A Baseball Story #1

A Baseball Story, Chapter 1

Chris stood at the homeplate and held a wooden bat. He looked down at the base and tapped it twice with his bat. Then he grabbed the handle with his other hand and grasped it tightly. He he threw the bat over his shoulder, faced the pitcher and waited. The pitcher held the ball and looked straight at Chris. Chris started to sweat. The pitcher lifted his leg and pitched the ball at him. Chris swung the bat as hard as he could and nailed the ball. It went far over everybodies heads. Everyone on the field watched as if flew over. In the outfield everybody scrambled. A player stood direcly underneath the ball and held his glove up. The ball landed with a pop. Chris looked down in discouragement. The coach walked over and clapped. "Good work everybody. That was a nice pitch, Stan." He complemented. "Thanks." The pitcher said. "And, Chris. Nice hit. Can you do that again for me on Saturday?" Chris nodded. "Good, everybody pack up and bring it in." Chris put the bat into a bag and put the bag onto the back of the coach's golf-cart. Then he started to walk home. Home was not so great to Chris. He lived in a trailer park. His dad was a drunk, and his mom was dead. Ryan walked in and tossed his glove onto the couch. His dad was sitting on his Lazy-Boy wearing nothing but a white tee, some white boxers and a pair of socks. He was watching the TV and drinking a can of Bud Light. "How was practice?" He asked. "It was OK." Chris ansured. "Your team gona win Saturday?" Chris' dad asked. "Yes, Paul." Chris finished as he walked into the kitchen. He opened the refrigerator. It was pritty much empty. The bottom shelf was stocked up with Bud Light, and the door had Red Bull on it. Other than that, the only things in the fridge was some bannanas, and a jar of jelly. "Hey, Paul." Chris called. "Hmm?" His father ansured with a mouth full of beer. "Did you go to the supermarket today?" Chris asked. "No, I couldent." He ansured. Chris stood waiting for him to say why, but Chris didn't think he would. "Why?" he asked. "I fell asleep." Chris layed his face into his hand. He walked into the living room and grabbed a key off the coffee table, which was covered in old tissues, old newspapaers from last month, and empty beer cans. "Where are you going?" Paul asked. "I'm going to the supermarket." Chris responded then angrily slammed the door behind him. "Can you get more beer? We're running low."

Chris walked up to the car. It was an old, beaten up mini van. Chris pulled the handle for the driver's door. The door did not open. Chris kicked the boddom of the door in frustration and it fell off the hinges. "At least it's open now." Chris stated. Then he slapped the windsheild and pushed the door out of the way. He sat and put the key in the ignition. Then he turned it. The car pittered and puttered. Chris stopped when smoke started coming from the hood. He tried again and the car pittered and puttered up to a starting pop. The guages came to life and a small blinking light went off to signal that the driver's door was open. Chris put on his seatbelt and backed out of the gravel driveway. Paul sat and watched threw the window. He drove away from the house and onto the road. The wind blew threw the opening in the side and blew Chris' long hair into his eyes. Chris used one hand to push it back over his ears, but the wind blew it back. Chris squinted his eyes to keep the hair out. He finaly stopped at a red light and his hair settled. He opened the glove compartment and dug around some. Then he pulled out a rubberband and put his hair up with it. Then the light turned green an he drove off.

Chris walked into the supermarket and grabbed a cart. He walked threw the isles and looked at the shelfs of food as he passed. Chris reached up and grabbed a loaf of bread from the shelf and tossed it in. Then he walked over to the section with the paper towels in it. Paul ran out of tissues so he used all the paper towels from the kitchen. He grabbed the delux pack of paper towels. There were six rolls in it. He put it under the cart. Then as he passed by the bookshelf and stopped. He looked, then he reached out and took a book titled, "How to Live with a Drunk." Chris tossed it in. Later at the check out line. Chris started putting items from the cart onto the conveyor belt. The lady infront of him handed the man  at the register a check and wheeled a cart out of the supermarket. Chris walked up to the registar. "Hello, Mr.Richards." He greeted. Mr.Richards was a big black man. He looked up. "Hey, Chris. Hows baseball treating you?" he asked. "It's going fine. You coming to the game on Saturday?" Mr. Richards looked down. "Yes I am." He lifted the book. "How to Live with a Drunk. By Allen Wheeler." He said. "Classic. Hows he doing?" Mr.Richards asked. "Better. He went from one twelve pack a day to one six pack a day."
"Thats amazing."
Chris laughted. "At least we get money from all the cans being recycled."
"Thats the Chris I know. Always lookin at the bright side. Fifty two dollars and ninty five cents." Chris dug into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet. The wallet was empty. Chris put his hand into his face again. "What is it, Chris?" Mr.Richards asked. Chris pointed the wallet at him so he could see in. "Oh... He did it again?" Chris nodded. "Dont worry, Chris. I'll take this." Chris looked up. "Really?" Chris asked. "Do you want me to pay you back?"
"No, man. Its fine."
"Thank you, Mr.Richards." and Chris started rolling the cart out.
"See-ya later, Chris." Chris waved as he walked out.

Out in the parking lot, Chris opened the back of the mini-van and started to load groceries. An egg busted on the wind-sheild of the car. Chris looked around the side then ducked to dodge anouther egg. It splatered on the bumper of the car behind him. There was a truck with a bunch of people wearing hats from the school he was playing on Saturday. Chris wondered why they might throw stuff at him. He looked down. He was still wearing his baseball uniform. Chris hid, anouther egg hit the wind-sheild. Chris closed the back and got into the car. The car pittered and pattered and started. Then he started backing out and the car backfired and shut off. The people in the truck hid, they thougt Chris was shooting a gun or something. Chris walked into the house with two paper bags full of groceries. Paul was asleep. Chris set the bags on the counter and went back for the towels. He came back in and hid the towels in his closet. He took one out of the plastec and walked into the kitchen. Paul was digging thew the bags. He turned. "Where is the beer?!" He asked angrily. "Im only seventeen, Paul. I cant buy beer." Chris ansured. "Then you should have found anouther way to get it!" Paul shouted. "Did you take money from my wallet again, Paul?" Chris asked. Paul walked over and pushed Chris into the wall, he held him down. Chris held his breath to avoid Paul's beer breath. "Get off of me, Paul. Befor I call the cops." Paul looked him in the eye. Then he reached up and felt Chris' hair. Chris was confused. Paul pulled out the rubberband. Chris shrugged.