Page 36 of The Battery
“I know. Thank you for clarifying.”
And then we simply stared at each other. I had a novel of things to say. Instead, I took all of him in. The way he stood there with his straight back, Spartan beard, every inch of skin covered in indecipherable tattoos. The look on his face, one that so many people thought was all contempt, that I slowly came to realizewas just a front. Something within him burned with sorrow that he hid from the world.
I broke away first. Awkwardly, we walked together for the first few feet before meandering to our cars.
The buzz of the day stayed in my system like a nicotine pouch. I stared out of my window as I lay in bed, eyes wide, fully alert. Weary but strangely buzzed. A kaleidoscope of Leo and the game created snowflake patterns in my mind. Always shifting, never the same, but always there.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Leo
The second gameagainst the Stags did not go well for me. After spending half the summer lecturing Cody about distractions, it seemed I had removed them from him and taken them all upon myself.
The heat of mid-July didn’t help matters. The moment I put on my gear I broke into a sweat. Nothing new there, but it did add a pinch more irritation that I would normally ignore. The stadium was only a third full. Harrisburg wasn’t a rival by any means, but they were a decent team and would put up a fight. I had hoped to put on a show for them, but…
By the second inning, I already felt annoyance prickling my skin like a sudden bout of hives. The starting pitcher was a solid guy. Reliable, like I liked. Me? Not so much. I missed a steal attempt at second base due to a late throw. The runner safely advanced and it sent a wave of anger that undulated through me. Totally unnecessary. Iloathedallowing runners to steal. I had my eyes on everyone at all times and the fact that one snuck by would irk me for the rest of the game.
The rest of the game.I had to let it go.
A pitch in the dirt got by me. I swear I justwatchedas it sailed right by and my body had zero reaction to it. I scrambled after it, fumbling maladroitly like a baby giraffe. A runner made from second to third while I scrambled in the dirt to get that damn ball. We ended the top of the second without allowing any runs, which was the ultimate goal. However, I already failed myself and I needed to make up for it.
People left me alone in the dugout while we were up to bat. I knew how to exude not only a look ofpiss off, but an air of it, too. I already knew that the previous catcher, their beloved Hiroshi, could shuck off the irritation and energize bad energy by pep-talking with each player. That was now Romo’s job. I had no interest in doing the same.
As I sat at the end of the dugout, forearms on the railing, my eyes scanned the field and targeted the bullpen. Cody was in a similar stance as mine. He could have been looking directly at me, or he could have been looking at the players in between us. It was anyone’s guess.
I regretted my words to him. Deeply. I said them out of anger so that someone else could feel the pain that I never let show. The look he pulled after my excoriating diatribe continued to haunt me. I had said similar things countless times to other teammates to snap them out of their malaise. This marked the first time I genuinely cared about how the person reacted.
I couldn’t let that rule me.I couldn’t.Whatever budding feelings I had for him needed to be squashed. Already it clearly demonstrated to me that it would not serve my main goal. My promise.
Ask for forgiveness, the insipid decent man in me whispered.Seek absolution and this will all go away.
Like hell.
Third inning wasn’t any better than the second. I struggled with pitch framing, the way in which I can make it look like a ball is really a strike. The ump called several pitches on the corner balls that I usually framed well enough to be strikes. Nothing career-ending but enough to continue to add cuts to my wound accumulation. I allowed two walks because of my lapses in judgment.
Then a muffed a catch. I dropped a routine pop-up foul ball. That was humiliating because it was an easy task that I botched like it was my first day on the job.
Again, no runs for the Stags when we finished the inning. Our starter was pleased. Management was pleased. The players were pleased. I, however, fixated on these minor mistakes like someone hung a neon sign next to each one letting the world know how awful I was. Once more I stewed in my misery at the end of the dugout where no one came to bother me.
At the fifth inning, I called the wrong pitch, which led to a hit. Fastball, when it should have been a slider. I could blame the pitcher for not disagreeing with me, but I ultimately took the blame on that one. I got into a light spat with the ump after he called a ball that, I felt, was clearly a strike. My voice went up, as did his, and he gave me one of those looks that dared me to test him. I itched to throw a fist at the idiot. That’s when I had to take a second for myself. Sure, hitting an umpire had crossed my mind before, but for a moment, I had actually considered it.
The seventh inning came after what felt like a year of catching. A bunt down the third base lined wasn’t field quickly enough and the batter reached first. Another pitch in the dirt got past me—yet again—and a runner on third scored because of it. I dropped an f-bomb with that one and wanted to flog myself right there in front of the entire stadium. We were still up by three, but still, I would take a hit to my stats for the dumbest of reasons.
I found solitude in the coolness of the corridor rather than the dugout during the seventh inning stretch. On the field, “Midnight Rider” by the Allman Brothers blasted over the speakers while a minuteman charged down the warning track on a black horse. I faced the wall and popped off my hat to press my forehead against the cool concrete.
“You okay?” a voice asked me. I didn’t need to look to see who. We always seemed to bump into each other. Ships in the night we were not.
“Yeah.”No. My uncle skipped another meal. He’s dying in front of my eyes. I’m sorry I’m taking it out on you.“Don’t worry about me.”
“Blind ump out there. Par for the course, right?”
I slowly rotated my forehead along the concrete and shot him a stare. Did it look like I was in the mood for banter?
Cody held up both hands in surrender, backed up, then turned and walked back to the bullpen.
Two more innings to go. Then I could crash into the world’s deepest sleep and forget about the day.
*
