Take Your Turn, Teddy Read online

  Teddy lowered himself to the ball on the floor, careful not to sit in the wetness. He grabbed the ball and gave it a speedy shove into the dark corner where he saw nothing but the golden color of the shadow’s eyes.

  And the shadow rolled it back.

  8

  A warmth rose from the floor under Teddy’s feet, up to his legs, and to his chest. To him, it felt like the warmth had entered his heart. He felt the tears coming again, and he felt fragile and sensitive like he hadn’t given himself the time he needed to cry it out, given what happened.

  You made me feel warmer than I have in a very long time.

  That made Teddy both happy and sad. Everywhere he went in the house, he felt a chill. Teddy felt sorry for the shadow. It occurred to him that the shadow might feel that cold even more than he did.

  “Is it cold down there?”

  It is. But when I have a friend, I don’t feel it so much.

  Teddy nodded and wiped his dripping nose. “I’m sorry I ignored you. I was scared. I get a chill sometimes in the house and...”

  If you keep talking to me, if we can be friends, I can keep you warm, Teddy.

  That was comforting to Teddy. It was strange to feel that way as he stood in his new room with the cracks in the wall and the spooky tree just outside the window. Teddy went to the toppled bookshelf and turned it right side up. He began to pack up the baseball cards in the binders, but the voice in his head came again.

  You can show me if you want to.

  Teddy raised the cards in his hand, motioning them to the other side of the room as if the shadow was standing there. Teddy realized he was alone.

  “Bring them downstairs, you mean?”

  We can do it here.

  “But I can’t see you.”

  You don’t need to. Tell me it’s okay.

  “What do you mean?”

  Tell me it’s okay to talk to you, to listen. Then you can tell me about them as you pack them away.

  Teddy was confused, but he hadn’t talked to anyone about baseball since that day on the bus with Pete. He missed it.

  “Okay. It’s okay for you to talk to me.”

  And is it okay for me to listen?

  Teddy arched his eyebrows in confusion, but went ahead anyway and said, “And it’s okay for you to listen.”

  Go ahead, Teddy. Tell me about each one.

  The tears on Teddy’s cheeks dried. He collected a stack of cards in his hand and spent the afternoon telling the shadow about the best pitchers of all time in the major league.

  “This one is Bob Gibson. We don’t like the Cardinals, but this guy is incredible. He’s already pitched in two world series. And a few years ago, he pitched so well they had to change the pitching rules so the other guys could score!”

  Teddy laughed and paused. He was sure it had only been a few days since he laughed. Still, it felt like a childhood friend who grew to become a stranger.

  He laughed again, this time forcing it a little, but happy to hear the sound.

  Teddy rolled onto his back and looked at the water-stained ceiling. “You know, I had one of the best hitters too. I have a lot of them, but one was really special to me.”

  Can I see that one too?

  “It’s back home, back in New Hampshire.”

  Why didn’t you bring it with you?

  “We left so fast. When I opened the pack that had it and went to show my dad, he was—well, he was busy. Besides, Dad taught me everything I know about baseball. I thought even if we weren’t going to be together anymore, the cards should be, all the best ones anyway.”

  Well, it’s still an impressive collection without it.

  Teddy shrugged his shoulders and grabbed the marker from his binder. He used it to mark any repeat cards he had, so he knew he had more than one if they got separated. It helped Teddy keep track of which of the good ones he could trade to Pete.

  Teddy didn’t want to talk about baseball anymore. He wanted to laugh and forget about his father, who was fifteen hours away. He didn’t know how he felt about everything that happened or what it all meant, but he knew he was tired of feeling helpless.

  Teddy walked to the cracks in the wall and sat on the cold floor. He took the marker to the eggshell-colored surface, drew three vertical lines, and then three intersecting horizontal lines.

  “Do you know this one?”

  Teddy watched as an invisible hand carved an X into the top right corner.

  Teddy smiled and answered the X with an O below it.

  After a few rounds, Teddy realized the shadow never spotted the diagonal wins. Pete had always caught those and usually beat Teddy. But that day, with the shadow, Teddy went five to nothing.

