Funerals & Fly Fishing

from FUNERALS AND FLY FISHING Chapter 7 The Baseball Game My grandfather and I are finishing our Deluxe Frozen Entrees when the phone rings. I've already noticed that happens a lot here. You'd think he was in real estate. The last few times, he just ignored it and said "Mike will get that downstairs," but this time he gets up. "That's my private line." "Hello?" There's a pause and then, "Rita, how are you?" In less time than it could have taken her to answer his question, he answers, "Sure, I'll put him on," and hands the phone to me. "Hi, honey," Mom says. "I miss you already. How was your trip?" My grandfather walks out of the room, but I keep my voice low. "Fine," I tell her. "But there's this little detail about your dad living in a funeral home that you forgot to tell me. And there's a dead person here." "I should have told you. I thought there was no use raising your stress level any higher. Remember, though, I grew up there. I knew you wouldn't need to have contact with the business part." "Gee, Mom, that makes me feel tons better." I practice the sarcasm I've gotten so good at lately. "If I see any dead people upstairs I'll just send them back downstairs where they belong." "Very funny. I really am sorry to hear that he's got business, though. He can be pretty tied up when there's someone downstairs." "Actually, it doesn't seem like too big a deal so far. Mike is taking care of things for him tonight while we go to a baseball game." "That's great." Mom sounds really surprised. "He has some help now, does he?" "Yeah. Mike picked up the dead man while your dad was at the airport getting me." "My dad?" she says. "You can call him Grandpa, you know." "Right. We'll see. So, tell me about California." "Oh, honey, I think it's going to be fun. If you're doing okay, that makes it even better for me." My grandfather has already cleared away our plates and wiped off the table. "I'll be fine," I say, "but I guess I'd better go. We don't want the Pirates to start without us." "All right, sweetie. You take care. I'll call again later in the week." "Good-bye," I say, and hang up the phone. My grandfather looks as if he's confused. "Who said anything about the Pirates?" "You did, didn't you? You said we could go to the baseball game tonight. And the Pirates are your team, right?" "I like the Pirates, and we can stay home and watch them on TV if that's what you'd rather do. The game I was planning to take you to is the recreation league game up at the park. I sponsor one of the teams." "Right," I say and nod. So now I'll have two exciting items on my vacation highlights list: grocery store and non-Pirate baseball game. This place is a thrill a minute. The park is a mile or so from my grandfather's house in the opposite direction from the store. As we drive, he points out some landmarks. There's big sign in front of his church advertising the festival that they're having in a few days. The hospital is right across the street from there. A few more houses follow, then we're at the ballfield. Some metal bleachers sit on one side. As we start toward them, it seems like everyone we pass knows my grandfather. "How's it going, Stanley?" one guy calls. "Who's the boy?" When my grandfather tells him, he says, "Come on, he's too good-looking to be related to you." Both of them laugh. "Hey, Stush." Another man slaps my grandfather on the back. "What's new?" We miss almost an entire inning until we finally sit down. The team at bat has "Delvecchio Hardware" printed on their shirts. Sure enough, the red team in the field says "Stanislawski Funeral Home." I'm amazed all that writing fits on the back of a shirt. "Why did that man call you Stush?" I ask. "It's just a nickname, a nickname foBartek, Mary is the author of 'Funerals & Fly Fishing', published 2004 under ISBN 9780805074093 and ISBN 0805074090.