Chapter 8

"Get low, Bud," the coach urged, "get that target down, no more than knee high. Hold it steady, one eye on the runner. Up on your toes. Be ready."

Bud nodded and spread his legs to crouch a bit lower, right hand behind his back and big glove centered behind the plate, trying to ignore the straps around his legs and the sweaty mask pressing his forehead and cheeks. Billy Morrison's fastball whistled in and clunked solidly in the mitt, making a small dust cloud as Bud quickly stood and fired the ball toward second, twisting his mask sideways with the effort. The runner beat him again and he lifted the mask to spit.

"Good throw," the coach said, "nothing wrong with that. He got an early start; wouldn't happen in a game. Hold that runner on, Billy," he yelled at the pitcher.

Bud crouched again, kept his glove a few inches off the dirt, took the pitch a bit inside and stepped toward the mound, firing hard. The pitcher ducked and the shortstop tagged out the runner.

"Yes sir!" the coach yelled. "Yes sir, you nailed his ass."

Bud exhaled and felt pride as he adjusted his mask and took his position to do it again.

In the dressing room after practice one of the seniors approached Bud as he dried between his toes. "You thought about it?" the young man asked, raising an eyebrow, his hairy groin and big prick right at Bud's eye level, towel held loosely at his hip.

Bud nodded. "Yeah, OK, what do I do now?"

"Saturday night, you come over the Bobby's house and meet the guys, you and some others. Then we vote."

"And then?" Bud asked, pulling on his white socks.

"Then, if you ain't blackballed, you're in, but there's some initiation stuff, mostly fun." He laughed and snapped his towel at Bud's knee. "Then we tap the keg."

As he walked home, after waving to the fellow who had given him a ride, Bud wondered if he ought to tell his folks about Chi Alpha, the fraternity he had been invited to join. He decided there was no need for them to know even though the dues were a dollar week. He got paid for working in the store and had some birthday money in his cigar box.

Two weeks later, very late on a Saturday night, Bud found himself blindfolded and sitting on the backseat of somebody's car while they drove about in a random fashion, making dire threats and describing vile neighborhoods. Finally the boys pushed Bud out near Pierce Mill and walked him right down to the creek.

"See ya Monday," one cried and then the car door slammed.

"If you get back home by then," yelled another as his buddies sped away. "Hope you can swim."

Bud rubbed his face against a tree until he pushed the blindfold up so he could see out of one eye. Then he stumbled along under the light of a quarter-moon and found a fairly flat rock. He sat and worked on the knot between his wrists with his teeth and had his hands free in five minutes or so. He had no idea where he was even though had listened to the frat boys talking about Fairfax, Virginia.

He listened, heard the creek, some insects and then, behind him, a car. Headlights flashed through the branches. Bud smiled to himself and walked toward the road. When he reached it, he found a street sign. Beech Drive it said.

Bud hesitated, thought a minute, remembered which way the creek was flowing and started walking in the opposite direction, north he was pretty sure, and towards his home on the Rockville Pike. He stuck out his thumb every time a car approached but no one slowed. He wasn't surprised. His hair was caked with library paste; his face was smeared with ketchup and mustard and he was shirtless and barefoot. And it was pretty late, probably midnight.

When he reached East West Highway, footsore and disgusted, he decided to go on in toward Bethesda rather than following the less-well-traveled Jones Bridge Road. The second car that came along stopped and backed up. It was a police car with a yellow triangle painted on the door of a Ford sedan. The tall policeman got out, looked Bud up and down, smiled and said, "Which frat?"

"Can't tell you, sir," Bud said.

"Right, I forgot," the big man said opening the back door of the car. "Get on in. I'll take you over to the station and maybe somebody can hose you down and give you a ride home."

At the end of that school year the various groups of Chi Alpha and the high school sorority that Jeanne belong to staged a dance at the Meadowbrook shelter in Rock Creek Park. Jeanne convinced Bud that he could dance and before the evening was over they found themselves out on the dark porch hugging and kissing. Through their families, they had known each other off and on for some time, but now they were high school sophomores and this was different. And very exciting.