Screwball Wildfire
When his parents showed up on campus and his dad started reliving his college glory days, Billy knew something was off.
All Billy Rohr could hear was the sound of his own breath, the hiss of the ball in the air and the popping sound it made when it hit Carl’s mitt. When Carl stretched to pluck the pitch off the corner of the plate, Billy heard him mutter ‘What the fuck?’ That was good; that was the reaction Billy wanted.
No one told Billy, a 6’2, 200lb rising sophomore left-handed pitcher to work on a screwball; he just had a feeling about it. Screws had fallen out of favor. People said the throwing motion could hurt your shoulder. Billy’s yoga teacher said screwballs were good for his arm; to counterbalance throwing curveballs. That made physiological sense, but no college pitching coach was going to take advice from some yogi in Lululemon, unless it was Yogi Berra. Baseball’s a conservative sport; a thing doesn’t work until it does. Then, everyone starts doing it. The circle-change is a pitch that became so popular, so fast, it killed off the screwball. Billy didn’t like the circle-change grip. Releasing the ball between your ring and middle fingers felt thumbless and strange. He wanted to throw an old fashioned scroogie with maximum torque. No one would be expecting it.
They say champions are made in the off-season, but there’s hardly an off-season in college ball these days. Billy hoped the month between the end of school and the beginning of the California Collegiate League (pitching for the Santa Barbara Foresters) would be enough time to get the screwball nasty. He didn’t believe in complicated throwing routines. If you want to develop a pitch; you throw it. Carl was all he needed for that. He was Billy’s best friend; a Cincinnati boy who broke his dad’s heart by leaving Ohio to play college ball in Nebraska. He was the excitable yin to Billy’s laidback Cali yang. They met every morning for a workout, then went to their intensive 4-week summer classes. As they squinted in the sunlight outside the Gordon Fieldhouse, a dust covered SUV pulled into the lot and honked its horn. Carl shaded his eyes.
“Dude, is that your parents?”
“It is. What the hell?”
“Hey there, Huskers!” Robert Rohr jumped out of the car and gave Billy and Carl hugs.
“Dad, what are you guys doing here?” Billy walked around the car to greet his mom, still in the passenger seat. He leaned in the window to give her a kiss. “Mom, what’s going on?”
“Well, Honey, we had a wildfire situation…” She put her hand on his cheek.
“What? Are you okay?”
“We’re fine. The house is fine. Grandad’s fine, too. He’s been texting” Robert backed up and motioned to Carl to throw him the baseball. “The wind shifted yesterday and the fire started bearing down on Goleta. We packed a few things and thought, let’s surprise Billy…. and you too, of course, Carlton.” Billy was trying to catch up with the sequence of events.
“You left yesterday? It’s a 24-hour drive. Did you stop?”
Robert Rohr walked back to the car. “We stopped in Colorado, some town in the Western Slope. That was for a few days, I think.” Billy couldn’t tell if his Dad was being intentionally vague or if he was tired from driving. Carl threw a high bloop to Mr. Rohr, then made an eating signal to Billy.
“You guys hungry? How about we go to DeLeon’s? They make a tasty breakfast burrito.”
“Great, we’ll meet you there.” Robert caught the ball, mimed tagging a baserunner and rifled it back.
Billy said “Let’s go to Neveria’s, it’s closer” He motioned to his father to huddle up. He put his arm on his shoulder and pointed out to the road “Take a right there on Charleston Street and then left on North 10th. It’s a few blocks up on the left. You can’t miss it.”
At Neveria’s, Billy and Carl got four waters, iced teas and chips and salsa for the table. “I can’t believe your parents just rolled up. My dad barely ever leaves Pleasant Ridge. Let’s order for everyone. We don’t have mucho tiempo before class starts.” Carl was taking 20th Century Short Stories. Billy was taking a Media Arts class called Generative AI Work Flows. Carl was skeptical about Billy’s choice.
“Dude, everything you’ve shown me looks like screen grabs from My Pink Pony.”
“Dude, It’s an AI tool. You have to look past the novelty to see the potential.”
“John Cheever’s ‘text-to-image prompts’ as you would call them, make me want to move to Connecticut, have an affair with my neighbor’s wife and drink gin. You’ve got to read Goodbye, My Brother. Cheever painted with words. That’s real art.”
“Hello, my brother, Cheever and AI are not mutually exclusive. Let’s order some food.”
