on the grounds that at this point in his life he cared so little for Thom Jeff he couldn’t imagine mustering up enough resentment to put him on the list. There were several other candidates. There was JC sitting beside him. Certainly they had their struggles over the years. The better you know someone the more clearly you see and know his faults. But Ham knew in his heart JC was the person Ham would most easily accept help from. And JC was not on Ham’s shit list—that was unimaginable.
He turned his gaze to the front of the sanctuary where people were receiving communion. Communion at Second Little Rock Baptist Church was observed by intinction, in which church members came to the front and dipped the bread into the wine. And they used real wine. There was Sarah Elizabeth Corn receiving a piece of torn bread from Brother Bob. She had made fun of Ham’s name in the seventh grade. But he harbored no real resentment toward her.
Next was Carolyn Leggett. Ham thought about her for a long while. Carolyn used to be church treasurer until she was caught embezzling money from the church a couple of years earlier. But the church had arranged for her to pay the money back, and Ham really had no personal animosity toward her. She might be on somebody’s “list,” but not Ham’s. By the time these thoughts had run their course, everybody had gone to communion except the row in front of Ham and Ham’s row. As he stood in the line forming down the middle aisle, Ham saw Uncle Carl dipping bread into the wine. Where did he come from? It must have been a blue moon last night, Ham would tell Carl after church, because that’s when Carl came to church. Carl was now in the crosshairs of Ham’s “least like to receive help from” list. Ham would have plenty of reason not to want help from Carl. He was unreliable, and when he was drunk, he was an embarrassment. Wine dripped down Carl’s chin onto his white t-shirt. He grinned at Brother Bob and then started coughing. When he sat, Carl pulled the inhaler from his pocket. Yes, Ham thought, Carl would surely be on the list of people he didn’t want help from, even if he didn’t always rise to the level of the List.
With only five people in front of him in line, Ham realized he really didn’t have any enemies in the church or really either at school. So he thought of the “Sylva Streak,” Bobby Skeeter, the star of the Sylva Baseball team they would play next Friday. Skeeter was an excellent athlete, and Sylva had beaten Wilkes Central in nearly every game of every sport during Ham’s career. Yeah, he definitely wouldn’t want any help from Bobby Skeeter. Not that he considered him an enemy per se, but he was certainly an adversary—even a nemesis. Ham couldn’t imagine a situation in which he’d want help from Bobby Skeeter. So as he approached Brother Bob holding the bread and the co-pastor, Brother Matthew holding the chalice, he thought, yea, it’d be a tossup between Uncle Carl and Bobby Skeeter for the title of “Person I’d least like to receive help from.” He could feel the Vin Santo slide down his throat into his stomach. It was cool and left a sweet taste in his mouth.
That afternoon he picked up Nora and they drove to the Dairy Queen for a chocolate dipped ice cream cone. They sat side by side in a booth in the back with no one else around.
“Ham, I feel so guilty about last night. I meant to save myself for my weddin’ night. I didn’t sleep at all after I go home, worryin’ ‘bout what we did.”
“I know, but it just sorta happened. Besides, we’re gonna get married. You know I would marry you right after graduation if you’d say ‘yes.’”
“We don’t have any money, and we both want to go to college, Ham. And, everybody says we’re too young.”
“We can make it work, Nora, I promise. I’m hopin’ I can get a baseball scholarship ‘fore the end of the year. And I can get a part time job.”
“Well, that worries me, too, Ham. What if you get a scholarship some place far away, some place where I didn’t apply or can’t get in?”
“I’m hopin’ UNC will offer me; we can both go there. Or we’ll stay closer to home. I want us to be together.”
“We just can’t be together again like we were last night, okay Ham? Not til we’re married. It goes against everythin’ we’ve been taught at church and in our family.”
Ham couldn’t remember hearing exactly that at church, at least not under Brother Bob. But certainly Nora was right about family; his mother would not be happy if she knew he and Nora had sex. “Okay Nora. But it was wonderful, warn’t it?”
“Yes, Ham, it was.”
Ham leaned down and kissed Nora on her cheek. He thought about how much he loved the girl.
Chapter 3
Top of the seventh, Ham struck out the side! I think Ham just threw a no-hitter, Jesse!” Roy looked up from his scorebook, which he kept every game. It was “unofficial,” but generally more accurate than the book kept by the official scorer up in the booth who had been known to check his stats against Roy’s on more than one occasion
“No way, Roy, we’re behind 1–0,” Jesse replied.
Jesse White and Roy Martin, North Wilkesboro’s barbers, were sitting behind home plate, like they did every home game. The two barbers from North Wilkesboro were avid baseball fans and diehard Wilkes Central fans, even through the lean years, which had been many. They cut the hair of most of the boys on the Wilkes Central team, including Ham.
Roy scanned his book. “Yeah, but that one run was unearned. Don’t you remember? Ham walked that kid in the fourth. Then a sacrifice bunt moved him to second and a stolen base moved him to third.”
“Oh, that’s right,” Jesse said. “And he scored on that passed ball JC should’ve stopped.”
As the Eagles came into the dugout for their last at bat, Jesse said to Roy, “This black kid, Skeeter, is pretty good, huh?”
“Oh yeah, Bobby Skeeter is the real deal. He’s got a perfect game goin’.” Roy knew it was bad luck to mention a no-hitter, much less a perfect game, while in progress. But that’s exactly what he was hoping for; some bad luck for Sylva and its pitcher, Bobby Skeeter. “They call him the ‘Sylva Streak.’ He’s signed with Carolina to play football next year. That don’t keep the baseball scouts away though. Helluva an athlete.”
While they were talking, Skeeter struck out the first two batters in the bottom of the seventh inning.
“Well, here comes ole’ JC! Let’s see if he can make up for that mistake he made earlier,” Jesse said. “Big ole’ boy, that JC. Say, didn’t I hear he signed to play football down at the State University in Raleigh?”
“Yep. Offensive line. He’s listed at 6’4” and 265 in the program, but I’m guessin’ he might be a bit bigger than that,” Roy replied. JC took the first pitch for a strike. “C’mon JC,” Roy yelled. “Don’t see many coloreds playin’ baseball anymore,” Roy observed, watching the two African Americans battle each other.
“How big is Ham?” Jesse asked.
“Well, he’s grown right smart since last year. I’d say a shade taller than JC, maybe 6’5” and a bit lighter.” JC swung at Skeeter’s curve ball and missed. Strike two.
“What’s he goin’ do next year?” Jesse asked.
“Don’t nobody know yet. He ain’t had no offers, but judgin’ from the way he’s throwin’, he’s quite a bit faster than last year. And he’s a lefty; everybody loves those southpaws. Him and JC are the only two athletes with any chance of playin’ at the next level. Rest of ‘em of good enough high school athletes, but that’s about it.” JC fouled off a changeup.
“C’mon Skeet. Set him down, and let’s go home,” someone shouted from behind the visitor’s dugout.
With one foot in the batter’s box, JC went through his batting ritual again: he tugged at his uniform, pulled up his pants (which were always sliding down), and spit tobacco juice over his left shoe. He stepped into box and struck an imposing figure. Nor was it all looks. JC had considerable power and had already set the Wilkes Central record for career