Chicks and Baseball

A short story by Victoria M. Perea 

A while ago, my brother had a crush on a girl. She would always run by the house, and sometimes to make her trip, my brother would throw pebbles at her ankles. We didn’t think much of it since he was young and figured he didn’t know how to approach her. As he got older and into a stage of learning random useless facts, you can say he knew a bit about everything. I remember he learned about cats always landing on their feet, and refused to believe it. Sad to say, we had a cat. He was a calico with black, orange, and white fur, big green eyes. My brother never really paid any attention to Whiskers, but after that, they started hanging out. He would carry him and drop him, the cat always landed on his feet. Every time he dropped it a bit higher until he threw it from the second story of the house and it still landed on his feet. Since he was curious, he did some digging. He found out it had something to do with balance, so he spun the cat around and then dropped it, Whiskers landed on his face. 

I’ve had animals for as long as I can remember. They’re easy to get, just pick up a dog from the streets or feed a cat once. When I came back from work, the first thing I did was check on my brother. He had to be about 15 or 14 at the time, playing or doing something in the backyard. We had some baby chicks that were gifted to us by one of my step-father’s friends, we didn’t really reject them since we had space and a fairly decent backyard. That afternoon they were chirping loudly as if they were out of the cage we kept ‘em in. 

“Go look at what your brother is doing!” -My mother was always angry and I never understood why; I was pretty sure I stopped giving her stuff to complain about. So naturally, I went out to the backyard to see what Asher was doing, and to my amusement, I found the baby chicks. This boy was playing baseball with the chickens, like….they were the baseballs. I can see how my mother would blame this activity on me, but not completely. When I was his age, I would shoot small lizards with a BB gun. Since I am legally blind, I barely shot ‘em, I usually got their tail or something since I couldn’t see well without my glasses. My brother, on the other hand, found a better way to have fun… 

“Asher, what are you doing?” 

“What does it look like?” -He smirks and home runs another one. 

“It looks like you’re playing baseball with baby chicks” 

“Then it’s exactly what it looks like” 

I would never. I am not a sadist, neither is he, I think. The worst part of it is that my own mother thinks he learned this from me, I would never do anything like this. I’m amazed at the kid though, he has so much creativity, I’m assuming he never gets bored. Playing baseball with chicks, what a horrid thing to do…but I still wonder if he needs a pitcher. 

“I’ll throw ‘em” 

“You sure you can see where you throw them you four-eyed dweeb?”-He laughed. He always laughed at his own jokes, no matter how harsh they were. 

“I can see” Was my only reply. He turned around to get another chicken and handed it to me with a smug look on his face. 

That was probably the best day I ever had with my brother, I felt like he wasn’t against me for once. Asher always played wicked schemes, he says it’s what made him smart. It never bothered him to make people cry, and I guess I should’ve kept an eye out for that. When it came to girls he was charismatic but never consistent, when he got into trouble he could keep a calm manner like no one else, and his lies were more believable than any hurtful truth. It took me years to realize, not once had I seen my brother cry, but that was just my brother, he was normal to me. Never in a million years, I would’ve thought he’d end up in maximum security, let alone get death by the chair. I guess I should’ve told that girl to run a little faster and not trip on the pebbles. 

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