Page 82 of The Cannon
Time slows. I watch it all as if in a dream. Sawyer sees the oncoming Honda. In an act of desperation his fingers latch onto Jude’s shirt in a death grip.
He pushes the boy out of the path of two thousand pounds of metal. The car skids into a one hundred and eighty degree turn and clips Sawyer’s outstretched arm, knocking him hard into a parked car.
Chapter 21
Sawyer
My pitching arm. Fuck. The memory of the impact, the sense of the shift in my destiny, all plays in my mind on a constant loop. Fantasies of walking onto the mound on opening day to the cheers of the fans evaporates into the ether.
Laying in this too short hospital bed leaves me time to think about it all. Isn’t necessary for the doctor to deliver the news. Actually he hasn’t said it yet. I imagine the test results will confirm the worst. But I knew the moment it happened.
The Cannon has shot its last blast. This will be the shortest-lived MLB career, which lasted one season. All my greatest days took place in the future. I may be the most unfulfilled expectation of talent any fan has ever known.
Can’t help the tears that are gathering in my closed eyes. Don’t want Bristol to see me cry. I hear her talking with Brick in the hallway. The sounds of their conversation muffled and there’s no making out the words. But it’s done in whispers and that tells me they’re on the same page I am. There are no false hopes here.
Do I wish I had done something different though? Should I have left the child to fend for himself? He wanted to die. And it was no empty threat. I remember the feeling well. You’re on the edge of a cliff and one stiff breeze can push you over. But I also remember wishing just one person would figure out I was feeling that way.
Could I have lived with myself if I didn’t try to protect Jude? No. It was the right thing to do. Moral. Loving. Ethical. I’m paying a big price for my choices, but there’s no denying it was the only one I could have made.
Think the worst part so far is the look in people’s eyes. The five hours I’ve been here has seen visitors come and go. Team members, coaches, Grandpa Davis and Grandma Birdie. Other than Bristol some remain. Brick, Atticus and Charlotte, Boone and Lucinda.
What I’ve done to deserve their steady affection I don’t know. But it’s rock solid, as if I’m already part of the Swift family. Wonder how this injury will change things.
“Sawyer. The doctor is heading this way,” Bristol says entering the room.
Brick follows.
“I’d like to hear what he has to say. Mind if I stay?” he says.
Opening my eyes slowly I catch their worried looks.
“No. Stay. We might as well hear the bad news together.”
Neither of them contradict me or my pessimistic view. Why blow smoke up my ass?
Dr. Spellman walks in minus any sort of smile or upbeat expression. The guy’s serious as shit.
“We have the results of your MRI back, Mr.Tom,” he says sliding the MRI images into the light box on the wall. Now we can all see the different angles. But only he knows how to read what they reveal.
What’s that solid white mass? Maybe it’s swelling around a break.
“Did I break it?”
“You have a hairline fracture of the right Ulna.”
“Hairline. That’s good,” Brick says placing a hand on Bristol’s shoulder.
“Not career ending?” I say feeling a little hope.
Bristol comes to my side and takes my hand in hers.
“Oh baby, this is great.”
“We found something else,” Dr. Spellman adds.
It seems like the air in the room is sucked out. Bristol’s nails dig in my flesh and my grip tightens around hers.
“What?”
