Batter Up! by Brenda Bellinger
“Hey, I’ve gotta finish this project at work. There’s no way I can get to the game on time. Can you sub for me?”
“Seriously? Me? You’re kidding.”
“Would I be calling you if there was anyone else? There’s nobody. If you don’t do it, the team will have to forfeit. I’ll get there as soon as I can. Promise.”
Turning off the pot of soup, I grabbed the little Crayola thermos I sometimes used to bring hot cocoa for my grandkids and filled it with strong, hot coffee. The last time I played softball was during my P.E. class in high school.
In 2013, the fall softball season was extended due to several rained-out games. The final game for my son’s adult co-ed team was set for a weeknight two weeks before Christmas. The temperature was 34 degrees, unusually cold for Sonoma County, California. Justin’s roster included a couple of my younger brothers and my sister-in-law Angel, who was stuck at work.
Dressed in layers, the outermost being a down jacket, I arrived at the ballpark looking like the Michelin Man. Justin gave me a hug and a glove and ushered me to the dugout. I set my thermos and purse down on the rusty bench. Our team was up first, and I hoped Angel would get there before it was her turn to bat. I lucked out in the first inning; the batting order didn’t reach me before we took the field. I hustled to the left outfield position. Her car was still nowhere in sight.
Bellinger’s son’s softball team, the Fistpumpers, after a night game.
My brother Scott (center field) told me that if a ball was hit toward me, I should get out of the way and let him grab it. I could see my breath in the chilly night air as I watched the first batter step up to the plate. With a cocky grin, he nodded in my direction. I began to sweat. He took a swing and the ball sailed over my head, earning him a run. Bastard, I cursed under my breath. His team scored again before the inning was over.
Back in the dugout, I filled the pink plastic cup with coffee, dreading the moment I’d be at bat. When my turn came, my brother Terry was on third base. I grabbed the nearest bat and approached the batter’s box. Someone yelled, “Choke up on the handle!” Facing the pitcher, I tried to appear confident while inwardly pleading for four lousy pitches. He smiled and lobbed a gentle underhanded pitch toward me, obviously taking pity on the fill-in granny. I swung and missed, almost losing my balance from the effort.
“Stee-rike one!” the umpire called from behind me. Yeah. Thanks. I readied myself for another pitch. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Terry move a few inches away from the bag.
“Take your time, Mom,” Justin called out.
Strangely, the ball seemed to come toward me in slow motion. Another big swing and a miss. Terry retreated to third. Now I was pissed. My nose dripped from the cold. The dugout went quiet as the pitcher delivered the next pitch.
When I replay this moment in my head, it’s the solid crack of the bat that I remember most. As gratifying as that sound was, it came with the awful recognition that I needed to run. FAST! I dropped the bat and took off, breathing hard. My glasses fogged up as I neared first base, thankfully remembering to touch the bag. Behind me, Terry scored, and I heard Justin yelling “Go Mom, Go!” I kept running, my heart pounding. I saw the ball in play, and tagging second base I froze, sweating, trying to catch my breath. Angel was in the dugout, cheering and waving. Our team won that last game, and Justin still credits the win to his mother “crushing a double” with an RBI.
Looking back, it was fun to be part of the team that night, if only for a couple of innings. Two of Justin’s sons play on Little League teams now and I love sitting with his family in the bleachers, cheering them on.
Brenda Bellinger writes from an empty nest on an old chicken farm in Northern California. Her work has appeared in Small Farmer’s Journal, Mom Egg Review, Persimmon Tree, THEMA, the California Writers Club Literary Review, and in various anthologies. Her first novel, Taking Root, a young adult story of betrayal and courage, is available through most local bookstores and on Amazon. Brenda blogs at brendabellinger.com.
