The Dream

The Dream

Kirby is a twelve-year old tow-headed farm boy, slight of build, who hasn’t had his anticipated growth spurt yet. He is the only child of Bryce and Vera Hilton who farm corn and alfalfa hay in Richards, Nebraska. It is summertime and there is seemingly no end of work to do on the farm. The days are long and boring, but there is Little League Baseball in the evenings and he is on the roster of the Eagles. He has been struggling on defense though and has been relegated to playing only one inning per game, in right field. He can hit the ball pretty well, but is ashamed of his weak throwing. He sits on the far end of the bench when he is not in the game. Kirby hopes to improve his arm strength with practice, which should lead to more playing time and some manner of respect from his coach and teammates. He talks about his frustrations with baseball every evening and his parents have grown tired of hearing about it.

         He has an upstairs bedroom with no air conditioning. He leaves a window open in hopes of getting a cool breeze to help him get to sleep. One night there was just such a breeze but he still couldn’t get to sleep. He was agonizing over his failure to throw out a runner in a game that the Eagles lost. He had been playing right field in a tied game, with two outs and a man on second base. A line drive was hit right down the first base line, all the way to the wall. Kirby reached it on the rebound from the wall and deftly scooped it up with his glove. He turned towards the infield and saw the runner rounding third base. He knew that he couldn’t throw hard enough to get the ball to the plate, so he threw it to the cutoff man. His throw was short and bounced before reaching him. The runner scored what turned out to be the deciding run.

         When he finally drifted off into sleep his misery continued to haunt him in a dream. It wasn’t just any dream; it was life changing. He was sleeping restlessly when a voice called out to him.

         “How may I help you Kirby?”

         The voice was not loud, but it was strong and clear.

         Kirby strained to see who was speaking. He noticed a face as he looked toward the open window. The face was shrouded in fog and he couldn’t tell whether it was a man or a woman. He wondered, is this real, should I ask for something? He heard it again.

         “How may I help you Kirby?”

         Kirby responded, “I wish I could throw hard; harder than anyone on earth.”

“Your wish will be granted,” came the reply, “but you must give something in return.”

         “What might that be?”

         “The last ten years of your life.”

         Kirby thought for only a moment before answering, “OK, its a deal.” Just as quickly as the aberration appeared it was gone. He was frightened, I forgot to ask how long I would live, what I have done?

         The next voice he heard was his father’s, “Time to get up son, there is work to be done. I want you to mow the ten acres of hay south of the house this morning, and after lunch I want you to rake the ten acres that you mowed yesterday.” He rolled out of bed and shuffled downstairs to the kitchen. “Mom,” he said, “I had a nightmare last night, and it seemed so real.” “We all have nightmares Kirby, she said, “don't worry about it, you probably ate something just before you went to bed.”

         “But this was so real Mom.”

         “Eat your breakfast now, you have a full day ahead of you.”

         Kirby was on the tractor all morning and most of the afternoon. When he was finished he asked his mom to drive him to baseball practice. She told him, “You should just forget about baseball, all it does is depress you. If you insist on torturing yourself, then ride your bicycle to practice, I have better things to do.” His dad added, “Why don’t you go out to the corral and groom your 4-H calf?” Kirby left on the bicycle. The ride was three miles on graveled roads, but it didn’t seem that far because he was wondering about the dream the whole way, would things be different today?

         He arrived just in time for outfield practice. The coach was hitting fly balls to the outfielders. He caught the first ball hit to him and lobbed it back in to the coach. It landed at the coach’s feet. Wow, he thought, I barely threw that and it got there on the fly… can this be…! He had to test his arm strength. The next time he caught a fly ball he hurled it high and hard, over the backstop and into the parking lot. There was a collective gasp from his coach and teammates. Practice stopped… everyone just stood there in amazement. His coach asked, “What was that all about?” He couldn’t tell them about the supernatural dream, so he replied, “I must finally be growing.” The Eagles’ coach wanted to see more of that. He asked Kirby to throw from deep right field and get the ball to home plate as quickly as possible. The catcher, Chas, was in a crouched position as Kirby threw his hardest, aiming at the glove. When it hit the glove in sounded like a cannon shot, and Chas tumbled over onto his back. Kirby and everyone else ran in to see if he was OK. Then his teammates gathered around Kirby, shaking his hand and giving him slaps on the back. The rest of practice was fun, he felt like a true Eagle teammate now. He couldn’t wait to play in tomorrow’s game.

         That evening, at the dinner table, he told his parents that he had suddenly matured as a baseball player and could throw as well as anybody. They were dumbfounded, but happy to hear that things were going so well. He had trouble getting to sleep again that night, but only because he was replaying the memory of that practice, over and over.

         The Eagles’ players had spread the word about Kirby’s throw and a crowd arrived to watch the next game. Kirby played three of the six innings. He made one special defensive play, after catching a deep fly ball he threw out a base runner trying to score from third base. As a batter he was one for two, hitting a single to left field. Kirby took a seat in the middle of the bench when he wasn’t on the field. Things were looking up.

