We played softball at the Y.W.C.A. in Jamaica Queens It was about thirty minutes away— down Main Street to Jamaica Avenue. We could see the gathering group in front of the beat up old building even before the bus let us off on the corner. They watched us approach “the last mile” Not a single smile or greeting cracked the waiting pack. Edie had persuaded me to join the team and did her best to coach me. But—I was everyone’s last choice The worst player on the team. Standing there alone as they made their choices. Walking in silence to the dead pan group that were stuck with me. I had decided to quit when E persuaded me to come—one last time and guaranteed I would get a hit . . . I agreed—one last time. The Y.W. was housed in an ancient stucco building near the downtown section of Jamaica Queens. Demographically mixed but weighted heavily with really big strong neighborhood girls who practically lived in the broken down gym A murkey funky old place smelling always of feet and mildew. If the ball hit the wall bits and pieces of peeling paint and plaster ended up on the floor making it dangerously slick and gritty. We suspected that some of the girls were deliberately accelerating the disintegration of the gym. A ball that hit the wall causing the plaster to rain down invariably elicited a more than warranted amount of cheering. On my “last night” at the YW Edie gave me a few new batting tips While she managed to score the position of pitcher on the opposite team. “Just swing the bat as I showed you and leave it to me," she said. On the first pitch I came closer to hitting the ball—than I had ever done before. The bat connected with the outer covering of the ball and stopped it dead in the air for a few milliseconds Before dropping it—and splitting it open at my feet. On the second pitch, the bat connected full on with the ball that went into the side lines, a foul. Still—both tries were better than ever before and I was feeling flushed—confident. On the third pitch, Edie threw it directly to my bat again AND—I hit it back with all the Jedi force I could muster. The ball and bat connected with a thunderous whack Traveling on a determined vertical trajectory to the ceiling of the gym—connecting squarely with a top hat fixture—with such colossal impact that it not only blew the massive eggplant shaped bulb raining glass down on all the assembled stunned ball players but knocking out the power for the whole gym. The game was canceled and both of us were kicked off the team Provincetown, 2017/2025
Hiding Out