Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 79547 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 398(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79547 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 398(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
I nod, and when he doesn’t try to stop me when I turn to leave this time, it manages to kill another tiny part of me. I get the feeling there won’t be anything left of me before this is all said and done.
Chapter 13
Ignacio
“Everyone is going to run laps if we keep making that mistake!” Coach Brian Raney yells as the outfielder misses another catch.
I’ve been coming to afternoon practices for the last week, each time trying to talk to Alex but accepting when he just walks past me on the way to Tinley’s car.
Each day I ask him if he wants to go grab something to eat, and each day he just sneers at me as he shuffles past. Although I’m still livid about being put in the position to have to get to know my son at twelve, I extended an olive branch and messaged Tinley a couple days ago offering to take him home every day after practice, but she shot me down. I don’t know if that is just another way for her to control the narrative or if Alex mentioned not wanting to be alone with me.
My heart aches to know everything about him, but he’s made it impossible so far.
“If everyone hustled like Holland does, we wouldn’t have lost last week’s game!” Coach yells again. “I need to see some fire, guys!”
I grin as Alex sneers. Because of his suspension from school, Alex didn’t even get to play last week’s game. Not only was he benched, but Raney didn’t even let him attend the game. Alex and Tinley came to watch his team play however, sitting in the bleachers as far away from me as possible. I tried not to take it as a personal affront, but it was hard.
Coach means well, but singling one person on the team out for being awesome while insulting everyone else doesn’t usually go over well later in the locker room or when there aren’t adults around to referee, especially not with the kids on this team who battle with injustices every day of their lives.
“Come on, Jones!” Alex cheers as his peer takes his spot at the plate. “Show us what you can do!”
His teammate grins before focusing on the pitcher. Most of these practices are brutal, Coach expecting the most out of them while the players treat each other like rivals. They’re struggling with cohesion—something I know is of utmost importance—because they’ve learned to only look out for number one. Too many struggles and disappointments make it hard for these kids to depend on anyone else in their lives but themselves.
I know the mechanics of baseball, but I’ve discovered in my spare time watching videos and reading things online in an attempt to understand the sport my son loves that there’s more to it than hitting the ball and running the bases. There’s so much strategy involved, it’s overwhelming.
Practice continues with Coach yelling his disappointments with praise sprinkled in, and I notice the kids striving for his simple accolades, working hard to please him. I imagine they don’t have many people in their lives who take the time to tell them when they’ve done something good. Life is like that in many capacities. Most people tend to exert energy expressing disappointment when things are bad, having the expectation that good things are supposed to happen regardless of the effort given.
When practice is over, I push away from the fence, nodding at Coach Raney when he dips his head in my direction. As always, Alex helps him pick up the extra bats and balls. I don’t know if my son is just helpful, being generous with his time in an effort to get back in Coach’s good graces after getting into so much trouble at school, or if he’s strategically trying to avoid me by busying himself with other tasks.
I wait, just like I do each day, by the gate leading off the field. Only today, something changes. Instead of Alex’s mouth forming a flat line, there’s a small smile on his face. He had a great practice, and by the end, many of the other players were finally in synch.
“Great practice,” I tell him as he nears.
“We’re getting there,” he mutters, his attitude still in place.
I’m just grateful he’s speaking to me, but I risk ruining it with my daily offer. “Wanna grab something to eat?”
“Sure,” he says with a nonchalant shrug as if he didn’t just make my entire year.
“Awesome. Let’s let your mom know what we’re doing.”
I stay back as he approaches the driver’s side door of Tinley’s car, wondering just how much she’s working and how hard things are at home when she jolts at his knock on the window. The woman nodded off in the parking lot while waiting for him.
I can’t hear what he says to her, but I keep a passive look on my face when she looks over his shoulder to meet my eyes. I’m ecstatic, like wanting to do a happy dance in the middle of the lot euphoric, but I can’t seem to let go of the anger that comes along with knowing I shouldn’t have to act like an overexcited puppy when my child agrees to a burger and fries. She put Alex and me in this situation, and I don’t ever see a complete dissolution of the anger.