Authors: James Bennett

The Flex of the Thumb (24 page)

But Herne didn't give him a chance to answer. “Do me a favor, Rita; stroke me off whilst I try to visualize her in the altogether. Talk about your harmonic convergence! Talk about your ultimate hoom!”

“Why you low-life sonofabitch! If I had my nail file with me I'd cut your balls off and hand you a pair of earrings. You bastard.” Rita swung her statue savagely at him, but Herne ducked.

Thrown off balance by her near-miss, Rita lost her grip. The base of the statue clipped Vano right above his left ear. He toppled over like a stone. A millisecond of bursting stars and shimmering seas preceded his state of profound unconsciousness.

Ultimate hooommm
would have to wait.

Epilogue

The decision by the Oakland A's to pitch Vano Lucas on opening day the following April, created a crowd control problem of drastic proportions. Team officials bulged Alameda County Stadium at the seams by putting 12,000 standing-room-only tickets on sale two hours before game time. Even with this provision, the multitudes who swarmed the pavement outside engaged in a frenzy of bartering and ticket scalping.

Vano loosened in the bullpen 30 minutes before the game, throwing easily at first, then unleashing his 100 mph plus fastballs into the mitt of Jerome Neal, the bullpen catcher. Each pitch impacted like a cherry bomb explosion.
Crack
! Neal's good judgment compelled him to wear full protective gear during this prelude, including nut cup. Especially nut cup.

Spectators by the hundreds crowded as close as possible to view this warm-up action, straining the deployment of stadium ushers. The fans oohed and aahed at Vano's velocity, and they shouted his name.

Stuck among the crowd, one who hollered was Arnold Beeker. “I have to talk to you!” he kept yelling. Somehow, he succeeded in getting Vano's attention.

Vano waved, then yelled back, “In a minute!” He had a full sweat. His arm felt loose and live; he was pumped. He activated a cheer which swept through the stadium when he walked from the bullpen to the dugout, his Oakland windbreaker draped over his right shoulder. Ignoring the crowd of autograph seekers near the dugout, he was able to gain access for Arnold by means of the field gate near the dugout.

“I have to talk to you,” said Arnold, repeating himself.

“Come on, we'll go into the clubhouse. With this sweat, I want to wear an undershirt.”

Arnold tripped on the dugout steps, but managed to recover his balance in time to avoid falling. “Gosh,” he said, “That's Ricky Henderson.”

There were only a few people in the clubhouse. Some of the players, finished with batting practice, were changing uniform shirts. Dave Stewart was having an ankle taped.

“It's been impossible to get in touch with you. Now that you're a superstar, nobody can talk to you.”

“I know what you mean. Even Sister has to leave messages with the GM's secretary. Spring training's over now, though; we can get together.” Vano took his shirt off. He began sorting through a stack of three-quarter sleeve undershirts placed on the table by the equipment manager.

“Weingrad gave Entrada the 25 million,” said Arnold.

“That's what I heard. The same as my signing bonus; some coincidence, huh?”

“That's what Chaplain Johansen calls it, but after what we went through, I'm not sure if I believe in coincidence.” But Arnold knew this chit-chat wouldn't do; his window of opportunity here was brief. He needed to get right to the point.

“Vano, what's going to become of hoom?”

Using a towel to mop the moisture from his torso, Vano simply gave a shrug.

“And what about particle existence?” persisted Arnold. “What about that? I know you have this wonderful baseball career now and lots of money, but can you just walk away from something as cosmic as that was? Can you just pretend like it never happened?”

Vano shrugged again. “I don't know what else to do.”

“Please.”

“Arnold, that's the past. You're talking about the past, but now it's time for me to move on.”

“It can't be the past, though. You said yourself there's no past in hoom because it's timeless.”

Smiling, Vano patted his earnest friend on the shoulder. “Take it easy, Arnold. Nothing is forever. The second coma brought me back to my senses. You're talking about the
old
me.”

“No, I'm not talking about the
old
you, I'm talking about the
real
you.”