  It was just a game; he knew that. But he felt a satisfying sense of control, spotting where he would be in trouble as the shadow engraved X’s across the grid but stopping them before they could tip his winning streak.

  Winning was new to Teddy. It existed beyond the cards he collected. It was here, in the new house, with the shadow. And winning made Teddy smile.

  9

  I have a gift for you, Teddy.

  Teddy stopped at the center of the staircase. He couldn’t help but look over his shoulder, as if the shadow was just a step above him, whispering in his ears. Teddy was still getting used to a lot of things, the shadow included.

  He took another step, and the loose wood creaked beneath him. Feeling better than he had in a long time, he stomped on the step and said, “Quiet, you.”

  When the floor didn’t reply, Teddy nodded in approval. “I win.”

  You always win, Teddy.

  Teddy smiled, embarrassed. “Not always.”

  But it was true. Whatever game he played with the shadow, if there could be a winner, he won. He liked that feeling. Teddy’s mother noticed his smile as he rounded the staircase corner and stopped just short of the kitchen at the basement door.

  She smiled back and said, “Pancakes or waffles, Teddy Bear?”

  Excitement lit his eyes. “Pancakes, please.”

  Then, Teddy waited for her to turn to the cabinet and grab the mixing bowl above her. When she did, he gently opened the basement door and tiptoed down the steps.

  When he went down to see the shadow, he didn’t let his mother see. Teddy was worried she would come down after him and say he’d get sick from the moisture or get an idea to take away all the toys. Teddy didn’t need them, but he didn’t like the idea of the shadow down there all by itself.

  The thought of the last girl and the toys made Teddy wonder if the shadow’s last friend was the little girl whose name was scribbled on the foot of the creepy, talking doll. Was she the friend who left it? Maybe he would ask.

  Teddy barely set foot on the damp cement before the shadow said, My friend, it’s so good to see you.

  Teddy crossed his arms and rubbed his hands up and down the sleeves of his denim jacket.

  “How do you stay down here, Shadow? It’s so cold.”

  The shadow reached out a hand as its yellow eyes beamed through the darkness. The hand arched, raising all the two-dimensional fingers except the pointer. Then, as if it were bulging from a pop-up book, a long nail rose above the shadow and grazed Teddy’s hand. A comforting warmth, gentle and smooth, spread through Teddy. It was just like sipping hot cocoa with big marshmallows—his father insisted—after they decorated their lawn with a friendly gentleman of snow, stick limbs and all.

  Better?

  Teddy nodded, and his eyes doubled in size. “How did you do that?”

  I can do lots of tricks, Teddy. I’ll be able to do even more once I feel better.

  “Am I still helping?”

  As it always did, the shadow closed its eyes softly and opened them again—a gentle way of saying yes.

  That’s why I wanted to give you this gift. As a thank you.

  Teddy felt this rea
lly did make him and the shadow friends. Whenever he stumbled across something he thought Pete would like, like a pack of special edition baseball cards, he would ask his mother if he could rake the leaves or do the dishes to pay for an extra pack.

  The anticipation made Teddy smile.

  The skeletal hand tucked back into the darkness and then shoved forward a black and silver box with a window at the top that mimicked a beehive. It had lettering at the bottom and a red button that Teddy was eager to push. The back of it looked like a steep slide Teddy could send his army men down.

  It was a Polaroid camera. Teddy had seen commercials for them. He and Pete really wanted one. They planned to mow yards and raise the money to buy one together that summer.

  Try it out, Teddy.

  Teddy adjusted the camera so he could see the clear spot to look through. He spun around and pointed the camera at the pile of forgotten things left by the last family. The flash illuminated the corner of the room, but the basement was quick to swallow the light. A small, thick sheet rolled out the bottom of the camera. Teddy grabbed it and waved the photo as he had seen on television. But, when the image developed, Teddy was horrified. It captured Jackie’s doll. Its eager face and frozen, beady eyes flickered in the flash of the camera. Teddy threw the photo to the ground.

