3WW (Kneel, Gloom, Transparency): Final Out

Dust swirls. The flat, dry heat sticks to my skin like tar. The blond boy in his blood red uniform steps to the plate holding the aluminum bat. Bases loaded. One out. Tie game. Bottom of the last inning. Last game of the season.

I step toward home. Half way between first and second. Short follows suit. We call out to each other. Any base. Gotta go home. Just step on the plate, Tim. Our voices dance with the dust, a delicate arrhythmic tango.

The pitcher tosses the scarred white ball towards the plate. The blond boy steps, pivots, sends the ball skipping and spinning towards me. As taught by the old man, I kneel and get the glove down. I am willing to block the ball with any part of my body. Any part.

The ball takes a cosmic bounce. An ill-placed pebble? A teammate’s cleated divot? None can tell. And the gloom I felt in the depth of my soul that moment after it sailed over my shoulder prevented me from investigating the cause of such a jounce.

I walk from the field through a sea of blood red cheers. Wishing I could achieve absolute transparency. My teammates pat me on the back with their dirty, calloused hands. Tell me that there was nothing I could do. Tell me to shake it off. I grimace as the ball replays its flippant hop in my unforgiving imagination.

And there beyond my teammates sits my other team. The team I coach. I cannot help but smile when they erupt. Whistling and clapping engulf me.

The meaning of the game had never been so apparent.