So long, Strawberry Moon by Mel Grieves

The year I turned 14 seemed like every other boring year in small town Michigan, except for three things:

First, I finally made the official rank of puberty and started having periods. My sister Robin, six years older and wiser than I, had told me over and over, “Stop worrying, You’re just a late bloomer.” But I had worried anyway.

Second, Jackie Hampton moved to town and immediately I had a new best friend. Well, it wasn’t like I already had a best friend. I didn’t. But now I did. Jackie and I bonded over our tomboy status, opting to play sports rather than trade lipsticks and dance to the Beatles, like the rest of the eighth grade girls.

And third, my sister’s softball coach, as a favor to her, decided to let Jackie and me join the team, even though we were under age. The powers that be in the women’s fast pitch league declared you were not a woman until you turned 14. Jackie would qualify during the summer, but my birthday wasn’t until October. We didn’t expect to play, since all the women on this team were already out of high school, had played together for years, and were really good. You could say that Jackie and I were more like team mascots. Definitely bench warmers. But it would be cool to hang out with my sister and her friends, a chance leapfrog to maturity. It was going to be a great summer.

“I want to play center field,” said Jackie. Playing with the Sapphires was all we had talked about for two weeks while walking to and from school.

I considered Jackie’s long strides and strong arm. “You’ll make a great fielder,” I told her. I thought about my own skills. Great hitter, slow runner. “Not sure where Coach will put me. Wish I could just be a hitter and not have to take the field.”

Jackie snorted. She did that a lot. I was never sure if it was because of that long beak of hers, or just a bad habit. “Yeah, that’d be a dream job for you, Sandy. Mickey Mantle could play forever if all he had to do was swing a bat.”

We crossed Cedar Street and headed down the hill. This was the last time we’d take this route, moving on to high school next fall. Jackie slowed her pace, knowing hills could mean trouble for my weird legs. I’d learned from eavesdropping on my parents that my warped shins and pigeon-toed stance could have been corrected early on, but they hadn’t had the money. So I was stuck with being surprisingly slow for a wiry, otherwise-athletic kid. And of course, I got my share of cruel jokes from other kids about it. Jackie never mentioned it, she just accepted and accommodated me. That’s what best friends do.

School was dismissed early, so we headed to my house for our own version of batting practice, and to wait for Robin to pick us up and drive us to our first real practice with the team. Like Robin, most of the girls worked at local businesses now that they were beyond high school. Then there was Ancient Anna. Almost 40, but wow could she pitch. Jackie and I, the rookies, were the only ones with free time all summer long.

We plunked down at the kitchen table and I handed Jackie yesterday’s Free Press and a roll of black electrical tape. “We need some new practice balls. Get busy.” I showed her my dad’s method for making a ball out of tightly wadded newspaper wrapped with tape. I’d grown up learning to hit with these baseball stand-ins. The beauty was they didn’t go far—or break windows—no matter how hard you hit them, and they were smaller than a regulation softball, so when you came up against the real thing, it appeared huge and unmissable floating up to the plate. I was looking forward to facing Anna at practice and seeing if I could get a hit off her. Seeing her fastball from the batter’s box would be a whole different experience than watching it from the bleachers.

We hit tape balls for a while, grabbed a snack and planted ourselves on the front porch to wait for Robin. When her car pulled into the driveway, her boyfriend Jerry—not my favorite person—was driving and Robin sat in the passenger’s seat.

“Hop in the back,” she told us. “We’re late.”

I practically worshipped my sister for her athletic skills and popularity, but her choice in boyfriends disappointed me. I sensed tension between the two in the front, so Jackie and I settled into watching the scenery whiz by. The league ranged far, with games often taking place halfway across the state. Our team was one of the two based in Saginaw, and that’s where we headed for practice.

Everyone was involved in fielding practice when we arrived. The coach, a middle-aged man with a habit of speaking without thinking, hit fly balls to the outfielders, while Anna smacked grounders at the infielders. Coach pointed for Jackie and me to take positions in the outfield, and Robin trotted to her third base spot. As I expected, Jackie shined in the outfield, not only chasing down high fly balls, but also firing them back, right on the money, all the way to home plate. I did not fare so well. I was too slow to do much chasing, and while my arm was quick and strong for infield distances, I wasn’t good enough from the outfield to nail a runner at home. Coach moved me to the infield, where I did better, but not great. Shifting quickly to the left or right to gobble up a grounder proved difficult. If I got there in time, there was still a 50-50 chance the ball would skip between my bowed legs.