Bill specifically chose Neveria’s because it was close to the fieldhouse. He wondered if his father got distracted and then lost, as was often the case. Robert Rohr was a man of restless reinvention. Born in Tenafly, NJ, he came of age in the mid-1980s as a metal-head turned hip-hop fanatic. In college, he rapped with live bands and promoted freestyle battles. After graduation he got a marketing job at Loud Records, a boutique rap label at RCA Records. When Napster tasered the music industry he started Rohr Media and leapt into branding. Youth-driven companies were pouring sponsorship dollars into extreme sports events featuring rap-rock bands. Lifestyle marketing paid well and Robert was happy to take their money. He partied harder than many of his musicians and athletes.
After a late-night drinking session with Limp Bizkit’s roadies, Robert attempted a midnight luge ride on the snow half-pipe in Breckenridge. He broke his hip and had to be air-lifted to the hospital. The isolation of sitting at home watching daytime TV was worse for Robert than the pain of the injury. He fell into to an addiction to painkillers. His friends dragged him out of Los Angeles to Ocean Cliffs rehab facility in Santa Barbara. Robert fell in love with the sun, light and space of California’s Central Coast. He also fell in love with Anna Villena, the rehab center’s yoga teacher. They got married and decided to build a life together in Santa Barbara. For the first time in his life, Robert loved being a local. He began surfing with other recovering addicts; experiencing the ocean as a healing force. He created a new production company, Oceans Rohr and started producing immersive Eco-documentaries. The tension he often felt, as a marketing guy who considered himself more of an artist, started to dissolve.
Robert rarely missed Billy’s little league baseball games, even though he’d often be on the phone, talking to someone about kelp farms or sea otters. Billy didn’t mind; it forced him to focus. When you’re on the mound, there’s no one that can help you pitch your way out of jam. He felt like he took more after his mom who was strong in her own reserved way.
As he and Carl scarfed down their burritos Billy texted his mother to find out where they were. No response. He and Carl went to their classes. In the early evening he finally got a response from her.
Hi Honey, we drove to Omaha, by mistake. Then we went to a Kohl’s to look at bed linens for the house. Do you need new sheets?
He called her. “Mom, where are you?”
“We’ve just checked into the Townhouse Extended Stay. It’s nicer now; they’ve updated the rooms.”
“You’re at the one here in Lincoln, right? I’m coming over.”
“There’s no need. I’m going to bed and your father is out somewhere.”
“Out? Where?”
“He wanted to check out the music scene.”
“Okay, Ma, get some sleep. I’ll see you tomorrow.” His dad probably walked to the clubs on O Street. Billy drove downtown. There was no sign of his father at Duffy’s. He walked next door to Bodega’s Alley. The bartender said there was an older guy who came in and jammed with the band during soundcheck. Billy took a seat in and listened to the band, Gil Egan and the 3 Hour Tour, until they took a break. He walked up to the lead singer, introduced himself and explained the situation.
“Yeah man, your dad is awesome. He was here when we were sound checking. He came up and asked if we’d play The Beasties’ “Sure Shot”. We figured why not. We kicked into the groove and your dad started jumping around; building the energy. He and I did the ‘cuz you can’t, you won’t and you don’t stop’ intro. Then he kind of zoned out and got offstage. He went out on the floor and watched us with his arms raised over his head for a while. Then he whistled, waved at us and then left. It was weird. We wondered if he was homeless or maybe an A&R guy.”
“No, no, that was my dad, not a homeless guy. He was an MC in college, going by Rapping Robbito. His band covered songs by The Beasties, G. Love and Jewel”
“Sweet. Did they make any recordings!?”
“There’s some demos and live tracks on Soundcloud.”
Gil searched on his phone. “There he is, Robbito and The Soul… or is it Saul Bellow? Ha, was he an English major?”
“He was. He and the band would argue over the name; Saul vs Soul. It would change depending on who made the cassette or gig flyer.
“If he comes back we’ll definitely blast into ‘Sure Shot’.
“He would love that. Thanks, for being so cool about everything.” Billy drove over to the Townhouse Extended Stay.
“Billy Rohr! What can I do for you?” He wasn’t surprised the desk clerk recognized him. Lincoln is a small city with a big university. Everyone supports UNL’s teams. It’s one of the things Billy loved about Lincoln. Not being recognized, but people’s enthusiasm for Husker’s athletic teams. It was a good feeling.
“Hi Ken, I’m checking on my dad. I missed him on O Street.”
“Mr. Rohr, yes. He came in about 30 minutes ago. He rapped for me. It seemed like he had a good night.”
“That’s him. Thanks for letting me know.” Billy was worried about his parents. Had they turned some invisible corner into dementia? Hopefully, a good night’s sleep would sort them out.
