Ken “Bread Knife” Peavy and his wife Kelly lived way out in the country off of Old Bethel Road with their frail, sickly son Toby. The Peavy’s were not people of means but they owned a good sized plot of land. “Got me a shooting range, quail field, 4 wheeler trails, couple a’ ten deer blinds out there somewhere. Even got a creek when it rains.” Ken was a jack of all trades. Worked odd jobs for a living. His true passion was welding. Kelly was a part time teller at Julep First National Credit Union and full time smoker. Toby just wanted to play baseball. He was in a team that practiced at the rec center but he never got to play in any games. Much to Ken’s annoyance and embarrassment, he was always sick, had asthma, and couldn’t run without the use of five different inhalers. “It’s either welding rods or medicine...and medicine don’t make no money.”
Twice a week Ken, Kelly, and Toby would pile in their beat up blue minivan to make their way into town for Toby’s practice and games. The van had two sliding doors but only one worked. “Jammed the other one when I got t-boned by a pine tree running donuts on some pea gravel.” Usually the van was Kelly’s daily driver but Ken didn’t trust her driving alone anymore since she flicked a cigarette butt on the passenger side seat and caught it on fire. They had to take the seat out because the chemical smell was making Toby’s asthma act up but it gave Ken the opportunity to bolt a wooden kitchen chair to the floorboard...and the burnt chair found a new home in the front yard. “Looks good out there if you ask me.”
Toby looked forward to practice all week. He loved the game. Loved the excitement. Loved the smell of the concession stand where they made funnel cakes. “Momma said if I ever score a run then she gonna get me one of them funnel cakes.” Kelly never intended to get Toby a funnel cake. She didn’t even watch the practice or the games. “Coach ain’t never gonna put him in.” Instead she would saunter around the parking lot, cigarette in hand. Always wearing short shorts and cowboy boots, winking at the fathers, glaring at the mothers. Ken would crack a tall boy, recline the chair in the van and put his cap over his eyes. “Ain’t no nap like a parking lot nap.”
One humid summer evening Toby reported to the dugout and was met with a surprise. Apparently half the team was on a day trip with the Julep First Assembly Youth Group and their bus broke down on the way home from a water park. They weren’t going to make it to the game. Toby was going to get to play. His heart beat with excitement and confusion as he pondered the irony. He was also supposed to have gone with the youth group to the water park but Ken couldn’t find his checkbook and instead made him clear all the glass shards and rusty beer cans out of the shooting range. “Deddy must have known that was gonna happen and that’s why he didn’t want me to go to the water park. He knew I was gonna get to play.”
The coach put Toby in left field and at the bottom of the batting lineup. This was a competitive team. The other boys couldn’t figure out why Toby was even on the team given his condition but it made sense when one observed the coaches eyes when Kelly would walk by. Toby was not a good batter. His bat was a heavy and a little crooked, as Ken had welded two bats together. “Twice the power.” The game was tied at the end of the 9th inning and unfortunately it was time for Toby to bat. Toby froze with nerves as the pitcher threw the ball fast and crooked and pegged him right in the shoulder. Toby yelped so loud Kelly dropped her smoke and came running. Ken jolted out of the minivan. The coach jumped for joy. Toby held his shoulder and took 1st base. This was the most excitement young Toby Peavy had ever experienced. The next batter hit a home run winning the game and allowing Toby to slowly limp across home plate as to not interfere with his asthma. Ken and Kelly cheered for their son. They were proud. The coach rolled his eyes then rested them on Kelly.
After the game Toby limped out of the dugout holding his shoulder with one arm and the crooked bat in the other. He sniffed in the air and smelled the sweet smell of funnel cakes and reminded his parents of the deal they had made...if he got a run he could have a cake. They walked over to the concession stand but then Ken remembered he forgot his checkbook. They would have to go on back home. Maybe next time. “Sorry Toby.” Toby was devastated.
Kelly felt bad as she puffed on her smoke and looked in the rear view mirror. A single tear rolled down Toby pale cheek. Then she got an idea. When they got home she pulled out the fry daddy from the kitchen and put in on the picnic table in the front yard (the picnic table Ken had appropriated from a state park). Luckily there was a fresh batch of oil in the fryer from where Ken had cooked up a slab of bacon meat for dinner. Kelly mixed up a batch of batter and poured it in the fryer and made her baby a funnel cake. “Didn’t have no powdered sugar but found a couple packets of Sweet and Low I swiped from the ketchup counter at the Big Pig.”
Ken, Kelly, and Toby gnawed on bacon bits and crystallized aspartame stuck in the funnel cake. They listened to the katydids and warm purs of jake brakes from the four lane. It had been a good day. Toby rubbed his shoulder and looked up at his parents. “Maybe we can get me the inhalers and then I don’t have to get hit to get a run?”
Kelly lit up a smoke and Ken chuckled. “It’s either welding rods or medicine...and medicine don’t make no money.”