I had more confidence when we got to batting practice. Coach ran it like a scrimmage, with batters running the bases if they got a hit, and other players rotating around the field. Jackie and I had to wait until the rest of the team had their time at bat. I didn’t mind. I knew we’d have to get used to being bench warmers. I just hoped we’d get a few chances over the summer to play in a real game. Finally, Jackie was up. Anna’s offerings flew past her and reached the catcher’s glove before Jackie got her bat off her shoulder.  Coach told Anna to slow it down, which she did, and Jackie finally managed a few pop ups and foul balls.

Jackie shook her head as she passed me on her way back to the bench. “Holy cow! She’s amazing. Good luck, Sandy.”

It took me a few pitches to adjust to Anna’s speed, and it was indeed the fastest stuff I’d ever seen. Faster than Dad could throw a tape ball overhand, that’s for sure. Anna whipped her arm around in a calculated motion, releasing the ball just as it nicked her thigh. My first swing was so late, even I laughed. On the second swing I got a piece of it, but it went foul. On my third swing, I smashed it and took off running. By the time the fielder retrieved the ball and got it to Robin, I was grinning at her from third base. My first hit off Anna: a stand-up triple.

Coach clapped me on the back. “Hey Robin, look what your little sis just did. If we had a fence on this field, that woulda been outta here.”

I was grateful, and surprised, that for once he didn’t say what I was sure he and everyone else was thinking, that if I could run better I would have had a home run. Still, I was giddy over my success, and it lasted the rest of the night.

We all went to Howie’s Diner after each practice and home game, where the specialty was Coney Island hot dogs and shoestring fries. There were two big adjacent booths in the back and we took them over, sliding across the leather benches until everyone packed in. Here was where Jackie and I really got to know our teammates as the summer went on. I was shy and took it all in quietly, but Jackie joined right in with the teasing and banter. Coach said that Jackie and I were a reversed version of the most popular pair of pals on the team. Honey and Babe joined my sister as regulars in the infield, Honey at shortstop and Babe at second base. Honey was short and wiry, like me. Babe was tall and gangly, like Jackie. They were inseparable. But where Honey was the goofy-looking, outgoing joker of the pair and Babe was the quiet, wide-eyed blonde with the stunning cheekbones, Coach noted that personality-wise, Jackie was more like Honey and that I was the shy, pretty one, like Babe. I blushed at that.

He winked at Jackie. “No offense meant by that.”

“None taken,” Jackie shot back. “I think Sandy’s gorgeous, too. And I can’t help it if I inherited my dad’s nose. But it will come in handy for double-checking your booger bunt sign.”

Coach had a series of signals for batters. When he fingered his nose, that meant the hitter was supposed to bunt. Jackie had just tagged that particular sign, rather aptly, I thought. The two booths shook with giggles. Jackie may not have hit a triple, but she was a hit with the team in every other way.

About that time, a scowling Jerry showed up and stood near the door until Robin slid out of the booth to join him, asking Honey and Babe to drop “the rookies” off at home. I would never understand what my sister saw in that guy, and we were glad to stay longer at the restaurant and ride home with a happier duo, even if it was a tight fit for Jackie’s knees when we climbed into the back seat of Honey’s Mustang.

It was a warm, clear night and we rode with the windows open, the wind and the radio making enough noise that talking just didn’t seem the right thing to do. All my life I had loved riding in the back seat with my parents carrying on muted front seat conversations, so that if I wanted I could make out what they were saying, or turn it into white noise as I chose, as if they were the voices on the radio and I controlled of the volume knob. Riding in Honey’s Mustang was even better. Especially on such a sweet-smelling, star-filled summer night.

