(The scene takes place in Memorial Park, but in River Oaks which is not Calumet City, but sort of a blurry, mirror image of it. It starts with a man sitting on the first base side bench of the south softball field in the late summer sunshine. All too often, stories fall as flat as the Chicago Cubs did in September and October of 1969. But this section is what I used to bring these two characters together and to establish some common ground, thereby setting the stage for what's to come.)
Rheeva sensed he was not alone. His head still tilted back, he opened his eyes to see a half dozen crows circling overhead. When was the last time I saw crows in River Oaks?
“Probably not since before they built the Mall,” said a voice to his left. “They’re friends of mine.”
“Well, hello,” said Rheeva, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “Please sit down. It’s a beautiful day, don’t you think?”
“They all are, in their way.”
“My name’s Rheeva.”
“My brother called me Ace.”
“Pleased to meet you, Ace.”
“Likewise.”
Rheeva glanced up at the sky. “So, you’re a friend of the crows.” It was more statement than question.
“I’d say we have a certain understanding, yes. How’ve you been, Rheeva?”
Rheeva turned sideways to face the stranger. There was something familiar about him, but also something unusual. It wasn’t noticeable when Rheeva looked directly at him, but when viewed from the corner of his eye, he seemed to shimmer, if only briefly. “Have we met before? I have the feeling we have, but I can’t place it. Or have I just been out in the Sun too long today?”
The stranger pointed out across the infield.
“We have, but it was a long time ago. Over on the left field foul line. I was here to watch my brother play.”
Rheeva peered across the infield, down the left field foul line, back to the shortstop position between second and third base, then in the direction of home plate. He was trying to remember. Finally, he did.
“Yes, that’s right! The tall shortstop who fielded his position like a dream. So smooth, like he was born to play the game. And at bat, no wasted motion, waiting on the pitch, and then uncoiling. It was like watching a cobra strike. Yes, I remember, now. I remember.”
(AUTHOR’S NOTE: I got all teary-eyed as I wrote this. So much for sibling rivalry.)