachers.  “Hit that ball!  You guys are better than that stupid pitcher.”

The family sitting in front of Trixie turned and frowned at her.  Trixie, trying to appear innocent, looked behind her, pretending that somebody else had yelled out instead of her.

When Mart came up to bat, he got into position, his bat hovering above his head.  One! Two! Three!  The pitcher struck Mart out as three balls in a row sailed past him.  Yanking his protective helmet off, he stomped over to his team’s bench and sat down. Trixie watched as the rest of the team grabbed their gloves and headed for the outfield. With a break in the action, she left the bleachers and approached her parents.

“Can I have a Snow cone now?” she asked.

“Sure.” Peter rummaged through his pocket and came up with a wad of dollar bills.  “Here you go.  Bring me the change.”

Trixie spent a few minutes choosing her flavor, then ordered the frosty treat.  After giving her Dad the change, she returned to the bleachers and watched the Eagles hit ball after ball. She glowered when they tagged the home plate,  each player wearing a triumphant grin on his face.  “Come on, Blue Jays,”  she groaned.  “Throw a strike or catch a fly.  Do something!”

Finally, the Eagles earned their third out and the teams traded places, putting Mart’s team at bat again. Trixie watched the opposing pitcher take the mound.  He rolled his shoulders several times, then practised winding up. Taking off his ball cap, he ran his hand through his dark hair.  Trixie frowned. “I know that kid.  What’s his name again?”  Pondering the pitcher’s identity, she didn’t notice the young man who had taken a seat on the bleachers next to her.  She put a spoonful of her flavored ice into her mouth, her narrowed eyes still focused on the pitcher.  

“That looks good.  A Snow cone always tastes good on a hot day like today,” said the man beside her.

Startled, Trixie looked up.  “Hey! I know you,” she said when she recognized the young man.

The man chuckled.  “You do? Then I bet you go to the elementary school.  I do a lot of bike safety programs there.”

Trixie gasped.  “That’s right.  You’re a cop.”

The man nodded.  “Officer Webster, to be exact.”

“Why are you here at the baseball game? Are there criminals here?”

Officer Webster chuckled, then pointed to the pitcher. “That’s my younger brother.”

Trixie’s glanced back at the pitcher, then slapped her forehead with her palm.  “That’s right.  His name’s Tad Webster.  He’s in my brother's grade.”

“Is your brother on Tad’s team?”

Trixie shook her head.  “No, he’s on the other team.”

“Well, who’s winning?”

“The Eagles,” scowled Trixie.  She shoved another spoonful of flavored ice into her mouth.  “But the Blue Jays are gonna catch up.  I just know it.”

Officer Webster adjusted his aviator sunglasses. “That’s good.  I always enjoy a competitive  game. By the way, you can call me Spider.  That’s what all my friends call me and I hope that the kids at school consider me their friend.”

“Okay.”  Trixie looked at Spider, her curiosity piqued.  “Why are you called Spider?”

The officer laughed.  “Because when I was little, my parents dressed me up as a Spider for my first Halloween.  They thought it was hilarious.  Ever since then, the moniker stuck.”

“Moniker?” questioned Trixie.

“Name.”  

“Oh. Do you get to solve lots of crimes when you’re not at school?”

Spider grinned.  “As many as they let me.”

“Is that a lot?”

Spider shook his head.  “Not really.  Sleepyside is a nice, safe town without a lot of criminals.  But if any show up, I’ll  be sure to catch them right away.”

Trixie studied Spider for another minute then returned her attention to the ball field and settled in as the play started. Even though the Blue Jays were a strong team, they struggled against Tad Webster’s accurate pitches.

“Come on guys.  You’re nothing but a bunch of pansies!” yelled Trixie.  

Several people on the bleachers looked at Trixie, their stares indicating their disapproval of her conduct.  Trixie quickly slurped down the rest of her Snow cone, tilting the paper cup so it covered her red, embarrassed  face.  

The next batter from Mart’s team was somewhat shorter in stature than the others.  Tad’s pitches, usually so accurate, couldn’t quite hit the strike zone, earning that player a walk to first base.

“Yay!” yelled Trixie, jumping up. “Take that, you stupid pitcher.” Seeing Spider’s disapproving look on his face, Trixie quickly sat back down.  

“Young lady,” the umpire walked over to the bleachers and looked up at Trixie, who looked behind her to see who the umpire was talking to.

Seeing no one, she looked back.  “Me?” she mouthed, pointing her index finger toward herself.

The umpire nodded. “Please watch you mouth.  We practice good sportsmanship in this league.”