A full moon followed us, high in the sky. Bright white, bouncing over tree tops like a balloon tethered to the Mustang’s antenna. Dad called the June moon a Strawberry Moon. It meant we could expect to see strawberries soon in the roadside produce stands, farmers setting out their crops on tables at the end of their driveways, leaving a jar for folks to pay on the honor system. Strawberries were my favorite, the first fruit of the summer, harbingers of carefree days and stay-up-late nights. This Strawberry Moon was right on time. I thought of the summer ahead and could almost taste the freedoms that entering womanhood with my softball sisters would bring.

It turned out to be the winningest season the team had ever had. Coach was ecstatic and seemed to be taking games more seriously in August than he did in June. However, he did let Jackie play in a real game when her birthday came at the end of the month. She didn’t get a hit, but threw out a girl trying to stretch a single into a double, and for that received whoops and hugs from her teammates. Over the summer, we ate countless Coney dogs at Howie’s, laughed until we nearly puked them up, and criss-crossed most of the bottom half of the Michigan mitten. Robin joined us at Howie’s more often towards the end of the season and we saw less of Jerry, but Jackie and I still hooked a ride with Honey and Babe in the Mustang whenever we could.

Ancient Anna approached me about two things: babysitting for her six-year-old twins after the season ended, and learning to pitch. I’d gotten to know her husband and freckle-faced boys since they often watched her play from the bleachers behind my bench-warming spot. They were good kids, and I figured I could use the $2 an hour. But about the pitching, I wasn’t so sure.

Anna sat beside me on the bench and draped an arm over my shoulders. “Think about it. You get to bat and, on defense, you rarely have to leave the mound except to pick up a bunt or cover first or home. In those situations, there’s usually plenty of time to get there. And if you don’t…” She shrugged. “Nobody blames you because, hey, you’re the pitcher. Pitchers are heroes in other ways.”

I felt okay about Anna addressing my leg issue this way. She was a good mom, often to the whole team.

“Besides,” she added. “I think you’d be great. You already understand hitting, and that’s half the battle.”

I promised to think about it, flattered that Anna took an interest in me. Jackie had her mentors, too. Honey and Babe were determined to make a hitter out of her, spending extra practice time improving her technique. By the tournament time in September, she was connecting with the ball much more often.

The state tournament was a big deal for everyone, especially Coach. As we loaded cars for the Friday night trek to Traverse City, he repeated to all of us, “I think we can win it this year, ladies. I think we can win it.”  Full of hope, we piled into vehicles and headed northwest. Jackie and I had permission to miss school on Monday, and rode with Robin, who drove solo without Jerry. Hallelujah. Margo, our alternate pitcher, rode with us, and we would all share a room for two nights at the Bayside Motel. Which wasn’t exactly on the bay, but across the highway from the fair grounds, where an amusement park company had set up rides and game booths for a fall festival.

Our first game was at ten o’clock Saturday morning. Honey and Babe complained loudest about getting up early to play ball, but that was probably because they’d gone out drinking when they’d arrived the night before. “Not smart,” I said to Jackie. “Wish I could have gone,” she replied. We did feel more left out in Traverse City than during the regular season. For one thing, we had no hope of either of us actually playing, though we were still excited to be there and be part of the team. The stadium was huge, compared to the fields we were used to. There was a real dugout and a wall around the playing field, with real stands behind it. And great lighting. If we won the first game, we’d be playing that night, too. If we won that game, we’d get Sunday morning off and be in the final game Sunday night.

Anna pitched the first game against a team from Cheboygan. They had some talented hitters, so it was good planning by Coach. Mostly, he wanted her to be able to rest for the final game, hoping Margo would get us through the Saturday night game. We won the morning game, but not without some drama.

Robin was first at bat in the top of the seventh and struck out, rare for her. Since we were a few runs ahead, I wondered if she was just trying to get the game over with. Then suddenly she ran for the dugout and puked into an empty Coke cup. Showing her great mom instinct, Anna swarmed to Robin’s side and held her forehead while she vomited some more, just like Mom used to do when we were little. Then she walked Robin out to the parking lot. I was concerned, but wanting to give my sister her space, I followed them, far enough back that they didn’t notice me, but close enough that I could hear what they were saying. My old eavesdropping habit had taught me how to keep quiet and listen. But when I heard the word “pregnant,” I couldn’t help gasping.

Robin whirled around and narrowed her eyes at me.  “Don’t you dare tell Mom and Dad!” Then she cried into Anna’s shoulder.

