A Fine Line

Maybe I was the only person in the neighborhood who paid any attention to Mamie Jo. I suppose I knew a shy, timid, kindred soul when I saw one. She'd recently come from Miami to live with Mrs. Walden. In early May, the "Lamar Street Gang," as we called ourselves, looked forward to the end of school. Summer was ahead. For most of us that meant play, play, and more play everyday from dawn to dusk. In Fort Brooke, summer school hadn't been invented yet.

The major league baseball season was in high gear, and we had our own version of the game. Since there were more girls than boys in the neighborhood at that time, our game was a different kind of softball. There were no strict rules, except that players should get a hit each time they came to bat. Even if it took all day. I was always the pitcher for both sides because my hand-eye skills were perfect for our Lamar Street game.

I pitched directly at the two-by-four in the batter's hands. Anybody could hit the soft rubber ball I threw. But if somebody's broken arm was in a plaster cast, or the person weighed less than the batter's board, I gladly left the pitcher's spot and touched the board with the ball. That stood for a hit to first base.

So, when I got the idea to move our playground to the front of Mrs. Walden's porch, there was no problem. Playing ball was the only time I dared to take charge. The pitcher's word was law. We'd never played that close to busy Henderson Avenue before, but traffic was light on Lamar, where we were.

When I asked Mrs. Walden if Mamie Jo could play ball with us, she nodded with a stony face. She was used to seeing me stop and talk a little while with her granddaughter on my way to and from the grocery store. The lady even let Mamie Jo's little brother stand at the curb to watch our game. The two white ladies were sitting in the rocking chairs on their veranda. The one who could see turned her chair to face Lamar after we showed up to play near her house.

Mamie Jo was overjoyed and, surprisingly, it didn't take her long to get a hit. I was deep into the game, trying to get all the bases loaded. Wimpy and Jimmy Lee, regular visitors from Governor Street next to Lamar, were playing outfield. Janie was the shortstop. Brother, who lived downstairs from me, was the catcher.

All went well until Gladys hit a pop-fly. The ball sailed into the sisters' yard and bounced in the flowerbed next to their porch. Fearless Wimpy darted after it, jumping right in the middle of some beautiful pansies. He threw the ball to me, and the white lady went quickly inside her house.

I sometimes wonder if what happened that Friday afternoon in May was just meant to be. Why we did not scatter and run from there at that moment can't be explained. We kept playing our ballgame without a care. Mrs. Walden was peacefully taking a nap, something I'd never seen her do in all my many trips to Mr. Sam's.

None of us saw the black-and-white police car that stopped quietly in front of the mansion. Both sisters were still sitting on the veranda. They hadn't said a word to us. The one with the dark glasses kept her head down as if she might be asleep. But the one who'd called the police got up, and went to the edge of her veranda the moment the police car drove up. Two white policemen dressed in black uniforms, with guns and Billy clubs at their waists, got out of the car.

That's when Brother whispered behind me in alarm, "Here come the cops!"

The men didn't speak to the sister who called them. She folded both arms across her chest and frowned at everybody. One officer was much older than the other. Both seemed to be dragging their feet, taking longer than necessary to get to us. I remember thinking they really didn't want anything to do with the sisters or us.

The older policeman beckoned. "Y'all come here!"

We inched toward them.

"Leola got the ball," Janie muttered.

I dropped it at once.

Wimpy had the nerve to speak. He'd had many run-ins with the law, and was now between trips to the county reform school. "We ain't done nothing."

"Y'all can't play here," the policeman said, pointing at the sisters' house. "Don't come near this place again." He glanced around at the group of young faces.

Mamie Jo's little brother ran to his grandmother on the porch and shook her awake. When the old lady saw the two policemen, she got up quickly and grabbed the porch's railing, but she kept quiet.

"Don't never come past that alley behind the garage there." He drew a horizontal line in the air with his finger. "You got all the rest of your street to play on." The man's face looked very unfriendly when he paused. "That clear?"

Everybody except Wimpy and Janie nodded.

"Now, we don't want to have to come out here about y'all again!"

They turned and walked quickly back to the patrol car. The young policeman touched the brim of his hat as he passed the sister on the veranda. We didn't move until the police car drove off fast down Henderson.

"Mamie Jo!" Mrs. Walden shouted shrilly. "Come home!"

The girl ran home fast. Wimpy, looking hurt, picked up the ball and gave it to me. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the lady who called the police on us guiding her blind sister toward their front door. The game was over. Nobody felt like playing ball anymore. We slowly moved back down Lamar. Wimpy and Jimmy Lee ran into the alley leading to the street where they lived. I was certain that Mamie Jo would never play ball with us again.

I also knew that another line had just been drawn to push my friends and me further inside our small world.