babes baseball alley
Babe looked down at her saddle shoes. They were beat up, and the parts that used to be white were brown. She knocked her feet together—dirt puffed in a plume and then settled into the well-worn wood floor. Her socks were sagging, and her favorite dress was stained at the hem from perfecting her slide into first—even though her father told her not to.
What did he expect? He’d named her after THE BABE. Baseball was in her blood. He should understand—he’d been in the minors!
He wasn’t gonna be happy today. Babe looked at the clock on the far side of Headmaster Beefbourne’s desk. Beefbourne hadn’t been at school today, but that didn’t mean there wouldn’t be hell to pay when he returned.
She should’ve been home by now—helping her aunt cook dinner, stocking shelves at the store.
Her face was dirty, streaked where tears had cleaned a path on the way down. She was so mad she could just spit!
She always cried when she was angry. With a name like Babe, you couldn’t be crying all the time. But when she got upset, she just couldn’t keep it inside.
She looked at her hands. They were filthy too. Bits of chocolate stuck to her fingers and the front of her dress. The packaging had been pretty—but maybe she needed to make it stronger. Her plan had been good. She knew it. Why’d it have to be so hot today? The chocolate had melted faster than she expected—but the candy was a huge hit at recess. All the kids wanted something, and she nearly sold out by the time Headmistress Silkswing came over, butting her big butt into Babe’s business. That woman even had the gall to take the money Babe had earned fair and square.
Now they were making her dad pick her up. Who was gonna watch the store? Would they give him the money she had made? Maybe that would help settle him down—if he could just see. She wasn’t trying to make trouble. She was trying to be useful. What’s better than a candy store the kids come to? A candy store that comes to the kids. Obviously.So that’s what she’d done. She’d stayed up all night making the names and drawing the logos just like she saw them in her head. Nobody wanted just a sweet. They wanted Jaw-Jammers, Sticky Mitts, Bubble Rubber, and Chompers. The people wanted baseball-flavored magic. They just didn’t know it yet—until she told them. And when she did? They wanted what she had. She’d damn near had to fight them off.
This is why she needed an assistant. Someone to take the money while she told stories about her candy—about the inventions she worked so hard on. People wanted an experience!
Sure, it was the same candy you could get anywhere—but when you got it from Babe, you got it with style. All of it turned into something better. The sweet was sweeter. The crunch more crunchy. The chew even more chewy.
If she could just find someone she trusted—not Chess (he would want all the profit), not Blues (he was never around)—someone people liked, who wouldn’t want too much… then they could do it again. But better. She could set up in the alley beside the school—the side with no windows—because weren’t all the teachers just soooooo nosey? She’d have a password. Something her assistant would ask to make sure there were no snitches. Because of course Nellie Roberts would be the first to tell, that stuck-up rat. Just one whiff of candy and she’d be running to the—
Click clack.
The sharp sound of Ms. Silkswing’s heels with her father’s heavy footfalls echoed down the hall into the room she was currently a hostage in.
Crap.
She’d forgotten she was in trouble. Her money was gone, the candy too. Her mom would be so disappointed.
Babe fiddled with the melted chocolate on her dress, picking at the patches, trying to rub them out with her grimy fingernails.
She sighed—the kind of heavy sigh that comes when you’ve been crying and people won’t listen and your dress is ruined and you’re about to get the switch.
That woman was probably telling her dad only the bad stuff. Like the tiny fight between two boys who both wanted a Sticky Mitt (her own invention—caramel sandwiched between a peanut chocolate bar and a piece of cashew brittle. It really did make your hands sticky if you didn’t eat it fast enough, but like she told them, you wouldn’t be waiting that long because it was the absolute best). She was gonna auction it to the highest bidder! But the fight broke out before she could even explain.
Ms. Silkswing swept into the room with a smug little smirk. “Here she is. Quite the troublemaker today, haven’t you been, Babe?”
Babes father came in behind her - taking up most of the doorway.
‘Ugh” Didn’t she just think she was the best. Bun always perfect, skirt always straight. Babe was sure she never had any fun.
Babe sprang to her feet—she couldn’t take it. It wasn’t fair! She met Ms. Silkswing’s gaze, because she couldn’t meet her father’s, and shouted louder than she meant to: “Where’s my money?! I earned it, and fair’s fair!”
Ms. Silkswing’s tight mouth twitched into a crooked smirk. “Ah yes. The very thing that started this mess. Babe made herself a little bootlegging operation that caused quite a stir. As I told you, Mr. Little, that sort of thing has no place at Buttonhills Elementary.”
She pulled a small envelope from her apron pocket and handed it to Babe’s father. “I’d take the cleaning fees out of her profits, but perhaps she can work it off during lunch instead.”
Her father didn’t open the envelope. He just slipped it into his pocket and sighed, he looked tired and maybe a little confused.
“Get your things, Babe. We have work, and the store is closed.” He turned to Silkswing. “Thank you. Cleaning will keep her hands busy until you say otherwise. We’ll handle the rest at home.” He turned to Babe and gave a sharp glare.
Babe’s insides turned to mush. Her stomach hurt. Her fists clenched.
They walked down the hallway together - silent. Her father never yelled. He wasn’t a man who handled things that way. Sometimes she wished he would. She never knew what he was thinking. Today was no different.
She felt defeated. Angry. This was NOT how it was supposed to go. She wanted to explain herself. Needed him to know that she had done them proud and there wasn’t a kid outside who hadn’t wanted a piece of Babes Baseball Alley candy. It was a hit and then everything had been taken and not single old biddy had told her that her packaging was great and it really was. She had EVEN double checked her spelling because good work gets rewarded and people needed to know she had quality stuff.
But she couldn’t.
The squishy parts just kept tying themselves into knots until that knot got so big it took up all the space she had and she couldn’t squeeze out a word. She clenched her fists and again - she cried. Not like a baby , even though that’s what they sometimes called her. She did it quietly - tried desperately to stop.
They continued the walk home in silence. This was always they way when he was upset. He would tell her mother and her mother would ask her why and sometimes when Babe tried to explain her mother would try to understand. But, so often they just didn’t.
Turning the corner to their block - an ocean breeze FINALLY blowing in from the bay. As Babe laid eyes on their store sign proclaiming “Home Run Sweets” she began to calm - a bit.
This was just the opening game after all. You can’t make candy without making a mess. She knew that from experience. Sure, there were kinks to work out. The Babe didn’t hit a home run EVERY time. Even the Yanks sometimes lose a game. But they keep playing. She learned her lesson, she could do better. WOULD do better. All those high-hats didn’t see what she was doing - but hey, that was their problem.
Coney Island was there waiting.
She could learn the candy biz and build it into the greatest show on earth until she made it out to the big leagues, back to New York. The place her family should have never left. Union St was her home. For now. And sure she had never seen New York but by rights she should have been born there. She had bigger dreams and schemes that San Francisco couldn’t hold. One day she would have her own shop - right on the boardwalk of Coney Freaking Island! A big sign all her own in between the fortune tellers and freaks and the Cyclone.
Her people - she could FEEL it.
WRITTEN BY BOOM! / PREFORMED BY BOOM!
soapbox / audio: via hermes mixtape