Anna jerked her chin toward the dug out door. “Go tell Coach to have Margo pitch the last three outs.” When I didn’t move right away she added, “Don’t worry. It’ll be okay.”

Margo did her job and the game was over quickly. Some of the team stayed to watch other games. Honey and Babe invited Jackie and me to go shopping with them in the village, and we went, but my heart wasn’t in it. As the three of them explored one tourist trap after another, I hung back brooding, never giving an explanation whenever one of them asked what was wrong. Sometimes I can be so quiet it unnerves other people, most often when I’m concentrating on my thoughts. And I had scads of thoughts about Robin right then. I’d grown up with her being an important part of my daily life, yet sometimes she seemed like a stranger. We ate lunch and stopped back by the motel for a rest before returning to the stadium for our next game. The team from Jackson had lost their two best hitters to injuries, so Margo had an easy time on the mound and the game was over in record time. Most of the team headed for the fair grounds afterward to celebrate, but I just didn’t feel up to it and went back to our room where I could sulk in peace. I was sitting on the bed watching tv, rubbing oil into my new glove, when Robin came in and flopped on the other bed.

After several awkward minutes she asked, “Why did you get a new glove right before tournament? You should do that afterwards so you have the winter to break it in.”

I shrugged. “It’s not like I’ll get a chance to play here anyway.” I was worried about her. I was mad at her. I was ashamed of her. All at once. And I didn’t know how to say any of it. Instead I asked, “Are you and Jerry going to get married now?”

She sighed and lay back on the pillows. “I’m weighing my options.”

“Options? How many options can there be, Robin?”

She gave me a quizzical look. “How old are you now, kid sister?”

“Okay, okay. I’m not totally naive. You can get married or go away, have the baby and put it up for adoption. Either way you’re going to have to tell Mom and Dad.”

She turned her face to the ceiling and I watched tears slowly glide down her cheek and into her ear. “Jerry knows a guy who knows this doctor…”

I didn’t know much about abortion, but I’d heard enough to be scared. I stood and slammed my glove to the floor. “You can’t be thinking of that, Robin. It’s illegal. And dangerous. Girls die…”

 “I don’t want a baby, Sandy. I didn’t even want to do it with him. But he said he would break up with me and he promised to use protection. Finally I couldn’t say no anymore. Don’t ever let anybody do that to you, Sandy. Just don’t.”

All I could do was shake my head, not so much to say “No, I never will,” but more in disbelief at my sister’s confession.

 “And now he’s already dating someone else anyway and I’m in this mess.” She cried hard now.

I knew I should have gone over to her and comforted her somehow, but all I could say was, “How could you be so stupid?” Then I left to go find Jackie. Suddenly I felt like riding a different kind of roller coaster.

That’s right where I found her. She and several other girls stood in line to ride “The Big Dipper,” yukking it up and making a lot of noise. From the way she danced and clapped, I gathered Jackie was glad to see me. “Oh cool,” she said. “I didn’t want to ride with anyone else.”

“You haven’t been drinking, have you?”

Jackie giggled. “No. Honey and Babe had a couple beers, but they wouldn’t give me any. Said I may be woman enough to play softball, but not old enough to drink.”

“Glad they have some sense between them.” But I wasn’t sure I believed what she said.

Jackie snorted, like she was prone to do, and the rest of the team snorted back at her in unison. Then they all cracked up, still laughing as we climbed into cars and belted ourselves in.

“What’s wrong with you?” Jackie asked me. “You seem mad about something.”

“I guess I am. But I can’t talk about it. I just never want anything to do with boys.”

The car jolted forward and we inched up the first rise, clink-clink-clink.

Jackie grabbed my hand and squeezed it tight. I wasn’t sure with all the noise, but I thought she said “Glad to hear it.” Then she screamed “HANG ON!” as we crested and started downhill.

It wasn’t the wildest coaster I’d ever ridden, but it was thrilling enough to take my mind off things. It started out easy, then gradually added quick turns that slammed us from one side of the car to the other. I was glad we didn’t have a third person in there with us. The way I was feeling, the bumps and jerks were good therapy. On the slow pull up the last rise I turned and looked behind us, taking in the sights, town lights sparkling on Grand Traverse Bay. I began to breathe easier. Then my gaze fell on Honey and Babe in the last car. I couldn’t believe what I saw. Honey leaned up and in, brushed Babe’s bangs back, and kissed her. On the mouth. Then nuzzled her neck before wrapping her arm around Babe’s shoulders and settling back down into her seat.