The next morning, Billy started mixing in other pitches with his screwball, like he would in a game situation. Carl set up the pocket radar. Billy didn’t want to get hung up on stats, he already knew the screw was in the same range (68-74 mph) as his curve and slider. Billy noticed his dad sitting on a bench on the far side of the fieldhouse. Robert stood up and waved his hands in the air. Billy waved back and shook his head.
“What the hell? Has he been over there the whole time?”
Carl laughed. “He’s giving us our space, like all the girls you want to you date.” Billy flung a fastball, high and wide of the plate. Carl let it sail over his head. Billy looked over again but his father was no longer there. Carl stood up. “Don’t worry, your Dad’s fine. Five more pitches then let’s boogie to class.” Their summer classes met for four hours a day and covered a week’s worth of material. Billy loved focusing on one subject at a time. He wished every semester was structured this way. Half way through class he got a text from his mom. Hi Honey, we’re going to Kohl’s to buy bed linens. Do you need sheets or pillowcases? He wondered what the deal was with sheets. After class he saw Carl and his father sitting together outside the Media Arts Center. His father’s baja jerga surf poncho and Sanuk slippers made him hard to miss. He wondered if middle-aged surfers looked like well-dressed homeless people to Nebraskans.
“There’s the big guy.”
“Hey Dad, where’s Mom?” Robert had a Garcia y Vega cigar between his fingers and a tallboy beer next to him on the bench.
“Mom’s at the hotel, resting. I thought I’d see what’s cooking with you super cats, you super bon-bons.”
Carl looked excited. “We’ve been talking about books. He was telling me about I Am The Cheese.”
“Your autobiography?”
“Dude, it’s a young adult classic.”
“Dad, what’s up with the cigar and the beer? You got a The Big Lebowski meet-up?”
“What? It’s a non-alcoholic.” Robert elbowed Carl.
“It’s a Coors Lite, Dad.” Billy didn’t care if his father drank a beer. But, the beer and cigar combo in the middle of the afternoon was another odd thing he was doing.
“Can’t I enjoy a little throwback beverage moment? I went to college once, too. Not to mention I’m the one paying for this whole thing.” Robert swept his hand in front of Billy as he said it. Billy hated when his father said this. He heard it at the dinner table his entire childhood. It was his Dad’s stock response whenever he was feeling defensive. Billy sighed and motioned for Carl to vacate.
“Okay, I’m going to hit the library. Thanks for the book suggestions, Mr. Rohr.” Billy felt bad for snapping at him. The bond between a pitcher and catcher was sacred.
“Hey, bring it in for huggy-bears.” Billy held his arms out “You know you’re my dawg; my chili cheese-dog, fresh from Skyline, Cincinnati’s finest.” Carl hugged him back and jetted off. Robert leaned back against the bench and took a sip of the beer. He put the unlit cigar in his mouth and looked around.
“Man, campus is popping. There’s hotties all up in this place. Should we roll through the quads and do a heat check? ” His father took another sip of beer. Billy sighed.
“Dad, there’s open-container laws. How about we go find mom and get dinner?”
“I can snug it inside my poncho. We did this on Ludlow Street back in the day.” Robert took another sip and slipped the beer into his big front pocket. He stood up and put his arm around Billy’s waist. “How about giving your old dad a huggy-bear?” Billy gave him a one-armed hug, while lifting the beer out of his pocket. He took a sip and threw the can in the garbage. Robert was impressed.
“Slick move there, partner.”
“I learned from the best.”
“Oh, we moved to the Marriott Cornhusker. Your mom didn’t like the smell of the sheets at the other place.” As they walked up to the Marriott his father remembered they hadn’t actually changed hotels, they just talked about it. Billy also found out his mom hadn’t gone shopping for new sheets. She’d barely gotten out of bed the past two days. When they got back to the Townhouse Extended Stay he told his father he would wait for him in the lobby. Billy called his Grandfather. After some small talk, Billy told him about his parent’s strange behavior. Grand got quiet for a few seconds.
“Locals are saying the wildfires are causing a kind of brain fog, due to the smoke inhalation. There’s a lot of particulate matter in the air. Also, having to flee your home can trigger a heavy stress response, like PTSD.”
“Do you think it’s the reason they’re acting like this?”
“It could be. I yelled at your Dad to leave five days ago, but you know him; Mr. Distraction. He left it to the last minute. Any time they give a wildfire a name, it’s serious.”
