Elysian Fields

“What exactly are you looking for?”

Emerson Ferdinand stood center in the homemade baseball field of his childhood home. He was a muscular man with a battered and ragged appearance. In his late thirties at the most, Emerson remembered how the townsfolk would praise his skill and support his ambition. He was on his way to becoming a professional baseball player, even playing a minor league game once in Baltimore. Nowadays, Emerson was eager to lash out and quick-tempered. In memory, the events that caused his spirits to fail were still clear as day. In January 2010, Emerson had applied for a job. A sales associate position with a decent pay rate. The first few days of work went by with ease until a couple of bigots made their presence a permanent factor in Emerson’s life. A few indecent exchanges and his dream of making it big was ruined with a record of violence and aggravated assault. 

“I don’t know,” Emerson responded nonchalantly. 

He stood across the field from a young woman. Villetta was her name, she had begun her fascination with Emerson’s life since the peak of her adolescence. 

“Well whatever it is,” Villetta started as she walked over to Emerson, placing an item in his hand. “I hope you find it.” 

“Where is it Villetta?!”

Kaiser Tomlinson, Villetta’s soon-to-be stepfather, approached her with silent rage. “Don’t hassle her, it’s too early in the morning,” Joan, Villetta’s mother, made her way into the entryway where the two were. 

“She’s got my card Joan,” Kaiser began, “It was a Honus Wagner card!” Wagner, a famous baseball player, had 3,420 hits and 723 stolen bases in his career with the Louisville Colonels and Pittsburgh Pirates from 1897 to 1917. It was a replica of the card, a fake that Villetta had stolen from Kaiser’s drawer. Thinking it would be a compliment to the man with no ambition, she gave it to Emerson in hopes it would boost his spirits. 

“She gave it to that hoodlum, I know she did,” Kaiser yelled as Villetta attempted to maneuver around him. “Kid’s got a crush on a criminal, a grown goddamn man Joan, the same man that was on the news for beating up the elderly!”

“It wasn’t like that,” Villetta stopped in her tracks, facing Kaiser head-on now. “You don’t know what you’re talking about!” 

“Oh yeah,” Kaiser stared down at Villetta, a mischievous grin appearing on his face, “By the time ya’ get your first period, your little boyfriend will be long gone!”

“You’re just mad cause’ Emerson’s more of a man than you’ll ever be!” 

“That’s enough!“

Before Joan could intervene, Kaiser’s hand had already struck Villetta’s left cheek. 

Villetta shoved at Kaiser and made her way upstairs to her room while the arguing continued. 

“It’s not like she’s gonna grow up and marry the guy Joan,” Kaiser’s voice rang from downstairs, “The girl worships a bum for Christ's sake!” A single tear fled down Villetta’s face as she grabbed a pillow, holding the folds over her ears. 

“A bum huh,” Emerson took a swig of his cigarette, then passed it to Villetta. “He doesn’t know shit,” Putting out the cigarette, Villetta sat next to Emerson on the outdoor bench. “I had a friend once,” Emerson pulled a photo from his pocket, showing it to Villetta. “Served for five years, got injured, people started calling him the same thing.” 

“Where is he now?” Villetta asked. “Dead,” Emerson stuffed the photo back into his pocket, standing up as the afternoon bus approached. “Guess he didn’t have much to believe in anymore.”

“And do you have something to believe in?” 

Villetta stood as if to follow Emerson onto the bus but she knew she couldn’t. “If you do, don’t give up on it okay?” Emerson turned slightly, pulling something from a pouch on the front of his backpack. “This,” Villetta saw the Honus Wagner card she’d given to him. “If nothing else, I believe in this.” Villetta laughed to herself, surprised that Emerson kept the fraudulent card. “I mean, not the card itself, but the person who gave it to me,” Emerson stepped onto the bus and waved goodbye to Villetta. “Bye, kid.”

A week after Emerson’s departure, Villetta began a mission. She was gonna form a league of her own. A baseball team with a female pitch. The townsfolk would be calling her “Villetta Ruth” when she was done. 

“Sounds stupid,” number eight of the nine assembled players of Villetta’s team, voiced his disapproval. “Girls can’t play baseball anyway, I bet you don’t even know any players.” 

“I do too,” Villetta said enraged, grabbing the boy by his collar, “Emerson Ferdinand, I’m gonna be just like him!” 

“Stand with your feet straight and knees bent, hold the bat up with two hands,” Villetta instructed as her team followed suit one by one. “Bring it forward quickly but smoothly and shift your weight from your back foot to your front.” For weeks, the team had been practicing like a couple of minor pros. 

“We’re leaving V,” a member of Villetta’s team 

spoke up as the others seemed too afraid. “It’s a tryout camp, everyone’s parents already paid for it.” Villetta became uneasy. She knew her parents wouldn’t approve of her playing baseball, much less going to a tryout camp. “It costs too much money,” Joan would say. Kaiser would probably laugh in her face. All of Villetta’s hard work, only for her team to abandon her, was too much to take in. She formed a smile, not wanting them to see her as weak, but a leader, their leader. She may have led a team of future pros to the big leads, that was something to believe in. Just as Emerson believed in her, Villetta would believe in that much. 

“Women belong in the kitchen, become a cook why don’t you,” Villetta didn’t hide her eyes full of contempt for Kaiser. Both he and her mother had been naive. Villetta then realized how similar she had been to Emerson. The lack of his ambition due to the circumstances surrounding him. No one supported his dreams, only put emphasis on his failures. 

It was at midnight when Villetta had formed a plan. She had taken a handful of limited edition baseball cards from Kaiser’s drawer and packed a few pairs of clothes. She’d decided that she was going to run away. With the help of money from her piggy bank, Villetta had enough to take the bus. Her destination? She didn’t know.

But she would get there. 

After finding a reliable town broker, Villetta received over a thousand for the stolen baseball cards. “Now what’s a little girl like you going to do with all of this money?” The shop’s owner asked with honest curiosity.

“Not what, where,” Villetta smiled, placing the money into a small pouch on her suitcase. “First, I’m going to a tryout camp for baseball.”

“And then?”

Villetta pulled something from her pocket, a handmade paper-mache baseball card. “Ferdinand 1984,” read on the cover.

“I’m going to Emerson Fields.”