  Teddy fell to the floor, brought his knees to his chest, and buried his head. “I hate it here. The house always scares me. That stupid doll scares me. I want to go home.”

  Teddy heaved and sobbed.

  “My dreams scare me. The tree scares me. The steps scare me. It all scares me. I want to go home.”

  The shadow sat quietly in its dark corner and watched Teddy cry until he wore himself out. After a few minutes of sobs, Teddy pressed his palm to his dripping nose and sniffled.

  Teddy looked to the watchful yellow eyes. He didn’t want to hurt the shadow’s feelings, but he didn’t like the camera. There wasn’t anything in that house he’d want to capture. His mind remembered and created enough images as it was.

  “I’m sorry, Shadow.”

  Teddy put the camera in front of the shadow’s corner. The yellow eyes followed each of his movements. Discouraged, Teddy buried his hands in his pockets, bowed his head, and backed up the steps.

  “We can play tic-tac-toe later. I’m sorry, Shadow.”

  Teddy could smell the pancakes and the sweet vanilla his mother always added an extra spoonful of. He focused on that. If he could just think about the warm, gooey syrup, maybe the tears would subside quicker, and he wouldn’t have to explain to his mother.

  What do you want to see?

  Teddy turned back. The dark basement sat still below.

  “What do you mean?”

  The picture. If you could take a picture of anything, anywhere, what would you hope the little box would print out for you?

  To Teddy, the answer was obvious and immediate.

  “Home. I would want to see my home. Pete in his baseball cleats in the dead of winter because it was his way of holding out for spring.”

  Can you see it in your head?

  “Well, sure if I tried. I’m sure I could imag—”

  Pick up the camera, Teddy.

  Teddy froze.

  Pick it up. Trust me.

  With a little reluctance, Teddy moseyed down the steps and picked up the camera again. He half expected the doll not to wait for the flash this time and jump out as soon as he covered his face.

  “Shadow. I don’t know. My mom has breakfast waiting. She’ll be calling for me soon.”

  This is a new game, Teddy. You picked the last game. Now it’s my turn. Isn’t that how friends play?

  Teddy’s fingers fidgeted over the buttons on the front of the Polaroid. He wanted to play fair. He and Pete always played fair.

  “Er—I mean, yes.”

  The shadow closed its eyes and opened them. The gentleness to this was becoming increasingly comforting for Teddy.

  Determined, Teddy said, “Okay, Shadow. It’s your turn. How do I play?”

  Imagine your house.

  Teddy cleared his mind, closed his eyes, and his mind’s busy workers created an image of the red oak-colored house he grew up in.

  Imagine it’s winter.

  And just like that, snow blanketed the roof of the house, and the snowman Teddy and his father built last winter sat at the front of the yard.

  Imagine your friend is there. He is wearing baseball cleats.

  Pete came from the back of his house, mulled over the side yard, and sank into the snow. He puffed and grunted as he pulled his wet pant legs from the snow. He was wearing a baseball mitt over his knitted gloves, which made Teddy laugh aloud.

  Now, Teddy. Press the button now.

  The Polaroid shuttered and then hummed as it printed the photo.

  As if it were a parcel on fire, Teddy waved the photo in excitement. And at the center of the white borders of the photograph was his home back in Oakhaven. A snowman sat at the front of the yard, wearing his dad’s plaid-patterned scarf. And coming around the house was Teddy’s childhood friend. Pete was in cleats with a baseball mitt over his knitted gloves.

  “It’s Pete!”

  The fog of the image faded, and Teddy could see Pete had one foot raised mid-air, the other buried in the thick snow.

  Teddy laughed. He laughed until his sides hurt, and for the first time, when his eyes were wet, it was because he was happy.

  The shadow cackled a laugh too. The two laughed together, just like Teddy and Pete had all those years on the bus rides home. Teddy’s smile, even in the dark, scary basement, was beaming.

  “Teddy Bear! Breakfast is ready.”