“Thanks, Grand. I’m glad you’re okay. I’ll talk to them over dinner.” Billy searched ‘wildfire brain fog’ on his phone and found a bunch of articles. It seemed like his dad was in some kind of sped up, over-processing mode. Whereas, his mom might be in a slow-motion grief response. He thought about how to raise the subject. He didn’t want his father to get defensive. He would sit next to his mom. She would be more understanding. He pasted the links into an email, in case his dad wanted to read them. They were from The SB Independent and Edhat.com. His father would trust those sources.
They walked to Tico’s, an upscale Mexican place. After ordering drinks Billy’s mom mentioned that the hotel’s sheets still smelled like smoke. That gave him an opening.
“I’ve been reading about the Santa Barbara wildfires; the Whittier. Locals are saying they have been experiencing weird side effects. I was wondering if you are, too, like smelling smoke in the hotel sheets?”
“The car and our clothes still smell smoky. It’s everywhere. I feel like I can’t escape it. It’s…” His mom trailed off.
“Upsetting?”
“Yes, Honey, it’s been very upsetting.” Her voice faltered as she tried to hold back tears. Billy moved closer and put his arm around her.
“I’ve been so worried about you guys.” Billy looked at his father. Robert took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. Billy could see tears streaming down his face.
“Your mom and I are…well, we’re just glad you’re all right.” Typical of his dad to deflect.
“Of course, I’m all right, Dad. I’m relieved you came here. But, we need to make sure you both are okay. All right? Are you with me, Dad?”
“I am Billy. We’re so proud of you.” Billy got up and hugged his Dad.
“I’m so grateful to you guys; for everything.”
Robert knelt down next to Anna and caressed her face. She held his hand against her cheek. “I’m so glad we came to see our beautiful boy.” He smiled and nodded through his tears.
In the morning, Billy took his parents to UNL‘s medical center for tests. He emailed the articles to the doctors, so they were aware of the wildfire brain fog situation. The staff were excited to treat something they rarely encountered in Nebraska. The doctor recommended they also speak to a university therapist to discuss their experience of the wildfire. Thankfully, with so few people on campus they were able to walk in and see the therapist. She said they needed to take it easy. The foggy brain symptoms might linger for a while. Robert and Anna felt better knowing what was happening and why. It became something they could joke about. When they got back to the hotel Robert started organizing remote interviews about wildfire brain-fog for a possible documentary. He reached out to Harpo, Oprah’s company, about funding it. She had a house nearby in Montecito, CA. Billy and his mom finally went to Kohls to buy new bed linens. Over the next week Billy kept close tabs on his folks. Carl pitched in too, by bringing Mr. Rohr to his classes, as long as he promised not to interrupt the professor.
Billy, his father and Carl met at the fieldhouse for their final morning session. Carl brought Billy a vintage copy of I Am The Cheese that he and Mr. Rohr found at A Novel Idea, Lincoln’s best used bookstore. Billy looked at it and shook his head.
“Your life’s story! I hope you signed it.”
“It’s already signed on the inside cover; Jimmy Slusarek, 1978.”
“Thanks, Jimmy.” Robert loved seeing his son and Carl having fun together. He was happy they were such good friends. “Hey Dad, that guy, Gil Egan, texted. His band is playing tonight at Bodega’s.”
Robert looked at his son, perplexed. “Who’s that?”
“You know, Gil Egan, the guy with the cover band? They played ‘Sure Shot’ for you?”
“It doesn’t ring a bell.” Billy walked over and sat on the bench next to his father.
“You really don’t remember going to see this band?” Robert gazed across the fieldhouse for a few moments before turning back to Billy.
“Oh, you mean GILLIGAN and the 3 Hour Tour? Okay, yes, I remember now!” Robert laughed and put his arms around his son “I’m pulling your leg, Billy boy.”
“Shit, Dad, I thought you were fogging out again. Now I don’t even want to tell you what he said.”
“Come on, tell me what Gilligan said; Skipper, too.”
“He said if ‘Rappin’ Robbito’ is up for it, you can join them for a medley of your classic tracks. They love your Jewel cover.” Robert sprung to his feet and waved for Carl to throw the ball over. He caught it and held the ball like a microphone.
“Should I wear my Vans and a vintage flannel? or would that be too grunge cholo? Do you have any ball caps that aren’t bright red? Fred Durst ruined red. Should I meet with them to run through the songs? I might need the lyrics on my tablet in case I forget them or would that be too…Dad-rock…or Dad-rap?”
Billy laughed. His father seemed like his old self again. “I think you should just go with the flow, Pop. What would Robbito do?”
Robert laughed and sat back down next to Billy. “Rapping Robbito would smoke a spliff and let the show come to him. This old Robbito is just happy to be here with his cool son. No smoke necessary.”
Great read. I recall reading an earlier version of this, yes?