Chapter 2: Julio and Roberto

Julio couldn’t contain his excitement. He knew he’d recited to his mother every stat he could remember already — which was just about all of them — but you couldn’t put a stat on The Great One’s arm. Or at least, that’s what he’d always heard. Today, finally, he’d get to see him play in person.

Every letter home, Dad always said he was doing fine, that it wasn’t so bad over there, that Mom shouldn’t worry — and he’d ask how Roberto was hitting. Julio always dutifully kept his own notes from the box scores to make sure he could give his dad all the stats. He said it helped him remember why he was over there, and helped him feel closer to home, instead of some jungle.

The next time they sent a package to him, well...

Dad’s gonna flip when he sees me at Wrigley!

“ROBERTO!!!!” Julio screamed at the top of his lungs. He waved, hoping the Pirate would look up from his warmup throws in right field. “Mom, look! There he is!” He could scarcely believe it himself. “Mom! Look!”

She finally did and nodded, but Julio was pretty sure she didn’t get it.

He’s right there!!!

Mom told him to stand still for a photo against the railing, though, so he did — as difficult as he found it to stop from bounding. He hoped that in the background behind him, if he squinted, Dad would be able to see the “21” on the back of the man warming up that magical arm.

It was just as magical as they’d said, too. Julio could tell that even just from the way he so easily threw across the vast open space as if he were playing catch in the backyard.

“ROBERTO!!!! ROBERTO!!!!”

The Great One turned to the stands, lofting a ball into the front row, far, far below Julio. But...

Did he hear me?? Is that why he turned???

“Mom! Mom!” He whipped around, but Mom was right there and he almost rammed into her. “Mom I think he heard me!!! Do you think he heard me??”

“I’m sure he did, mijo,” she said with a warm smile, getting him to go back to his seat.

Julio smiled, too.

Of course he did!

“Arriba!! Arriba!!! ARRIBA!!!!” Julio yelled as loud as he could when Roberto came to bat. He was going to try and make sure Roberto could hear him even when he wasn’t in right field.

But Julio’s cheers were cut short by the crack of the bat, and the boy’s eyes followed the little white orb getting bigger and bigger against the bright blue sky.

He hit it to me! Oh my God he hit it to me!!!

Julio readied himself, standing up on the old, creaky seat, and streeettched as far as he could ... and tumbled into the seat behind him — without the ball.

He looked up at a firm black hand offered to him and he took it as a consolation prize, standing himself up glumly.

I was thiiissss close!

But a second hand appeared in front of him — this one, holding a ball.

Roberto’s ball.

Julio’s eyes lit up, and he shot his gaze to the man belonging to the hand. The fit black man with a big afro wore a knowing grin. He’d been sitting right behind Julio, but must’ve avoided the tumbling boy while snagging the ball.

The ball. Roberto’s ball!

“He must’ve heard you,” the man said with a wink. Julio nodded absent-mindedly, barely hearing the words as he looked down at the ball again, practically salivating. The man held it out in his fingertips, beckoning Julio to take it.

Gingerly, the boy did, even though he knew it was ridiculous. He didn’t need to be careful with it, but nevertheless, he turned the hide over in his fingers as delicately as if it were a holy relic.

And it practically is! Roberto hit this!! To me!!!

Julio wasn’t often silent, but he was now — until he felt a gentle poke in the ribs from the direction of his mother. He looked back up at the man who’d given him the ball, the grin still etched on his face. He wasn’t sure it would ever leave.

“Thanks, mister!”

The man grinned right back and leaned down, putting a hand on his shoulder.

“Don’t thank me,” the man said, pointing instead to the seat Julio had toppled out of. “That’s a lucky seat.”