The Last One

The Last One

Saturday is what I waited for all week. Dad’s away in Seven Islands --- at the mine. No more work here in Noranda Copper for now. Mom’s asleep, said she had to catch up on her dreams --- she’s a waitress on the midnight shift. At a Chinese place, with some kind of dragon name. Good food there they say, but we can’t afford to go.

The owner, Mr. Woo, often gives mom leftovers from the restaurant. He’s a nice man. For a treat, he tells mom to tell us. But I know better, I’m the oldest of five kids and I think he knows sometimes we don’t have ‘nuff to eat. My big ears hear old people tell, mom got the short end of the stick. I’m not sure why they tattle like that. Maybe it’s ‘cause dad drinks a lot. That’s why mom has to work. Just wish she didn’t scream at us kids so much.

I’m almost eleven, a big kid. But it’s okay to play in our park with younger ones. They’re poor like us; well as least we have lots of warm clothes. They’re second hand, but that’s okay. I’m lucky I have a neighbour pal just two years older than me and I get his after.

Today is chilly, I think its 1951. Doesn’t matter --- time for picking teams. This is the part I don’t like. I’m probably the worst hitter in the whole world. That’s why I’m usually the last one to get picked. There’s ten of us today, some with fathers who stay home. And others who have none, so, I’m lucky I guess.  

Chicky is a Captain of course. He’s the only one got a homerun hit once.  And the other is big mouth Lee. They go one, two, one, two. Then only two left; me and a kid who smells. He sure needs a bath. I get picked first. That makes me really happy. At least today, I’m not last.