  Teddy dropped the photo and fumbled for it. “Oh, shoot. Mom is calling me.” He felt around for the photo and stuffed it in his pocket before hurrying up the stairs.

  When he reached the top of the stairs, Teddy stopped and whispered to the shadow through a smile, “Thanks, Shadow! Goodbye!”

  The yellow eyes inched from the corner, and Teddy looked at them with a new sense of feeling less alone as he waved goodbye.

  Teddy closed the door and rounded the entryway to the kitchen. As he lowered into the old wicker chair that he was certain belonged on the lawn, Teddy’s thoughts of drenching his pancakes in his mother’s homemade syrup were interrupted.

  Goodbye, Teddy.

  10

  “Can you do a baseball field?” Teddy asked the shadow.

  Teddy felt a little low that day. As the summer heat beat in through the window and warmed his back, he sat slumped over in his Roger Maris jersey.

  Of course, my friend. You know how it goes.

  Teddy nodded. The process was fun and rewarding, showing Teddy memories: places he’d loved but never seen in person, or hadn’t seen since the move, like his house back in Oakhaven.

  Teddy focused on the back wall of his room, where his bed was. After more games with the shadow, Teddy felt less attached to some things from his old room. One of those things was the Jetsons bedding. Teddy cut holes into the fabric and tore at them, leaving the edges worn and frayed looking. He balled up the comforter on laundry day and handed it to his mother. She tossed it in the wash, and when she pulled it out, Teddy stood behind her and said, “Oh… man.”

  The trick worked. Money was tight, but his mom drove up to the sewing shop down the road and bought him a handmade quilt.

  A fresh start, the shadow had said. And it was right. Teddy did feel better, like he was no longer sleeping under the crushing weight of a seemingly perfect family. Teddy was surer each day that George Jetson wasn’t one hundred percent the husband and father he was on screen. He wondered if any of the adults on TV were. Or did all adults have a mean streak like his father? Or carry a ton of hurt like his mother?

  Teddy was learning adults were more mysterious than any childhood ghost story Pete’s father could tell or some
being lurking in the new home’s basement. He was figuring out the shadow. However, his mother, his father, so much of them, still felt like question marks to Teddy.

  Do you have a favorite field, Teddy?

  Teddy thought about it. His first thought was Yankee Stadium, though he had never been. But after some thinking, he said, “Wrigley Field.” It was Pete’s favorite; he loved Ron Santo and Ernie Banks. Pete was excited for summer, to watch Cubs games in the Santo jersey he got for Christmas.

  “Yes. It’s Wrigley Field. I’ve never been, but maybe one day I’ll get there. I know it. Here, I have a picture of it in one of my card binders.”

  Teddy shuffled across the floor.

  It’s okay, Teddy. We don’t need to see it. You imagine it, just like before.

  Teddy closed his eyes. He could see the ivy that covered the outfield wall. To his right, he could see Pete’s curly hair blow in the Chicago wind. A batter stood in the box, and the catcher crouched behind him. The pitcher threw a knuckleball, and Pete and Teddy’s eyes lit up as it soared across the infield. Teddy, with his eyes closed, held the Polaroid in his hand.

  Now, Teddy. Press it now.

  Teddy arched his eyebrows, ignoring the shadow. The wind began to blow harder as the clouds rushed toward one another, darkening the sky. Teddy felt his hand move to the top of his head to hold his hat down. Pete yelled, “We better get out of here! There’s a storm coming.”

  Pete began to collect his things and rose from the seat. The wind became heavier. It was angry. “Teddy! Let’s get under the awning.”

  Teddy nodded in agreement, but then he heard it. The ball, zooming to the catcher’s mitt, had vanished. The players vanished. On the field stood a beast, flaring its nostrils and kicking in the grass until it was dirt.

  Teddy tried to get up, but his body and brain were in different universes. The disconnect pinned him to his seat.

  He was walking up the stairs from their seats. The wind carried the popcorn from the bag in his hand, and Pete let go of it.

  “Teddy! Come on!”

  Teddy tried to shove his body forward to throw himself out of his seat with all his might but a crushing force held him back.