Trixie nodded, then huddled down on her seat, suddenly wishing she was invisible.  “It’s that stupid pitcher’s fault.  He thinks he’s so great.”

The next batter bravely faced Tad.  But he fared no better than others.  Two balls whizzed past before he could even initiate a swing.  Trixie stood up.  “Come on pitcher.  Does your mother wear army boots or something?”

Again, the crowd turned to look. Trixie immediately ducked down in her seat.  

“Young lady,” admonished the umpire.  ‘What did I tell you?”

Trixie, her face flaming, apologized.  Looking at Spider, she added, “I hope I didn’t make your mother mad when I said that?”

Officer Webster shook his head.  “No, our parents are dead.”  His voice sounded flat against the excited voices of the crowd,

“I’m sorry,” mumbled Trixie.  Embarrassed, she watched the field as Tad pitched the ball, which the batter managed to hit.  As he ran to first base, Trixie stood up and cheered.  Then Mart took his place in the batter’s box.  Trixie watched Tad wind up and throw the ball, which flew over home plate.  The catcher caught the ball and threw it back, but Tad called for a time out.  Trixie watched as he pointed repeatedly toward the bleachers, wondering if he was complaining about her.  Then he pointed to the sky and then toward the road, where the sound of passing vehicles occasionally eclipsed the cheering  crowd.

Frustrated by the delay, Trixie fidgeted on the bleacher, noting that Spider had left and was now standing in the shade under a large oak tree.  She watched the exchange between Tad and his coach, wishing the game would resume.  Deciding Tad was probably a diva and was complaining about any and everything he could,  an impatient Trixie stood up.

“Let’s get this game going.  PItcher, you’re nothing but a whine-butt!”

Tad stopped his conversation and looked toward the bleachers.  The first two rows of spectators stopped talking and looked at her.  The Blue Jays looked over from where they sat dejectedly on the bench.  The umpire strode over, a stern look on his face.  

“Young lady,” he pointed his finger directly at Trixie.  “That’s your third strike. You’re out!”

“I’m out?” squeaked Trixie.

“Yes.”  He  motioned to Trixie then waited while she climbed down out of the bleachers.  

“I’ll go sit with my parents.”  She edged away from the official.

“No.  You have to leave the field. The game won’t start again until you do.”

“Oh.”  

Fuming and humiliated, Trixie reluctantly dragged herself over to her parents.  

“What’s going on, Trixie?” asked Moms.

“I kinda got kicked out of the ballpark,” Trixie answered quietly, refusing to meet her parent’s gaze.

“What?” Why?” asked Moms.

“I think I said some things that I wasn’t supposed to.  Apparently, I’m not being a good sport so the umpire said I had to leave.”

“Oh, Trixie.” sighed Moms heavily.  

Trixie kicked at the dusty gravel beneath her. “I’m not allowed to be in the ballpark. Can somebody take me home?”

Peter shook his head. “No.  We’re here to watch Mart.  You’ll just have to sit in the car.  It’s in the shade so you should be fine.  Roll down the windows and take your water with you.”

“Trixie,” called Moms.  “Here’s today’s paper.  You can work the puzzles while you’re waiting for Mart’s game to end.”

Feeling her parent’s disappointment in her, Trixie walked slowly to the parking lot, slapping the folded newspaper against her thigh.  Behind her, she could cheers and groans from the crowd as the game resumed. “That stupid pitcher.  I hope his team loses by 100 points.”

Arriving at the car, Trixie quickly rolled down all the windows then climbed into the back seat.  Her angry thoughts focused on Tad Webster somehow losing his strong pitching arm and having to wear dressy, scratchy clothes to school.  “And I would laugh the loudest,” grumbled Trixie, enjoying her vision of vengeance.

Trixie had just finished circling a word in the word search puzzle when she heard the sounds of people returning to their cars.  Looking up, she saw her father’s head bobbing through the parking lot.

“Hey, Mart! Did you win?” she asked, hanging dangerously out  the car window.

Mart’s response of a dark scowl provided Trixie with the answer.

“At least the car’s cool,” said Peter who, after stowing the chairs and cooler in the trunk, slid behind the wheel.

Trixie waited for the family to fasten their seatbelts before she took a peek at Mart.  He was staring out the side window, his chin propped in his hand and his ball glove lying on the floor by his dusty cleats.  

“Mart?”

“What?”

“I’m sorry you lost your game.  I really am.  And for what it’s worth, I thought your team played pretty well.  You guys just couldn’t hit anything that stupid pitcher threw.”

