Total pages in book: 66
Estimated words: 60219 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 301(@200wpm)___ 241(@250wpm)___ 201(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 60219 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 301(@200wpm)___ 241(@250wpm)___ 201(@300wpm)
Standing on the mound, the feeling was at once surreal and humorous. For all intents and purposes, this was where my career had begun. Coaches and scouts came to fill the stands around this field to watch me practice and work out as well as pitch game after game. Yet here I was, a broken-down shell of what I once was, with an arm that will never be what it was, standing on the mound with this oversized softball in my hand, staring down at my girlfriend comically swinging a bat and pretending to spit at the plate.
I shook my head. Life was one wild ride sometimes.
I wound up gently and tossed the ball. By the time she started to take the step toward the ball, I knew she was going to be late. It was still funny when she swung so hard that she twisted around and fell straight down on her ass.
“Stop laughing,” she shouted through her own laughter.
“Sorry,” I said. “I’m just so impressed.”
“Shut up,” she laughed. “Next time, I’m hitting a home run. You watch.”
I shuffled back into position to take another pitch, grabbed another ball, and repeated exactly the motion that I had before. As usual, the ball went directly where I wanted it to go. It didn’t matter. She completely whiffed on it anyway.
At least this time she didn’t end up on the ground.
Shaking her head, she dug in, and I sent her a dozen or so more pitches, none of them getting anything more consequential than a foul tip. When my shoulder started aching, I tried to ignore it, but it looked like she could see the pain on my face.
“Are you okay?” she asked.
I nodded.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” I said. “Arm’s acting up. I think I’ve got one more pitch in me. Are you ready?”
“Are you sure? We can stop,” she said, pulling the ball cap from my old team off her head and swiping a runaway hair out of her face.
It was in the moment where she shoved the hat back down over her hair, the smile wide on her face even though there was concern in her eyes, that I knew I was completely in love with her. There hadn’t really been any doubt, not for a while now, but that sealed it. I was head over heels for Mallory, and suddenly, the idea hit me as to how I wanted to go forward. I grinned.
“I’m good,” I said. “One more pitch.”
I took the mound and stamped my foot into the groove in front of the rubber. I lobbed the ball in a high arc toward the plate. I felt like it took a year to get to her, but when it did, Mallory was ready.
She hammered the ball with every bit of her tiny, curvy frame, smashing the ball deep into the outfield. It might not have gotten out, but it came damn close. I watched it soar as she cheered behind me, and when I turned around, she was running the bases, pumping her arms like Kirk Gibson. I laughed as she ran all the way around and then inexplicably slid into home.
Running forward to greet her, I wrapped her in a big hug, and she leaned up to kiss me. I pulled her in deep by grabbing her backside, and she made a pained sound.
“Not there,” she said, laughing. “I think I bruised my ass.”
Together, we laughed and kissed once more, and I silently planned what I was going to say when the time came.
27
MALLORY
April dawned with gorgeous weather, cooling off the curiously hot March and bringing with it the glorious spring that I felt like only Texas had. Roses bloomed and picnics were had under the warming sun, and of course, baseball began again.
April first was April Fool’s Day, which was the perfect day to have the faculty game since I certainly planned on making a fool of myself. Many of the other staff were beyond hopeless as well, which made it hilarious to see them try to keep up with people like Mrs. Yancy and Graham. I was among those hapless fools, even after Graham took me out to do batting practice several times, despite being on the enemy team.
It looked like the entire student body had come out for the game. It at least felt that way. The benches around the park were as full as I ever remembered them being, including back when Graham had helped pitch the school to the state championship. I marveled at it at first, and then realized that at some point, they were all going to be looking at me and began an existential crisis.
No one had paid me much mind since I left New York, as far as a performer, that was. I hadn’t done any local theater; I hadn’t acted in the students’ plays at all. I had essentially retired from acting, or at least taken a hiatus. Now I was going to at some point have an at-bat in front of all these folks, and they would be looking at me, and I didn’t know how I felt about it. I should be thrilled. It should be a moment of performance, and yet, I felt nervous in a way I didn’t usually get before a show. I didn’t want to embarrass myself too badly. I didn’t want to embarrass Graham.