The Baseball

Seems a little trite somehow, spinning your life’s story around the catch of one baseball.

Jason practiced baseball every day. Sliding, hitting, and catching. Mostly catching. His dad spent hours hitting pop flies in their backyard so Jason could run, dive, jump; whatever it took to catch the ball. And most of the time he did. I knew all this because his yard backed up to mine. And on the rare occasion when Jason did miss one, it would sometimes land on my mother’s begonias. A baseball can damage begonias. I’ve often wondered if Jason’s ability to catch a baseball improved because he wanted to win that college scholarship, or simply to avoid hearing our door slam and watch my mother stand on the deck, glaring down at her broken begonias silently daring Jason to cross the fence to retrieve his ball. That is actually how I met Jason. Having been on the receiving end of those glares, I knew their paralyzing effect. The first time it happened to Jason I was coming home from helping my dad at his hardware store. Jason was eyeing the aftermath of his wayward baseball and calculating the risk of recovery versus loss. I slid past my mom, picked up the baseball and offered it back over the fence. I introduced myself; we exchanged apologies for baseballs and mothers and thus our friendship began and quickly blossomed. He was my high school sweetheart.

Our senior year was filled with all the normal time consuming activities. In addition to working at the hardware store, I devoted as much time as I could into securing my acceptance to State. I was following my boyfriend to college. By then his scholarship was all but cemented and all my hopes were pinned on riding the college wave with him and landing on the other side with a husband. Might sound painfully traditional, but I didn’t care. Besides, this was 20 years ago and my small town upbringing was showing.

It’s odd how the moments that turn the tides occur on unremarkable days. Just an ordinary baseball game. Well, in fairness, it was the divisional championship. A close game; tied-with-bases-loaded sort of thing. I don’t remember the score. I don’t even remember THE catch. But it ended the game. We won. They lost. And in loss; they were not gracious. I have never imagined it was done in fury, or even planned. It was just a moment where young testosterone mixed with disappointment and opportunity. On the way out of town, one of the frustrated boys pitched a baseball from a car. Its unintended mark was the front window of my father’s hardware store; where my father was still inside. And where my father slipped on the glass and broke his leg. All in all, not one of those heart wrenching tragedies.  Just a trip to the ER, a cast and a long recovery. In a medical fact I didn’t appreciate until recently, it takes longer for older bodies to heal.

Jason, of course, went to college on his much deserved scholarship. How can you deny the hero of the winning game his prize? How can you deny your injured father the help he needs at his hardware store? So I stayed. Jason left with all the expected promises; calls, letters, visits. It was that ancient time before text messages and video chat. We made a gallant effort for a while. Honestly, it didn’t take four years for my father’s leg to heal. At some point I could have made the switch. In my defense; parental guilt on a southern daughter is hard to shake. Besides, that wasn’t the original plan. It just didn’t feel the same.

I have had a good life. Hardware is a decent living. Someone always needs a hammer, some paint or even begonias. It is also not an unlikely place to meet available men. I met one who helped me re-arrange my dreams. Quite possibly even improve upon them. Who is to ever know? I have often sat in my front porch swing long after the street lights have come on and tried to picture my life if Jason had missed the catch and we had lost that game. Would that loss have been a win for Jason and me?  Did one caught baseball set off a series of events that would forever alter the landscape of my future? Probably not. If I had the power, would I rewind time to find out? Probably. Not.