I flipped around to face forward again, more shocked than I’d been by Robin’s outpour. This is just too much, I thought. Too much to take in. Too much to deal with. I became aware of Jackie still squeezing my hand and wondered if she knew about Babe and Honey. I wondered what she meant about being glad I didn’t want anything to do with boys.  I pulled my hand away and we looked at each other for second. I couldn’t tell what she was thinking, what she knew. I didn’t even know what I thought.

The car began falling, rattling down the steepest run of all, and I shot my arms up over my head and screamed and screamed, until we rolled to a stop where we had begun just minutes ago. Then I didn’t say much else the rest of the night.

The next morning we were all supposed to go to brunch together. Robin decided to stay in bed, said she needed more sleep. Anna and I knew the real reason was morning sickness. Coach told us how proud he was of the team and warned us not to eat or drink too much before the final game. He looked at Honey and added, “And no booze!” The game was scheduled for six o’clock and he wanted every one of us ready to play. Jackie went with some of the other girls into the village to kill time. I went back to our room to check on Robin. Even though I wasn’t talking to her, I still wanted to stay close. We spent an hour or so watching television, artfully avoiding the elephant in the room, and I followed along when she said she was going to the stadium to watch the runners up game. We sat with Coach and Anna.

“You look like hell,” Coach said to Robin. “What’s the matter?  You okay to play?” Robin didn’t look at him, but said she was fine, not to worry.

Honey and Babe didn’t show up until we’d taken the field for practice, and it was obvious they’d ignored Coach’s no-booze order. I gave the guy credit. Even with as much as he wanted to win the tournament, he benched both of them. He still had enough leeway on the roster to move girls around and sub others in without having to put me in the game, but Jackie was assigned to right field. We would be hurting, though, without Honey and Babe on offense.

It was a close game all the way. We traded the lead nearly every inning. Anna pitched her best, but the other team was full of great hitters, better than we’d seen all season. We would be up last, so at least we held that advantage.

We were tied 5-5 as the sixth inning got under way. Then two up, two down. It looked like an easy inning. The next batter got a solid hit to right field. It sailed over Jackie’s head, but she retrieved it quickly and fired it to Robin at third base with just one hop. I had to admit, she really was amazing. Still the runner was safe. Robin bent to make the tag, popped up quickly, then fell in a heap. Anna was the first one to get to her, knelt beside her and held her head. Robin came to within seconds, thankfully, but an ambulance was called anyway.

By the time I got out to her, Robin was telling Coach that she’d just fainted because she hadn’t eaten much all weekend. No big deal. But I’d seen the blood before Anna covered her with Coach’s jacket.

Coach made everyone except Anna and me back off. “Give her some air, folks. Ambulance is on its way.”

“I don’t want to go to the hospital,” Robin moaned.

“You’ll be fine,” Anna told her, then nodded reassurance to me, too. “Listen to me. You might have miscarried. They’ll check you out and you’ll most likely be able to go home with the rest of the team tomorrow. You’ll be fine.”

Robin started to cry.

“I’m going to the hospital with you,” I said.

She shook her head. “No, Margo can go. You stay here. Coach might need you.”

“I don’t care about the stupid game.”

“Well, the rest of the team cares. And Coach cares. Stay here.”

The ambulance drivers moved her onto a stretcher and I walked as far as the gate with her. “Robin, I’m sorry. I’m sorry about what I said.”

Robin tried to smile. “I know, sis.”

When I returned to the dugout, the game was getting back into gear and Anna was back on the mound. But they all seemed to be waiting for something. Or someone, as it turned out.

Coach ran up to me. “Sandy, you think you can play?”

“What? Me?” I looked around the dugout. Just Honey and Babe sitting there now that Margo had left with Robin. I was too shocked to argue. “Uh, okay, I guess.”

“Take first base.”

