Page 31 of Tagging Bases

“My hero,” I deadpan.

“So, I take it you didn’t call me to take a trip down memory lane?”

I shake my head. “I’ve got a game today. A big one. Scouts are gonna be there and?—”

“You’ll crush it.”

“I don’t know, man. I’m freaking out here. What if?—”

“Charlie, you’re a damn good pitcher. Just go out there and do your thing.”

I hear noises in the background on his end, but Roy’s attention is entirely on me. That is, until the crashing sound.

“Fuck,” he growls. “Charlie, give me a second. I’ll be right back.”

When he puts his phone down, I notice the hardware tools hanging on the wall.

He’s at work at the hardware store on the corner of Main Street and Main Road, a four-way intersection at the heart of Bomont. Population 5,327. A town where everybody knows your nameandyour business.

I wince when I hear Roy’s muffled voice barking at the customer who made the mess. Roy’s voice rises to a shout, the kind of irate tone he reserves for the worst customers. The ones who knock over displays or let their kids run wild through the aisles. I can picture him now, face flushed red as he jabs an accusing finger at the culprit.

I know it’s notreally about the mess.

Every night after closing up the store, he drives out to the farm to help Mom and Dad with the cows and the crops. Then he’s back at the hardware shop first thing in the morning, seven days a week. At this rate, he’s going to work himself into an early grave.

A pang of guilt stabs through my chest. Here I am, wallowing in my stupid anxiety while my brother is out there busting his ass for our family. For me. So I can keep chasing this dumb dream of playing baseball at a fancy college instead of sticking around Bomont.

I should be doing more to help out, not dumping my problems on Roy’s shoulders too. He’s already carrying the weight of the world. I hate adding to that burden.

But Bomont and I are oil and water.

Nothing ever changes there. I swear, if I squint hard enough, I can still see my ten-year-old self riding my bike down the street, baseball cards clipped in the spokes, on my way to the park for Little League practice. The barbershop where Dad took us for haircuts still has a candy cane pole out front. The diner still serves blue plate specials. Even the lone stoplight blinks the same tired yellow after 9:00 p.m..

It’s as if the whole town is stuck in amber, preserved in a simpler time—a time before smartphones and social media, before Amazon and Uber Eats. Everyone still leaves their front doors unlocked. They gift casseroles to new neighbors and gather to watch the high school football team play under the Friday night lights. For some, that familiarity is comforting.

But not for me. I want more than Sunday dinners and county fairs. More than marrying a high school sweetheart and coaching Little League.

I want the big city. The bright lights.

I want…possibility.

Roy picks the phone back up, and I paste on a smile, determined not to let him see how rattled I still am. “Everything okay?” I ask lightly.

Roy sighs, rubbing his temple. “Just some jackass who decided to play Jenga with the paint can display. I swear, people have no respect for?—”

He cuts himself off, realizing he’s about to go off on a rant. “Never mind. Not important. Let’s focus on you, little brother. This game—it’s a big opportunity, right? Chance to impress those scouts and maybe go pro someday?”

I nod, my throat suddenly tight. “Yeah. It’s kind of a big deal.”

Roy stares me dead in the eye. “Then get your head on straight, Charlie. Remember that Little League championship game when you were twelve? Bottom of the ninth, bases loaded, and you struck out three batters in a row to win it all. You were ice cold out there on that mound.”

A smile tugs at my lips as the memory washes over me.

“Just play like you always do. The rest will take care of itself.”

I lean my head back against the wall and close my eyes. The nausea fades, and a growing sense of calm washes over me. Opening my eyes, I ask, “What have you been up to lately? Aside from working at the hardware store and around the house.”

“Not much,” he replies. “Just keeping busy.”

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