James Grippando - Leapholes

Again, it wasn't something that Ryan fully understood. Somehow, however, he knew what he was supposed to do. He grabbed a bat and headed for the batter's box. The crowd cheered. Ryan stepped into the box. Then he noticed that playing catcher-the man behind the mask at home plate-was his friend, Hezekiah.

"Easy out," said Hezekiah, mocking him.

"What are we doing here?" said Ryan.

Hezekiah pounded his catcher's mitt, then squatted behind the plate. "Mr. Wrigley-the wealthy man who makes all that famous chewing gum-used to own the Cubs. He got sued because he wouldn't put lights in the stadium for night games. He believed that baseball should only be played in the daytime, not at night."

It was late in the afternoon, and the sun was setting. Ryan glanced again at the scoreboard and noticed that the game was in the bottom of the thirteenth inning in the second game of a doubleheader. In a matter of minutes, it would be too dark to play. "A few lights would be nice," said Ryan.

"Now you sound like the people who sued old man Wrigley," said Hezekiah.

"Enough chatter," said the umpire. "Play ball!"

Ryan looked toward the pitcher's mound. A lanky ballplayer wearing a Pittsburgh Pirates uniform was staring straight at him, ready to deliver the pitch. Hezekiah gave the pitcher a signal. The pitcher shook it off. He tried another signal. Suddenly, the ball was speeding through the darkness at Ryan, easily exceeding ninety miles per hour.

Ryan swung in desperation at the screeching fastball. To his delight, the bat connected, and the ball was soaring out of the ballpark. For some reason-again, completely inexplicable-he and Hezekiah were pulled right along with it. Together, they sailed clear over the leftfield wall. An excited fan speared his glove into the air to catch the home run ball, and both Ryan and Hezekiah were sucked into the leather, disappearing from sight, back down into the tube.

They were back in the orange swirl, that cocoon of safety. But not for long. Ryan felt another jolt. A splash of Technicolor appeared before his eyes. He and Hezekiah reappeared in a colorful cartoon, in a dusty canyon in some desert.

The Roadrunner sped past them. "Meep, meep/"

Hezekiah and Ryan were stacked inside a cannon, like human cannon balls. A mangy looking coyote suddenly appeared, his pointy ears sticking out of his strange protective helmet.

"That's Wile E. Coyote," said Hezekiah.

"I know who it is," said Ryan. "I've seen the Roadrunner cartoons."

"Yes, but did you know that the coyote sued ACME Manufacturing Company for all those lousy gadgets that blew up in his face every time he tried to catch the Roadrunner?"

"Really?"

"Nah," said Hezekiah. "I made this one up. But it's a fun one, isn't it?"

Wile E. Coyote lit the fuse on the cannon. The whole contraption exploded in his face, sending Ryan and Hezekiah speeding through the air. They were in another leaphole that carried them across a different plane, through another orange swirl.

Finally, they landed in the back of a bus.

"Where are we?" asked Ryan.

Hezekiah was in the seat beside him. "Montgomery, Alabama. City bus number twenty-eight-fifty-seven."

Ryan looked out the window. People on the sidewalks were wearing warm overcoats, and there were Christmas decorations in the storefronts. It had to be December. Ryan spotted a license plate on a parked car. The year was 1955.

The bus stopped. Ryan watched from the rear of the bus as a black woman boarded and paid the driver. She then got off the bus and re-entered through the rear door. The bus continued down the street.

"That's Rosa Parks," whispered Hezekiah.

Ryan asked, "Why is she coming in through the back door?"

Hezekiah's voice seemed lower, sadder. "Colored people can't enter the bus through the front door. That's the law."

Ryan watched as the woman headed up the aisle and took a seat in the fifth row. Ryan also noticed that that everyone in the first four rows was white. Everyone in the fifth row and farther back was black.

The bus stopped again. The front of the bus (the white section) was now full, nowhere to sit. A white passenger boarded the bus. He walked up to Rosa, who was seated in the fifth row, and demanded that the black woman give up her seat and move farther back in the bus.

Ryan asked, "What's going on?"

Hezekiah said, "Rosa is breaking the law. Colored people have to give up their seat and move farther back in the bus if a white person has no place to sit."

"What the heck kind of law is that?" said Ryan.

"It's 1955, Ryan. That was the law in Montgomery, Alabama."

Rosa shook her head and refused to move. The white passenger complained to the driver. He stopped the bus and walked down the aisle to the fifth row.

"Ma'am, I have to ask you to get up and move."

Again, Rosa refused. The driver seemed exasperated. He. looked at Rosa and said, "Well, I'm going to have you arrested."

Rosa looked at him and said, "You may go on and do so."

The driver went back to the front of the bus, got on the radio, and called for police backup. After a few minutes, a police car pulled up alongside the bus. Two officers came aboard, and the driver explained what had happened. The police came down the aisle.

"They're actually taking her to jail?" said Ryan.

"I told you, Ryan. The law doesn't always prevent bad things from happening to good people."

Again, Ryan thought of his own father in jail, but he was too taken aback by the arrest of Rosa Parks to think about his own situation for very long. One of the police officers had a set of handcuffs with him, and those rings of metal suddenly reminded Ryan of the leapholes he had seen in Hezekiah's jar. Both resembled flat, uncomfortable, metal bracelets. Ryan wasn't sure if the police were going to cuff Rosa or not, but as the light reflected off those shiny metal circles, the swirling sensation resumed. It was as if the leaphole had reemerged before Ryan's eyes. The eye of the miniature hurricane was centered around those handcuffs dangling from the police officer's belt. In a matter of seconds, the spinning was more intense than ever. Ryan had the sensation of being pulled from his seat, pulled through the bus, sucked out the door. His body was turned in such a way that he was facing backwards, yet he could feel the thrust of forward motion. All was a blur, yet he knew that he was headed in the right direction. The power of the leaphole was taking him back to the place where he belonged, back to a place he knew well.

The swirling stopped. His surroundings came into focus. Ryan and Hezekiah bounced onto the floor of Hezekiah's law library.

Ryan pulled off his helmet and looked at Hezekiah with complete disbelief. "That was amazing!"

"You liked that, did you?"

"Totally. This helmet is so cool." Ryan inspected it briefly, then looked quizzically at Hezekiah. "But where's your helmet?"

"I don't need one."

"How come I do and you don't?"

"You don't need one either."

"You're still trying to sell me on that idea of legal magic, aren't you? The secret Society."

"I'm not selling anything, Ryan. When you're ready to step beyond the virtual legal environment of a computer, you will. For now, suit yourself. Grab your helmet, and let's go."

"Where to this time? Do I get to pick?"

Hezekiah shook his head. "Leapholes are not all fun and games. They're not just joyrides or tools to help satisfy our idle curiosity."

"I know, I get it. It's like you said before, these books aren't just a bunch of dusty old pages. These were all real people with real problems."

"And the best lawyers understand people and their problems. No better way to understand a case than with a leaphole."

Ryan was really starting to like Hezekiah, but the old man was suddenly very serious. "Now it's time to prepare for your case," said Hezekiah.