CHAPTER 2: FATHER AND DAUGHTER

Since Gordie and I lived next door to each other, he volunteered to walk me home. I kept on insisting that I wasn't a damsel in distress, I didn't need a security guard with me, but all the boys insisted.

Anyway, as we were walking home, Gordie looked at me. "Joey, what's the deal with you and Chris?" he finally burst out after a long time.

I stopped dead in my tracks. How had he found out? Was I that obvious? Oh, God, did Chris know? "Wh- wh- what're you talking about, Gordie?"

Gordie raised his eyebrows. "Don't play dumb with me, Miss Johanna Randall. I've seen the way you look at him, and the way you talk to him, and the way you always pick him first for baseball teams, and everything else." He laughed. "Joey and Chris, sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G. First comes love, then comes marriage, then comes-"

"Shut up, I thought you were supposed to be the mature one!" I yelled as I slugged him on the shoulder. Calming myself, I said, "Sorry, I didn't mean to burst out, Gordo. It's just that I know he doesn't like me back, so why waste time with something that's not worth chasing after?"

Gordie looked at me with his soulful brown eyes. "How can you be so sure that he doesn't like you back, Jo?"

"Um, hello? You people are obsessed with Annette Funicello and Marilyn Monroe. They have all the things I don't: grace, style, beauty, tits… femininity," I sighed.

Gordie laughed. "Well, I know for a fact that, even though we may not show it sometimes, all four of us guys would choose you over Annette any day."

I smiled and tousled his hair as we arrived at the walkways of our separate houses. Once I got to my doorway, I yelled what we always yelled to each other: "See ya!"

Gordie yelled back, "Not if I see you first!" as he shut the door.

I shut the door behind me and hung my baseball cap on the coat rack near the door.

"JOOOOOOOOEEEEEEEEYYYYYYY!" I heard my kid brother Mickey scream as he ran across the house (as well as he could run at about two and a half years) to give me a hug.

I couldn't help but laugh. Mickey thought I was the greatest thing since sliced bread, and that was the way he always greeted me. "Hey there, M and M," I laughed, scooping him up and kissing him on his head, which had thick curls of my dad's red hair. I called him M and M because those were his initials: Michael Martin Randall.

I put Mickey down and he started jumping up and down. "Joey! Joey! Joey! Joey! Guess what! I painted a picture of you and Chris and Gordie and Teddy and Vern. Do you wanna see it? Do you?"

"Okay, okay, slow down! You're like a little Mexican jumping bean today, Mick," I said as he dragged me by way of my pinky up the stairs. When he pulled the picture out of his room to show me, I really couldn't see anything except four orange blobs with smiles on them. Thankfully, Mickey felt the need to describe each blob to me:

"Okay, you see this one?" he asked as he pointed to an especially round one. "That's Vern. I put chocolate around his mouth so you could see him better."

Oh. That explained why Vern had a random Italian mustache.

Mickey went on: "And this one with the glasses is Teddy. And the one that's holding hands with you," he said, pointing to two basically identical orange blobs that were joined by a strip of orange, "is Chris."

I nodded. "Um, Mick, which of us is which?" I asked, not wanting to sound mean.

Mickey, however, seemed totally unfazed and just kept on trucking: "The one on the left is you. You see how I put eyelashes on you?" he said, pointing to the three huge black lines coming out of the two blobs of blue that I took to be my eyes. "And then this one is Gordie." Mickey then stepped next to his painting and bowed as I clapped. "Aw, M and M, I love it! I'll go put it up in my room right now," I said as I took the painting off of the easel and took it down the hall to my room.

After I had promised Mickey I would be right back out, I went to my supply drawer, took out some tape, and hung the picture next to my bed. I then started to get ready to find Ray Brower. I got my canteen, my sleeping bag and First Aid kit. As I reached up in the closet to grab my flashlight, something fell out of the box it was in. I reached down to pick it up… and almost started to cry. It was a picture of me with my mother when I was young. I held the picture to my chest and let out a breath. Even though I was only four, I could still remember the day she left:

"NO, FRANK, I'VE HAD IT!" my mom screamed as she marched downstairs. I snapped my head up from the "Fun with Dick and Jane" book I was reading to see my mom throwing things into a purse and muttering something under her breath.

"Mommy? Where are you going?"

"I'm leaving here, Johanna. I'm leaving and not coming back."

I started to cry. "But I don't want you to leave, Mommy. Why aren't you staying?"

My mom sighed. "Johanna… this life isn't right for me. Now, I love you and your father, but that's exactly why I think I should leave; I'm no good for either of you."

Just then, my dad appeared on the stairway. "Ruth, please don't leave," he was saying. It was the first time I had ever seen my dad cry. "How will I raise Joey without you?"

My mom stiffened. "I've told you a million times, Frank: her name is Johanna. You have to promise me you will raise her like a proper young lady."

"I won't raise her that way if it means that she won't be happy. I want her to live her life the way she wants, not the way we want."

"She's a child: she doesn't know what she wants."

I got mad. I stood up and stomped on the ground with my foot. "YES I DO KNOW WHAT I WANT! I WANT MY MOMMY AND DADDY TO BE TOGETHER AND NOT FIGHT!"

My mom shook her head. "Let me teach you one thing before I leave, Johanna: you can't always get what you want." And just like that, my mother was gone.

My dad fell on the ground next to me and squeezed me so tight, that I thought my insides would burst. "I promise you now that I will never leave you," my dad sobbed. "And you will always be happy."

I hugged my dad back as tight as I could and said, "Daddy, when I grow up, I want to be like those ballplayers you told me about. Can you teach me how to be like them?"

My dad laughed and brushed hair out of my face. "When you turn six, I'll start teaching you how to hit, ok?" And we just sat there for the next five minutes holding each other, neither ever wanting to let the other go.

I shook myself out of my trance when I heard Mickey yell, "DADDYYYYYY!" I smiled, ripped the photo in half and threw it in the trash as I ran downstairs to find my dad. When I saw him, and how happy he was, it made feel really proud that I had him for a father. He looked up and smiled the smile he always smiled for me. "How's my Molly Pitcher?" He called me Molly Pitcher for two reasons: 1) He was a big American history buff, and 2) he was the one who taught me how to throw a ball.

"Fine," I smiled as he kissed me on the cheek. "Hey, Dad? Is it alright if I tent out tonight in Vern's back field?"

My dad stroked his beard. "That Tessio kid? The fat one that's obsessed with pennies?"

I cracked up. "Yup, that's him."

"Who else will be there, Jo?"

"Just Chris and Gordie and Teddy. And Vern, obviously."

"Will that jerk-off Ace Merrill be there? You know how I feel about him."

I shuddered. "Dad, if he even sets foot near their house, I'll pack up my sleeping bag and convince the others to camp out in our field."

My dad grinned. "That's my girl. I'm fine with it. You all ready to go?"

Just as I was about to respond, the doorbell rang. "I'LL GET IT!" Mickey yelled as he wobbled over to open the door. I really wasn't quite ready for what he said next, though: "CHRIIIIS!"