         The Eagles were in position to make the playoffs with two games left in the season, but they had no depth at the pitcher position. The coach decided to teach Kirby as much as possible about pitching just in case they needed help. They worked together on the sideline while everyone else was practicing on the field. His control was very good, but he only had one pitch; the fast ball. The coach put extra padding in the catcher’s mitt and brought Chas over to work with Kirby. Together, they found a speed that Kirby could pitch without hurting Chas. Nobody could hit Kirby in the next two games. Attempts to bunt were failures because the ball would ricochet off of the bat like an infield fly. It was playoff time.

         Word had traveled throughout the league and crowds, including media personnel, and college scouts were at each game of the playoffs. The Eagles sailed through, winning each game easily. Kirby had gone from the end of the bench to a baseball phenomenon in just a few weeks. He knew his play was supernatural, and that he had made an agreement allowing it to happen; an agreement that would haunt him every night as he was trying to get to sleep.

         Kirby got his teenager’s growth spurt during the winter. He was still slight of build, but much taller. He studied pitching techniques and diligently practiced all the pitches, but he couldn’t master the curve ball or the slider. He had to learn to throw a change-up, to make him an even more formidable figure on the pitching mound.

         As time went by Kirby went from being a premier, young pitching prospect, to the most sought after pitcher in all of baseball. He was awarded a college scholarship at the University of Nebraska in Lincoln. He pitched well enough there to be courted by several professional baseball teams. Kirby did some courting of his own, meeting and marrying his wife Theresa, in his first college year. She was an athletic girl who played on the U.of N. tennis team. Her quick smile and joyful personality were the things that endeared her to Kirby. He needed her support on days that didn’t go so well on the diamond. Those days were becoming more common. No catcher wanted to endure his fast ball on every pitch and batters began waiting for the change-up, which was inconsistent.

         Before his senior year of college he signed a Major League Baseball contract with the Hurricanes of the Provincial League. The offer was too good to turn down; it included a big signing bonus. He only spent a few weeks in the Minors before being pulled up to the Majors. Things went well until the batters learned a bunting technique that gave them a fair chance of reaching base. His fastball was so strong that either the bat would break or the bunt would rebound like a line drive. Kirby didn’t dare to throw harder because it would rip the catcher’s mitt off or knock him over backward. He was frustrated by the dilemma, but at the end of the day Theresa would melt the frustration away with her smile and encouraging words. During his first year in the Majors, Theresa delivered a son, Kyle. Kyle was like his mother, always contented, always happy to see his dad when he came home.

         When Kirby’s contract with the Hurricanes was up for renewal he was placed on waivers and no team picked him up. By then he was considered a one-pitch pitcher, or should I say, “a one-trick pony.” It was at times like this that he was most thankful for his loving family, Theresa and Kyle.

         His baseball career was over, but surprisingly, not his throwing career. He found a job with a circus act in Las Vegas and became a featured attraction. In his act he might throw a baseball through a brick wall; or throw it so hard against a military tank that the ball would explode into smithereens, like a tomato shot from a mortar. Kirby was always thinking of a new stunt to delight the crowds. He loved doing what seemed impossible.

         Time was just whizzing by. It seemed that Kyle had just learned to walk, but he was already twelve, and playing Little League baseball. He was a normal, happy kid with ordinary skills and faults. He liked baseball but wasn’t obsessed with it. He was proud of his dad but had no intention of following in his footsteps.

         The years became a blur and soon, Kyle was in college. He earned an academic scholarship to study engineering at a nearby college. He found his soul mate, Alice, early in college just as his dad and mom had. Alice was just like his mom, a joy to be around. Not long after graduation they were married. They both found jobs in the Las Vegas area and felt settled enough to have a child. Thus, Kirby and Theresa were blessed with a grandson; a slightly built tow-headed boy named Cory. Cory was a natural athlete and loved to play baseball.

         At 59-years of age, Kirby’s arm was as strong as ever. At one of Cory’s Little League games Kirby gave a power pitching demonstration as a promotion for the circus. He threw a baseball at a catcher’s mitt mounted in a frame. The ball tore through the mitt, sending a cloud of stuffing and leather throughout the stadium, then buried itself in a mattress behind the frame.

         After having watched Cory pitch a one-hitter in that game, Kirby and Theresa were relaxing in the den, Kirby in his recliner. He was enraptured in good memories as he drifted off into sleep. His train of thought continued in a dream until... he was awakened by a voice. It was eerily familiar.

         “The time has come, Kirby?”

         The voice was not loud, but it was strong and clear.

         He saw that face, shrouded in fog. He heard the words again.

         “The time has come, Kirby?”

         Kirby rose from the recliner, his feet not touching the floor. As he was spirited away he remarked, “ What a ride it has been!”


The End