VinDo

“Vinny, close your window. I’ve turned on the air conditioner,” said Pops.

Wow, the old man had turned on the air conditioner? Pops was not concerned about the cost of the electricity bill? What a treat, I thought sarcastically as I rolled out of bed and walked across the creaking floorboards.

The vinyl, single-paned, outswing casement window creaked as I started rolling the plastic crank handle shut. I cursed as the window fought valiantly against my high school pitcher arm strength. It finally gave in as the power of my biceps overcame the poor engineering of the window unit.

“Garbage window,” I muttered under my breath.

I didn’t want Pops to hear me. Pops was a salesperson for Wyndam Inc. - “your premier windows company in the Midwest.”

Hah! 

Bullshit premier windows company.

The “premier company” did not give its employees decent raises or even discounts on their products. Which is why Wyndam salespeople resorted to cheap, vinyl, single paned windows in their homes instead of classy, wood-cased, double panes.

“Hey, I’m going to head out to meet a client about a custom window order. It’s a big deal,” said Pops with a gleam in his eyes, as he headed out the front door.

I grunted. 

Pops was consumed with windows. He talked about windows all the time to the point where knowledge about windows had ingrained itself into my consciousness – bay windows, double hungs, transoms, bows…you name it. It had become obsessive to the point where I absolutely detested those glass enclosed wall openings.

I think Pops named me Vincent on purpose - my name, Vincent Dozier – shortened to Vin Dozier at first pass – shortened to “VinDo” by all my so-called well-meaning friends. The fact that I, “VinDo”, could walk by a “window” and not break out into a screaming fit was an act of absolute composure.

Damn windows.

You have to be named Bill Gates to like them.

Dad had left a pot of spaghetti on the stove for dinner. I forked some in my mouth as I gazed at the peeling wallpaper on the kitchen walls.

A finch flew by and perched on the ledge outside the kitchen window as I ate my dinner. It gave a mocking look at the slightly cracked, single paned, single hung and flew away with a shrill cry. Finches have standards I guess, – they don’t want to hang around low-end window mediocrity.

The finch reminded me about Mom. She had moved out a couple of years ago. She now had a boyfriend, Bill, who was a contractor. I guess she preferred a guy who could talk to her about walls and foundations rather than just windows. Besides, Bill had a house that had these fancy, floor to ceiling double paned picture windows in his large living room. 

I hadn’t seen Mom in quite a while and I had stopped answering her texts. I did miss her and her spaghetti, which was so much better than Pop’s, but you know, life goes on. You can’t just yearn for things that you can’t have – that’s figurative window-shopping, really.

I sighed. It was about time that I got my English assignment done for school. I opened my book and went through my Shakespeare.

“But soft! What light through yonder window breaks? It is the east and Juliet is the sun.”

Romeo and Juliet reminded me of Julie. I had to text my girl. Talking to Julie made me feel all right.

 “You’re coming to my baseball game tomorrow, right?” I texted.

“Of course, babe. Let's talk tomorrow, ok? I’m struggling with homework now,” came the reply.

Damn it. 

I took my Shakespeare book and threw it against the yonder window in anger.

I drove up to Julie’s house the next morning. I always picked her up before school. I waved to her Dad who didn’t wave back. He stood glowering as usual by the beautiful bay window that overlooked the street from his living room. Julie’s Dad clearly did not want his daughter to be with the likes of me, who drove up in a beaten pick-up truck with no power windows and a cracked windshield.

“So, I need to talk to you,” said Julie.

“What’s up?”

“I think I am going to accept the admission from Central State.”

I slammed my brakes unnecessarily hard as I got to the stop sign.

“Vinny, babe… stop that, ok?” said Julie, irritably.

“Central is a couple of hours from here,” I mumbled.

“I know…I know…but I like the school. And it’s better than our local City College. Why…why don’t you come to Central too?”

“You know why. I can’t afford it.”

Julie could afford Central. If her Dad could afford tempered glass, bay windows flanked by casements in the living room, he could afford to send his daughter to Central.

“We’ll talk everyday. And I’ll visit. It won’t be that bad,” said Julie, as we reached school.

“Good luck at your game, babe. You pitch well, you hear?” she said, as she gave me a quick kiss in the parking lot.

I muddled through the day as the thought of Julie leaving made me feel like blackout shades were rolling down and blotting the sunshine from the windows that overlooked my future. The windows of my life – I guess we could call them vindos?

The vindos were still blacked out in the late afternoon when I got to the baseball field at the other end of the school.

“Okay, guys, we have a couple of college coaches here to scout us, okay?” said Coach to the team. “Lets put on a good show and put out our best stuff.”

