The Pitcher 2 by William Hazelgrove

Author:William Hazelgrove
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781633930025
Publisher: Koehler Books
Published: 2015-01-17T16:00:00+00:00

20

YANKEE STADIUM. BABE RUTH comes up to bat. He had a bad season before, and this is the first game in the new stadium. A slow one comes in, and Ruth knocks it out of the park. Soon after that, they called Yankee Stadium the house that Ruth built. And now we are sitting in the house that Mom built, and this dude is talking to her and trying to take it all away.

“You are familiar with a Mr. Fernando Hernandez?” Mr. Jones is asking mom when I walk in.

Mom jumps up with her hair going wild.

“Ricky! What happened to your eye?’

“Ah, I caught a ball in my eye on a throw down.”

The Pitcher his eyes narrow, and I know he isn’t buying it.

“That is quite a shiner,” Mr. Jones says with his coat off in a white shirt with a narrow tie. ”Ha, ha.”

‘Yeah,” I say. “Ha, ha.”

But I’m really on fire, because didn’t he just ask about Fernando? Mr. Jones has his briefcase open, and he is holding some file. He is sweating because Mom and the Pitcher don’t like to run the air, and it’s hot. I sit in another chair, and I wonder if they are deporting Mom. It doesn’t matter; I will go with her. I made that decision a long time ago.

“Well. As I was saying, you do know a Mr. Fernando Hernandez?”

Mom glares at Mr. Jones like she will melt him with her eyes.

“Yeah, I know the asshole. He is my ex-husband.”

“Ha, ha,” Mr. Jones says, then nods

“I see. Well, Mr. Hernandez contacted our office and offered to testify against you. He basically says that you married Mr. Langford so you could continue living in the United States and—”

“That’s bull,” the Pitcher says.

“Oh, that asshole!!”

Mr. Jones is like turning red. Weird. Like he never heard anyone lose it. What white-people suburb is he from, anyway? He clears his throat several times and moves his hand through his hair. He probably sees Mexicans go crazy a lot. I mean, if somebody told me I had to leave after being here for thirty years, I would go crazy, too.

Mom is up now and pacing back and forth in her shorts with a shirt that says IMMIGRATION REFORM NOW. I mean, she holds these weekly meetings at our house where people make speeches and signs and get all riled up for demonstrations. Mr. Jones looks like he wants to run out the door.

Mom wheels around, her eyes sparking.

“I am going to kick his sorry ass.”

Mr. Jones looks down at his file like Fernando is there somewhere. He purses his mouth and clears his throat several times and adjusts his skinny tie.

“Well, the problem is that we see a pattern here. It is one that you established with Mr. Hernandez of marrying people to provide you with citizenship and delaying deportation.”

“Bullshit,” Mom says standing in front of Mr. Jones. ”The man is an asshole, but I never married him to stay here!”

Mr. Jones blinks looking like he’s afraid to speak.

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