To my great relief, the next batter popped up for the third out. But we didn’t score in the bottom half of the inning so it wasn’t long before I had to return to the field. Anna struck out the first batter and the second one flied out to left. The next two hit singles. So far I hadn’t needed to do anything but stand there. Okay by me. But the next batter zinged one my way. I actually got my glove on it. My new glove, my stiff, not-broken-in glove. The ball skipped off of it, and dribbled into right field. The two runners were on the move, with the lead one heading towards home. Jackie flew in from right field, scooped up the ball and threw with perfect aim to our waiting catcher. Nailed it. We went to the bottom of the last inning still tied.

Everyone congratulated Jackie in the dug out and I knew I should thank her personally, but I didn’t. And she was first up so there wasn’t much time to think about it. She struck out, but Anna got to first base safely. Then it was my turn. I looked to Coach before stepping into the batter’s box. Damn. He was giving me the booger bunt sign. Was he nuts? Even if I laid down a good bunt, chances are I wouldn’t get to first before the ball did. Sure, Anna would advance, but then we’d have two outs. Reluctantly, I followed orders and rehashed all of Dad’s bunting advice in my mind. My first effort completely missed. This pitcher had an excellent curve ball and I wasn’t expecting that much of an arc. My second effort went foul. Coach trotted in to the plate for a chat. Booger bunt was off, I could hit away. “Remember, Sandy. This place has fences. Knock it outta the park.”

Now I had just one strike left and with that big curve, these pitches were not only hard to hit, but hard to lay off of. I couldn’t be sure whether they would continue on a path to be called a ball, or sneak in over the plate for a strike. I struggled, but hung in there and fouled off three more pitches. I thought maybe I’d figured this girl out. Seeing that the left fielder was playing in, I opened my stance so I could pull the ball. If it didn’t make it over the fence, at least it would make it over her head and I would have time to get to first. A big, fat curve ball floated up to the plate. Things seemed like they were moving in slow motion. The ball looked like the moon just hanging there in front of my face. Wham! Solid hit, and the moon rocketed over the left fielder’s head, over the fence, and deep into the stands. There is nothing better than a walk-off homer. I couldn’t stop smiling as I rounded the bases as fast as I could, knowing it probably looked to the crowd like the saunter most home run hitters do when they know they don’t have to hurry but can take it easy and savor the victory. I was savoring it, though, and snapped a picture in my mind of the team all coming off the bench to meet me at home plate and hoist me onto their shoulders.

“Way to go, kid!” hollered Coach. “Looks like your sister’s got some new competition for clean up spot!”

My hero’s grin gave way as thoughts of Robin crowded back in.

• • • • •

On the back side of the motel was a deck, and from there the bay was visible. And that’s where Margo found me. She said Robin was going to be fine, that they’d called Mom and Dad and they were on their way to get her. Margo would drive Robin’s car back tomorrow. Anna came around to bring me some pizza and said she and her family were driving home that night and Mom and Dad could have their room.

She sat in the rocker next to mine. “Wild weekend, huh?”

I nodded.

“That was some homer, Sandy. You got the hang of those curve balls pretty quick.”

“She didn’t change them up much. Same thing each time. Wasn’t too hard to figure out.”

“So, you gonna take me up on my offer teach you how to pitch?

I let out a big breath. It felt like I’d been holding it in for days. “I don’t know Anna. I don’t know if I’m ready for this women’s league stuff.”

She got up to leave. “Well, you let me know, okay? I’d better go get the boys packed up.”

Jackie was the next one to find me. “I hear Robin’s going to be fine. Boy, that’s a relief. And congratulations on the game winning home run.” She stood next to the chair Anna had just vacated, as if she wasn’t sure it was safe to sit in.

Over the bay the Harvest Moon hung low on the horizon. Huge and red. Almost blood red. And so huge, so burdened, that it just couldn’t rise up in the sky to where a moon should rise. No Strawberry Moon, this one. Not pristine white and full of hope, but bruised with secrets it hadn’t asked to keep.

“Thanks, “ I finally murmured back to Jackie.

So she sat.

“And thanks,” I told her, “for backing me up out there with that throw to third.”

“Hey, no problem. That’s what best friends do.”

And then we were quiet together. We stared at the moon’s reflection on the bay, and rocked in our chairs, she tilting forward when I leaned back, our rhythm never syncing.