“Mikey, you’re starting. Vinny, I need you to be ready in relief,” continued Coach.

Mikey was a flamethrower. He started off great in the first inning while I warmed up in the bullpen.

“You know, Mikey’s fastball hit 90 miles today,” smirked Dougie, my catcher.

“So what?” I muttered.

“Well…he’s so much faster than you,” continued Dougie.

“Shut up and catch, okay man?”

I hurled the ball at Dougie hoping to physically wipe out his smirk but he caught the ball deftly with his mitt. There was no point in getting angry but I could not help myself.  My figurative vindos were blacked out and here was my catcher smearing dirt on the vindo-panes. You ain’t a true catcher unless you stick up for your pitcher, and that’s the truth.

Someone had to be on my side, okay? At some goddamn point?

But it was not going to happen today. Mikey was going great guns. He pitched a solid game. With college coaches in the bleachers, I was not going to get a chance to pitch.

After the team talk at the end of the game, I headed back into the bullpen to get my gear.  I thought about my life, Pops, Mom, Julie and City College, my damn vindos and my shithead of a catcher.

Damn.

My anger boiled over. I had to vent. I picked up a lone baseball lying on the ground and hurled it as hard as I could over the bullpen. I heard the ball land somewhere far beyond the bleachers and glass breaking.

Damn it all.

I ran out as fast as I could. As I got to the ticket booth that sat well beyond the bleachers, I stepped onto a patch of broken glass. I could see the baseball that I had thrown through the shattered window of the booth. I looked up and saw Coach walking in my general direction with a look that was clearly not happiness.

I yanked my cap off my head and smacked it against my leg as I wondered what I would need to pay to fix the uh…uh whatever kind of window that was in the ticket booth.

“Its okay, son. It’s just a standard walk up ticket window – model 6014. And a cheap one at that. I can get a bargain replacement from Wyndam,” said a voice that I knew well.

“What are you doing here, Pops?” I said, in a surprised voice.

“I came to see my son pitch.”

“Well, I didn’t get to do that, did I?” I said, dejectedly.

“Ah…there’ll be other games, son,” he said as he patted my shoulder. It felt strange to be patted on the shoulder. Pops had not done that in a while.

“So, you’re a pitcher huh?” said a guy who had been standing near the bleachers.

“Yeah,” I said. Who was this guy?

“You threw the ball from the bullpen to here? Hell, kid. That’s quite a distance. That’s some arm you got there,” said the guy.

“Uh…huh.” I mumbled. 

“You ever thought of being an outfielder?”

I blinked at the guy. Who was this guy again?

“I could really use an arm like yours in the outfield. If you’re interested, give me a call. By the way, I’m the outfield coach from Central,” said the guy, handing me his business card.

I blinked several times. The blackout shades on the vindos were rolling up. There was even a hint of sunshine creeping through.

“I know that the outfield is not something that you’re used to and most players would rather be a pitcher instead. But we really need outfielders and we do have good scholarships. And …” continued the Central Coach.

“I’m interested, sir…I am… its just…its just…I have to leave my home … my Pops …” I interrupted, weakly.

What the hell was I doing? Was I making excuses not to go to Central? With a scholarship in hand?  Open your vindo, you doofus, get a breath of fresh air and clear your head.

“Oh…I think we can make it worth your while in Central. By the way, that’s a good thing son, thinking about your Dad. We need more caring, responsible kids like you,” said the Coach.

“He’s a mighty fine boy, Coach. You’ll like him at Central,” chimed in Dad.

The sun that rose in the east beamed right through the yonder vindos as Shakespeare would have said.

I looked at the business card that I held in my hand. I rubbed my forehead in disbelief. Did all that stuff just happen? Oh my word, I could imagine how excited Julie would be. 

A thought struck me.

“Pops, if I go to Central, you’ll be all alone… won’t you?” I said, hesitantly.

“Your old man will be just fine, son. You know I’ll have your Mom for company,” said Pops.

I gave a start. Pops laughed at my look of astonishment.

“Yeah…Mom is waiting at home with the spaghetti that she makes that you like so much. She misses her guys – including her favorite baseball player.”

A finch flew to the ledge outside my vindo.

“What…what about…the guy…Bill?” I stammered.

“I guess it didn’t work out. And I don’t want to ask. When a window opens, you don’t pull down the shades, son,” said Pops, with a smile.

The finch settled down on the ledge outside the vindo. It seemed like a good place to roost.

I looked at the hole in the window that I had just broken and I grinned.

Sometimes, I guess it just takes a broken window to get doors to open, huh?