The Long Way Home

The drenched uniform smothers me beneath the unrelenting sun. The humidity is suffocating. The helmet sits heavy on my head and I have never yearned for my inhaler at home as much as I do today. It is the bottom of the ninth, one run away from victory. I notice the pitcher’s stance, just a little too turned out for comfort. I dash before I see him pivot. The ball thuds a millisecond after I land. “Safe!” calls the ref. For now, I am. The second baseman slings the ball back to the pitcher. It is difficult to not to let my head droop in the sweltering heat. But I watch. I wait. A tense silence from the audience. I almost hear the bat whistle in the air. “ST-RIKE!” The crowd awes and applauds. No! I wail inside my head, but already I feel myself start to inch off base until I have a healthy lead on third. I am betting that the pitcher will go for another inside the box. Please, I beg to whoever might be listening. Pleeeaaaase. The wind-up, the pitch-CRACK! The ball screams as it rockets past the first baseman. I am already hurtling toward, then past third. My lungs scream for oxygen. In slow motion I see the blasted right fielder handily catch my hope off the bounce and cannon it across to third. Three great strides left to the plate. It will take one second for the ball to leave his hand. Two more. It will take less than one for the ball to reach home. One. Slid-thud. I am touching base. The ball is touching me. The dust triggers a coughing fit and I hear “SAFE!” The crowds in the stands and around the field roar their jubilation, but I no longer care. I am home.

Word Count: 306