Vano found the shirt he was seeking, one with extra-absorbent sleeves. He pulled it on over his head. “I don't follow you.”

“Vano, I have this theory.”

Vano found himself losing patience. He laughed anyway. “You'll never run out of theories, it's what you do.”

“But this is different. Really. Before you turn your back on hoom completely, you have to hear me out. Please.” Arnold put his glasses on, as if to sharpen his verbal focus.

“Okay, okay, you can tell me the theory, but there's only a few minutes. Don't forget, this is my big day.”

“I know. I'm really sorry. If there was any other way. But here's the theory: hoom was just you. It was a chance for the real you to come to the surface. It didn't have anything to do with particle people, or waves, or other dimensions. It didn't have anything to do with the Federation, or harmonic convergence. It was just a set of conditions which gave you the freedom to be yourself.”

Vano didn't answer. He was listening to Arnold's observations while putting on the Oakland A's uniform shirt with the green and gold insignia. The large number 50.

Arnold got to the core: “Alan Watts was your father, even though he never married your mother. You had two contemplative, mystical parents. That's your real genetic code. That's the person you really are deep down inside, but as a superstar jock, that person never had a chance to surface.”

Jerome Neal stuck his head in the doorway to tell Vano, “Three minutes, Kid, and they're going to start blowing the Star Spangled Banner. Still feel okay?”

“Yeah, I feel great. I'm ready.”

As soon as Neal's face disappeared, Arnold continued. “You just never got to be you. You may never get to be you againâthere just won't be room for it in the world of big shots and fame and all that stuff.”

Vano looked at him before he answered. Impatience or no, he liked Arnold. Arnold was his friend. He finally said, “Arnold, it's time for me to pitch.”

“The public will never stand for the real Vano Lucas. The public won't stand for anything that's real. Hoom was all about the freedom to be who you are. It wasn't supernatural at all, but it still had a terrific meaning. You see what I'm saying, don't you?”

They were walking toward the dugout. Vano threw his arm over his friend's bony shoulder. “It's a real interesting theory, Arnold. After the game, maybe I'll have some time to think about it.”

They stood on the top step of the dugout while Jose Canseco, Ricky Henderson, Mark McGuire, and the other celebrities were introduced by the public address announcer. Each player jogged to the first base line as his name was called, to join the row formed by his teammates. Each time a player was introduced, there was a blast of sound as the huge crowd cheered.

Overwhelmed in this setting, Arnold Beeker was speechless. Vano was staring at a beautiful blond sitting in a box seat at eye level. She was wearing a short pink skirt but no underwear. She sat with her legs parted and a smile on her face. She was looking straight at him. Vano didn't know who she was, but he smiled back and mouthed the words, “Thank you.”

“You'll forget all about ultimate hoom, won't you?” Arnold was yelling above the din.

“This is ultimate hoom,” Vano yelled back. The grin on his face spread nearly from ear to ear.

“It'll be like it never happened, won't it?”

The public address announcer was beginning Vano's introduction with the words, “Number 50.” The noise began to swell. Just before he left to join his line of teammates, Vano hollered to Arnold once again, “This
is
ultimate hoom!”

Then he turned away. He jogged toward first base, rotating his draped right shoulder to keep it warm and loose. The roar of the crowd was deafening.

About the Author

James W. Bennett's uncompromising, challenging books for teens have earned him recognition as one of the nation's leadingâand most provocativeânovelists for young adults. His fiction has been used in curricula at the middle school, high school, and community college levels.

His 1995 novel,
The Squared Circle
, was named the year's finest by
English Journal
and the
Voice of Youth Advocates
.

Bennett has served as a guest author at Miami Book Fair International, as a featured speaker at the Assembly on Literature for Adolescents of the NCTE, and as a writer in residence (a program he established) for secondary schools in Illinois. He has also been the director for the Blooming Grove Writers Conference.

All rights reserved, including without limitation the right to reproduce this ebook or any portion thereof in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Cover design by Mimi Bark

ISBN: 978-1-4976-8395-2

This edition published in 2015 by Open Road Integrated Media, Inc.

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New York, NY 10014

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