“Trixie,” admonished Moms.  “Watch your language.  Didn’t you already learn that today?”

“Sorry, Moms.” Trixie kicked at the back of the seat, her rhythmic thumping the only sound in the vehicle.

Suddenly, Trixie heard a slight choking noise from Mart.  Looking over at her brother, she saw his shoulders shaking.

“Mart, are you okay?” she asked, concerned.

Mart nodded.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”  Mart looked his sister, a big grin across his sunburnt cheeks.  “But the expression on your face when you got kicked out…”  Unable to contain himself, Mart burst into laughter.

“I didn’t think it was that funny,” sulked Trixie.

“Oh, but it was.  It was the most stupendous, hysterical, humorous and comical thing I’ve seen in...forever!”

Trixie’s face flushed with the recollection of the incident.  “It was so embarrassing.”  

“Yeah, but that pitcher deserved all the grief you gave him.”

“Mart and Trixie,” said Moms sternly.  “It’s never all right to be mean to people.”

“Sorry, Moms,” the two said in unison.  

The rest of the ride home was spent with Mart tamping down the giggles that threatened to explode at any minute and Trixie scowling at him.  Upon arriving at the farm, the two jumped out of the car and ran up the back steps.

“Hey, Brian,” yelled Mart.  “Wait till you hear what happened at the game.”

Brian, who was sitting at the kitchen table giving Bobby some juice and graham crackers, looked up.  “I take it you won?”

Mart shook his head.

“Then what’s all the excitement about?”

“Trixie got kicked out of the ballpark.  You should have seen her face.  I wished I’d taken a picture because it would make a great addition to Mom’s Christmas letter.”

Behind Mart, Trixie slammed the door.  

Brian looked at his younger siblings.  “Let me get this straight.  Mart, you lost your tournament game but you’re laughing because Trixie got kicked out of the ballpark.”  He looked quizzically at his sister.  “Why’d you get kicked out?”

Trixie took a deep breath.  “Apparently, you can’t call the pitcher from the other team a whine-butt,” she said haughtily.

“A whine-butt?” questioned Brian.  “And what is that?”

Trixie shrugged.  “A person who whines a lot and is a butt.”

“Trixie!”  Moms stood at the back door.  “I don’t want to hear language like that ever again.  Please go to your room and think about what you did today.  Honestly, you need to curb your impulsiveness before you get yourself into some real trouble.”

“Yeah, Trixie,” smirked Mart.  “Go to your sleeping chamber.”

“Mart, just shut up!” yelled Trixie.

“Trixie!  Enough.  Now go.” Moms pointed her index finger toward the living room and the stairs beyond.

“Oh, Moms, do I have to go to my room?  I sat in the car during the game.  Isn’t that punishment enough?”

Moms stern expression was the only response needed.  Trixie turned and went up the stairs to her room,  stomping loudly on each step.  Slamming her door shut, she flung herself onto her bed and defiantly crossed her arms over her chest.  “I don’t care what they kick me out of.  I still stand by my words. That pitcher is a whine-butt!”

After a few minutes of sulking,  Trixie  got up and looked through her pile of library books. Selecting the copy of Black Beauty, she crawled back on her bed, opened the book and was soon lost in the story of the beautiful horse.  She looked up when she heard the familiar squeak of her bedroom door.

“Hi, Reddy,” she said to the family Irish Setter who had nosed open the door.  “At least somebody wants to be around me.’

Trixie shifted to make room for the pet on her bed.  Patting his soft fur, she went back to her reading while Reddy turned in a circle several times in an attempt to get comfortable.  When Reddy finally was satisfied, he plopped down, then stretched out languorously, taking up most of Trixie’s twin bed.

Thump!

“Hey,” cried Trixie when she found herself on her bedroom floor.  “Not you too!”

Sighing contentedly, Reddy settled his head on his front paws, gave Trixie an appreciative look,  then closed his big, soft eyes and drifted off to sleep.

“Gleeps!  Kicked out of the ballpark, kicked out of the kitchen, and now kicked out of my own bed!”

Trixie started to shove the dog aside but, seeing that Reddy was snuggled comfortably among her covers, she instead scooted around, settled against the solid frame of her bed  and returned to her story.  With her body planted firmly on the hardwood floor, she felt certain she had finally found a safe base.

***************

word count - 4333

Author notes:  A big thank you to my sister, Judith for her editing and for my daughter, Katie, for her story feedback.  Graphics by Pixabay and eos development.

Snow cone -  a summertime treat consisting of shaved ice covered with flavored syrup.

Black Beauty - an 1877 children’s novel by Anna Sewell.