BLOOD OF THE SPRINGTIDE (PART I)

“You’re out! I tagged you David!” The ten-year-old held the dirty baseball against his friend’s side, imploring him to accept the outcome.

“No I’m not, dude! I had my hand on the base when you tagged me. You were too late!” David shook the blonde curls about his head emphatically. “I slid and touched the bag before you tagged me. I swear!”

“I don’t know. I’m pretty sure I got you before you tagged!” The taller, more muscular, boy with unkempt dark hair threw his shoulders back and stuck out his chest, as if that would sway the argument in his favor.

“I’m telling you the truth, Rich!” shouted back David, not intimidated by his friend’s bullish stance. He was shorter and skinny, but he had been raised by a no nonsense father who had taught his boys to work hard and to stick up for themselves. “You were too late.” He said the last sentence slower, enunciating every word, since it seemed to him that his friend was having trouble understanding him.

The other boys began to walk over to second base, seeing that the argument may need some intervention and also a little annoyed that the game was being held up. They had been playing for a couple hours now on an unusually hot spring day, and they were sweaty, dirty, and tired. The game was in the seventh inning and the score was tied, it had been a seriously competitive game, each side desiring the win badly.

“What’s going on? Is Dave out or not?” asked Tim as he approached from the dugout. He was a couple years older then the other boys and often acted as mediator over disputes, as well as counselor and guide when the need arose.

Rich relaxed his shoulders and turned toward Tim. “I tagged him ‘fore he touched the bag!” he said certainly. “That’s all I know. I’m pretty sure that means he’s out.”

“You did not!” David was still shouting. “I swear Tim; I slid and had my hand on the bag before he tagged me.” David was covered in dirt; his jeans, Allenville Body Shop T-shirt, neck and face. Sweat was sliding down from his curly blonde hair, making snail trails through the brown crud on his face. He was wide eyed and earnest, whereas the dark features of Rich’s face were tense and scowling. Tim studied them a bit longer, after a thoughtful moment he reached his open glove out for the ball and Rich handed it to him.

“He’s safe.” He turned and headed back toward the dugout. He really didn’t know who was telling the truth, and they probably both were, but he wanted to get on with the game and he liked the look on David’s face better.

Rich was mortified. “What?! Bullshit! He’s on your team! Bad call! Bad call!!”

“You couldn’t see whether he touched the base or not from where you made the tag, Rich. I believe he’s being honest,” Tim shouted back over his shoulder.

“Bad call!” Rich raised his mitt above his head and threw it down in disgust. “That’s it! Game called!”

“No, come on Rich!” implored a lanky but sinewy boy with straight greasy brown hair that glissaded out from under a beat-up baseball cap, who was standing a few feet behind second. He pulled down his cap a bit and punched into his glove a couple times. “I want to play some more. He’s safe, so what? We’ll get the next out.”

Rich’s face was red, he was hot, sweaty and irritated. He picked up his glove and walked very quickly toward Tim until he had caught up with him. “Give me my ball!!”

“What?” Tim turned around. He had the ball clasped in his glove, with his free hand he took off his cap and wiped his brow with his forearm. “Really?”

“Yeah! Really!” Rich was in full pout mode. He crossed his arms and stared intently at Tim with a snotty justification. “Come on!” He reached out his glove and opened it.

Tim let out a sigh of disgust, extended his gloved arm and dropped the ball into Rich’s glove. He then threw his arms up into the air and called out to the other boys, “Game called due to crybaby selfishness!”

“Fuck you Tim!” shouted Rich as he hurriedly walked away from him, on his way off the field. The boys that heard Rich were shocked, none of them really cursed that much, and he never did.

David walked up to Tim. “He sure got mad.”

“What else is new?” replied Tim a bit peeved. Then he relaxed and said, “He did get more upset then usual, maybe it’s the heat.”