The Louder They Scream
No!" screamed Ursula. "Listen to me! Don't hit it."
But the young boy swung at the pitch anyway. As Ursula expected, his bat missed the ball and the umpire called the third strike. The bat slid out of the boy's hands. Head down, he trudged back to the bench full of jeering teammates.
Ursula shook her head, then turned to Gabrielle sitting next to her on the cracked wooden bench. "Now, why didn't he listen to me this time?" she asked. She pinched her lips together and crossed her arms against her sizeable bosom.
Gabrielle smiled. "I told you, the louder you yell, the less they hear."
"It's not fair," Ursula said, shaking her grizzled head. "You told me to rev it up and I did."
"Perhaps you weren't listening," the younger woman said. "More energy, I said, not more noise."
"Harumph. You don't know beans about kids. Especially kids in this hood." Ursula made a wide sweep with her outstretched hand. Across the street, a high-rise cement-block housing project stood next to a battered, turn-of-the-century wood house, their packed-dirt yards separated by a sagging chain-link fence but merged into one by the flow of trash that ignored such artificial boundaries. Four pre-teen girls huddled on the broken cement stairs of the house. On this side of the street, a half-dozen teenage boys leaned against the schoolyard fence that enclosed the baseball diamond, and catcalled the girls. "They never listen to ya," Ursula continued, "so can I go now? I'm tired. I just wanna lay down."
Gabrielle looked at the sky. It was a perfect summer evening for a Little League ballgame--no thunderstorms, not even any clouds. It was a perfect time for Ursula's coaching session, or so her boss had thought. Was it her fault? Was she losing her touch as a trainer? She sighed, then turned to Ursula with resolve. In all of eternity, blame had never once fixed a problem. "Let's go over this one more time," she said.
"But this ain't working. Can't they find another job for me?"
"Just give it a chance," Gabrielle said, striving to keep the resentment out of her voice.
Ursula gave her a look. "The Look" is what her children called it--a mixture of fury, resentment, and righteousness. It always sent them running for cover.
But Gabrielle just smiled.
Ursula growled. Her kids used to laugh at her, too. And ignore her advice--don't hang with gang-bangers, stay away from those druggies, above all, get your diploma. When they got older, they began to yell back. She'd cursed Del for leaving her alone. It would've been different had he lived. Jimmy wouldn't have left school to join that gang or ended up in prison. The girls wouldn't have latched on to their no-good boyfriends, gotten into drugs, got pregnant, left their babies for Ursula to raise. When these little ones got dropped off at Grandma's for a weekend and stayed for years, she thought God had given her another chance. But she'd failed them, too. One old woman alone couldn't stave off the crime, poverty, and hopelessness that painted the neighborhood like graffiti. She wearied of trying, retreated to her chair by the window.
Gabrielle touched her arm. "There-- help that little one."
Ursula looked up. On the school's playground a young girl struggled to climb the monkey bars. The tiny child barely scrambled up to the first level. She reached for the next higher bar. Her outstretched hand fell inches short.
No way, thought Ursula. She felt too tired to move.
"Go," urged Gabrielle. "Hurry . . . and remember the love."
Ursula shrugged, then ambled across the pavement. Her body felt heavier. All she wanted was to sit down and close her eyes. Maybe Gabrielle would let her quit early today.
Ursula stopped a few feet from the monkey bars. "Get down right now!" she shouted to the girl. "You'll hurt yourself."
The girl ignored her, stood on her tiptoes to reach for the metal bar high above her head.
"Get down!" Ursula screamed again.
The girl gave no indication she'd heard the old woman's screams. She took a breath and jumped for the bar. But her thin arms couldn't stretch that far. She fell to the asphalt. The pavement and the brick walls of the school echoed her cries back to Ursula.
"Well, that'll teach her," Ursula said as Gabrielle arrived beside her.
Gabrielle stared into Ursula's eyes. "Perhaps," she said. "But maybe all she'll learn is to not take chances. So maybe she won't take the risk to get a college education. Won't come back and teach these kids, bring them hope."
Ursula sighed. "I'm too old for this. Find another playground monitor, gimme a job where I can just sit, okay?"
Gabrielle counted to ten. Maybe the old woman was right. But could her boss be wrong? Not once had Gabrielle known her to misjudge character, make a wrong assignment, but . . . . You can't give up, she told herself. Aloud she said, as she had numerous times already, in the calmest voice she could muster, "Ursula, you're perfect for this job."
"So how come I can't make these kids listen to me?"
"Remember, kids hear the love, not the sound. Shout with your heart, not your throat."
"I'm all out of love this lifetime--"
Gabrielle cut her short. "There." She pointed to the sidewalk bordering the playground. "Here's your chance."
Ursula clenched her teeth and grudgingly turned her head. She was a ma, a grandma, and a great-grandma. This nymph knew nothing about how to handle kids. But when Ursula saw what was happening, all thoughts vanished.
On the sidewalk, two boys about twelve years old had trapped a much younger girl; they pushed her back and forth between them as if she were a ball. The girl struggled to get away, her eyes searching for an escape route.
Ursula's heart pounded. Her hands flew to her mouth. She knew the girl. It was her great-granddaughter, the youngest one, the one they'd given her own name to.
