by Lari Smythe
* * *
Cathy and Mrs. Hall were at the game. Alex was starting and I'd never seen him so anxious. I DH'd for him and had a single and double my first two at bats. Coach had made me the DH after I missed a routine fly ball to right field in our second scrimmage game. He probably would have benched me except my two run homer in the ninth saved the game. I was okay with DH—I liked hitting, but I just wasn't that good in the field. Alex said it was because my head bounced when I ran—some guys had it—some didn't—I didn't.
I winked back at Mom before each at bat. It made her feel kind of like my good luck charm, but in the batter's box, I always whispered, "This ones for you Izzy."
Game was on the line again. This was our last at bat. Nobody had been able to hit this guy except me, but he was starting to tire and had given up two walks, and then an error by the second baseman had loaded the bases. Normally they would have just walked me intentionally, but there was no place to put me so he had to pitch to me. I'd fouled off the last six pitches.
"Time," the umpire called as the other coach started out to the mound.
Coach motioned me down to him at third. "This guy's there ace, so they're not going to pull him. He may figure they're not going to get around you and may just walk you anyway."
"Give up a run? That would tie the game."
Coach stroked his chin. "I think they're going to go outside, probably high. I want you to take it to right—keep your hands out in front—lose the power swing and just poke it out into shallow right."
"But—"
"Round first like you're trying to squeeze a double out of it but slip between first and second."
"Slip?"
"That's right, get in a rundown. I'll send Andy from second and your distraction should give him enough time to score—he's fast."
"Okay, you're the coach."
"First pitch Jason, has to be the first pitch no matter where it is you have to take it to right."
"Got it."
"This one's for you, Izzy," I said and touched my heart as I stepped into the batters box again.
"You're toast," the catcher said.
Coach thought high outside, but most of what I'd fouled off were low outside—it made more sense to come up and in, but that risked hanging one out over the plate, especially since the pitcher was tired. I glanced back at the catcher as the pitcher leaned in to get the sign. He was going from the stretch even with base runners—like Coach said, this was the money pitch.
From the stretch—game on the line—their ace—had to be heat. The pitcher wound up and delivered the pitch. I hesitated so I would be late on the ball and take the pitch to right. I could see the red laces, crap, a knuckle ball, where'd that come from. I'd already started my stride so I pushed my hands and the bat back toward the catcher to delay my swing. There was no way to know where a knuckle ball was going to go. I led with my hands, keeping the barrel of the bat back, thinking swing low—swing low. Crack!
The slow pitch had given the base runners a jump and they were halfway to the next base by the time I started for first. I glanced at Andy as the right fielder picked up the ball—he was coasting into third. No way could I make it to second, but I powered past first. The fielder looked surprised and immediately turned toward second. I slipped as he fired the ball to second. As I got up, I saw Andy sprinting down the third base line toward home. I turned back to first as the ball smacked the second baseman's glove.
"Home! Home!" The opposing coach was yelling.
As I turned back toward second, the ball went sailing into the fence between first and home. The second baseman's moment of indecision had done it. I cruised into second on the error and Andy easily scored the winning run. Game!
Coach ran out to me as the guys in the dugout descended on Andy. "That's what I'm talking about." Coach patted me on the back. "It ain't always about power."
"It was a freakin' knuckle ball."
"They figured you were thinking fence and tried to get you out ahead—probably figured worse case you'd pull it foul." He shook my hand. "Nice piece of hitting."
"Thanks, Coach."
I accepted the congratulations from my teammates, but the truth was, this one was all Coach's. Being a Friday afternoon, and a holiday, the sidelines emptied out quickly. I started over toward Alex and Cathy, but hesitated as they wrapped their arms around each other. I looked toward the mountains—Lambs Knoll to be exact—Izzy's mountain. My daily trips had dwindled into weekly and now every other week or so. I missed her so much, but she wasn't coming back. Mom's hug snapped me out of the daze.
"Nice hit."
"Thanks."
"I'm going to run and get the flowers, you want me to stop and get something for dinner?"
"Sure, that'd be great."
"Nice game. See you at home."
I waved as she headed off toward the parking lot.
"Dude." Alex slapped me on the back. "Way to go." His other arm was wrapped around Cathy's waist. Beyond them, Mrs. Hall was cleaning up the concession stand, but keeping a watchful eye on her daughter.
"Thanks, you did a nice job out there on the mound today." I turned to Cathy. "Hey."
"Hi." She smiled, but her eyes probed mine, deeper than I was comfortable with, drawing me into hers.
"So," I said, breaking off the stare and turning to Alex, "what are you up to?"
"I've got work."
"I didn't know you had a job."
"Down at the nursery. It's just on weekends until school's out, but they said I could come in this afternoon since we we're off school."
"Cool."
"How about you? What are you doing?"
"Just headed home—hey, Mom was headed to the nursery, maybe you'll see her."
Alex glanced down at his watch. "Guess I should get going."
"Sure, see ya."
As they turned to go, Cathy turned back. "You'll be alone?"
"Sure, until Mom gets home."
Alex tightened his arm around her and turned her toward the parking lot. "See ya."