As if she could read her mind, Ursula somehow knew that Little Ursula planned to duck and dive into the street during the next volley. But she also saw what the child could not: on the next block an older white El Dorado was speeding toward them.
Little Ursula saw her opening. She dove under the boys' arms and charged straight into the street. Yards away, the enormous car crossed the intersection. Both Little Ursula and the Caddie accelerated toward the same point in the street.
In a flash, Ursula recalled the last time she'd seen her namesake. She'd been in her chair by the window when the door burst open and Little Ursula came running to her, calling out, "Nana! Nana!" With a huge smile and twinkling eyes, the girl had jumped onto Big Ursula's lap, hugged her tight, and then curled into the voluminous pillow of Ursula's flesh.
Now, like then, Ursula's heart exploded with love. But this time it was also shattered by sorrow as she watched the child dash toward her death. Little Ursula had once given the old woman hope. A new generation. Now hope was being slaughtered by a rusting white Cadillac.
"No," she whispered, tears falling down her cheeks, "don't run, child, don't run . . ."
The little girl hesitated. She barely slowed, only enough to glance back, a confused look on her face, before she charged forward.
"Stop, Punkin, stop," Ursula whispered, knowing she could do nothing to stop the inevitable.
At that moment, Little Ursula looked up at the sky and her pace slowed for the briefest second.
The Caddie streaked by.
Ursula gasped. The car's rear bumper flashed its chrome only inches away from Little Ursula, who cried out but continued running until she reached the far side of the street.
Ursula felt as if all heaven was pouring relief and love and gratitude onto her. She closed her eyes, then felt a soft touch on her shoulder. She looked up to see Gabrielle glowing with pride.
"You did it," Gabrielle said.
"I didn't do anything! My own flesh and blood was about to get killed and I couldn't even yell loud enough to stop her." Ursula's face fell into her hands. "It was all just luck . . ."
"But you did save her! She heard your love, not your words. It was the love you sent that made her slow down--just for a second, but long enough."
Ursula sighed. Her shoulders sagged. "Even if I did, it's only cuz she's my Little Ursula," she said, staring at the cracked sidewalk under her feet. "I can't do that for strangers."
Gabrielle smiled. "But you can." She put her palm on Ursula's cheek. "Look at me."
Ursula sniffed and raised her head.
"That little girl is no more related to you than any of those other kids out there."
"No, I saw her. It was Little Ursula. Ursie, her dad calls her."
"Look." Gabrielle pulled Ursula's arm to turn her around.
The bullies had disappeared. Little Ursula was back on this side of the street, running toward a woman Ursula had never before seen. The woman grabbed the child and lifted her high. She whirled around and when she stopped, the girl faced Ursula. The child looked at Ursula and smiled. It was a smile, a face Ursula had never seen before.
"What the . . .?"
Gabrielle smiled broadly. "Even if you don't know her, aren't you glad she didn't get hit by the car?"
"Humph," Ursula muttered. She didn't really give a hoot, did she? Other kids were other women's problems, not hers. Nevertheless, she stole another look at the child. Their gazes met, and the girl's eyes lit up like twin suns. Ursula felt the same explosion of love and gratitude as if it had been her own Little Ursula.
When the girl's mother set her down, Ursula turned toward the playground. She saw the little climber, still crying where she'd fallen from the monkey bars, and felt an overwhelming urge to scoop up the child and cover her with kisses. If only she could have made the girl hear.
Ursula swiveled toward the ball field. The young boy was back at bat. He looked scared and hurt. Ursula felt a wave of something warm wash over her. She saw the ball leave the pitcher's hand and head toward the boy. This is the one, kid, she thought. Hit it! You can do it!
The boy hesitated, then with a jerk, slammed his bat against the ball, making a crack like a distant gunshot. The ball boomeranged past the surprised pitcher and flew through the air to the left outfield.
Ursula hopped with joy. "Look, he did it this time!" she said, pointing toward the boy who was zooming past third base as if his feet had wings. "My Jimmy used to run like that."
Gabrielle smiled her calm, supervisor's smile, but inside, she sensed a feeling she hadn't experienced for some time. Was it relief? No matter, she thought, and shrugged it off.
"C'mon, cheer the kid on--it's a big day for him," Ursula said.
With a chuckle, Gabrielle realized it was relief she was feeling. She watched the old woman jump up and down and shout to the boy: "You did it! You did it once, you can do it again--and again. Great job!" Gabrielle's chuckles grew louder, engulfed more of her, until she was laughing out loud, uproariously, unable--and unwilling--to stop.
Ursula stopped bouncing long enough to turn to Gabrielle and say, "Feels good, don't it?"
Gabrielle nodded. Her boss was right. This cranky old woman was perfect. She waited until the cheers from the ball field died down and Ursula had stopped applauding. Then she said, "I'm leaving now."
"What? Just when it's getting good?" Ursula said. Surprised, she realized she didn't care if her supervisor did leave her on her own. "All right, but it's you who's gonna miss the fun."
Gabrielle smiled. Then she laughed, and laughed some more. She put her hand on Ursula's shoulder and said, "I will miss it, but you're the one they need. Go on now, Guardian Angel, help those kids."
Ursula hardly noticed when Gabrielle dissolved into the air.
Copyright by Joan Kremer
