The bat drifted out of my hands, and in that moment, everything changed. It connected itself to the ground as my legs instinctively shot forward. The ringing in my ears pained me like strong tinnitus. My team cheered from beside me. My coach screamed at me. My friends watched me. The world spun in a nauseating motion as my feet dug into the dirt, kicking up a cloud of dust behind me. My head throbbed as I proceeded, hungover, towards first. I didn’t bother to check if the ball had been caught, it didn’t matter to me. None of it mattered to me. “God,” I yelled as I rounded first, “damnit!” My head faced the ground as I carried myself, forcing myself to keep moving, suppressing my intense will to fall to the ground already and give up, to give in to these emotions. “Damnit, damnit, damnit!” I screamed at the top of my lungs, “Damnit all!” My rage wasn’t calming. Baseball had always drawn it all out of me. I could hide how I was feeling in everyday life, but there, on that diamond, during those few seconds of running, with those people, I lost the ability to control myself.
The cheers from the crowd drowned out my screaming. I rounded second. I could already feel tears swelling in my eyes. I was past my breaking point. My mind drew an infinite slideshow of memories as I involuntarily neared third. I felt a stabbing sensation throughout my entire body as my joints scraped on eachother like rusted old pipes. “How could she leave me behind?” I said to myself, over and over, again and again. That singular thought echoed through my brain violently. It was all I could think of. I closed my eyes and yelled, attempting to drown that singular thought out. The feeling of gravity drew me to the ground as I pushed my legs out in front of me. The Earth itself was a black hole, dragging me into the event horizon, crushing me within its immense grasp. My mind couldn’t discern fiction from reality. Everything had gone dark. “Why’d she have to kill herself?” I screamed. In that instant, I was no longer moving. My leg, pinned between the ground and his glove, was completely stationary around a foot away from third. My eyes lazily drifted open, only to witness the smug grin on that kid’s face. Maybe he had heard what I said, I didn’t really care. This was my punishment, anyways. I felt shackles around my ankles. I knew it was all an illusion, but it felt so real. The shackles linked us together, and I felt her breathing on the back of my neck, that damn ghost. I’ve always hated baseball, but for some reason I can’t find the willpower to pull myself away from it, to rip the bandage off and do something I actually enjoy. It’s probably because baseball had always drawn it all out of me: my rage, my riskful nature, my excitement, my regrets, and most importantly, my sorrow.
I stayed in that position for some time, still outstretched in my sliding formation, but now resting my back against the dirt. Winning or losing, none of that mattered to me. I finally built up the energy to turn my head and look at them, all of the faces I disappointed. “Alright, then,” I spoke aloud as I laid my eyes upon their defeated expressions. I even caught some angry glares as I stayed put. Calvin, a teammate, or rather a friend, offered his hand as he made his way to left field. He understood at first glance. “You’re an idiot,” he said as he pulled me to my feet. I wavered back and forth, blowing slightly with the wind, almost unable to stay on my feet. I wiped the lukewarm water out of my eyes. “You should’ve stopped at second,” he continued, “but you knew you’d get out, didn’t you?” He walked a few steps past me, our backs now facing each other as he fixed his glove on his left hand. I remained silent, my legs wobbling as the world around me still spun. “Stop blaming yourself. You’ll never get any-”
“Don’t just tell me what I want to hear,” I said, interrupting him. My fists whitened as I began the exhausting journey back towards the bench to get my mit. There’s no way I could just dodge the blame, just pretend everything that had happened was inevitable, and that I had no control over it. “I could’ve saved her,” I whispered hoarsely as the distance between us increased. I have no idea if he ever heard me. The shackles clattered. She was behind me, watching me. I used to see her ghost, that illuminating blonde hair and slim outline standing in front of me. Sometimes she’d speak, others she’d just follow me, but I can’t see her anymore. If it’s because it’s been some time, or if I’m just forgetting her face, I didn’t know. I’d probably seen her for the last time already, cursing her name for haunting me, not knowing I’d be wishing to see her just once more months later. But she was there that day, I could tell. “You hate me, don’t you?” I’d speak aloud, “Don’t worry, so do I.”
The crowd, the scenery, the stimulant, it all had an atmosphere to it. My life outside of it was severely mundane, simply a set of motions on repeat, as if I were living in a time loop. Summer would arrive, and things would change, but not for long. Come fall, the cycle of infinite boredom would begin anew, and I’d once again live through that dull cycle. But baseball, yes, baseball was different. The crowd cheering for me as I run, the beaten down diamond that’s littered with the marks of those who’ve lived it before me, and the constant risk of playing an ever changing game, it all was different. In my school life, all I felt was boredom. Every task was a chore, just a waste of energy that I already lacked. Whenever I played baseball was the only time I truly felt alive, felt the adrenaline coursing through my veins as I made decisions on the fly. Swing or hold, bunt or walk, keep running or stop. I’d dash from first base, knowing fully well that my odds of beating the throw were slim, running back and forth between first and second to avoid getting tagged. I’d take risk after risk, wanting more, seeking a greater rush to compensate for my intense monotonous life I had been living until that very moment, and would continue to live once more come dawn. It was an addiction. I’ve always hated baseball, but for some reason I can’t drag myself away from the singularity, I can’t tear away the one thing that gives me real adrenaline, real sorrow, real frustration and anger. Nowhere else could I feel such intense feelings, such anguish, and such a rush.
Calvin stopped me on the way to my car, once, a few weeks later. Practice had run over time, and I already felt sluggish. The weight of my bag pressed down on my shoulders, causing my lower back to ache. Calvin put his hand on my shoulder as he stood beside me, both of us looking back towards the barren diamond. I let the empty terrain take life. I imagined phantoms of us playing, crowds cheering, her watching. “I’ll cut straight to the point,” Calvin began, cutting through the silence, decimating the fictional reality that I had projected onto the nearly empty space, “get over yourself, already.” I felt his grip tighten and my bat slip out of my bag, clattering on the hardened dirt. I looked away from him, towards the ground. His grip tightened once more. I could feel his frustration. “So what, you’re a damn mute now?” He said, his voice rising, “You want to know what I really think? Yeah, it is your fault! Yeah, you could’ve done more, no, you should’ve done more!” I wanted to say that I hated this side of him, but it was a type of behavior I understood well. Calvin had known that damn ghost years longer than I had, and he wasn't taking her death well either. He spun me towards him and smashed his fist into my cheek, staggering as he did so. My muscles went limp as I allowed inertia to bring me to the ground. He was usually so gentle, which only made the strike sting even worse. “You needed that,” he said firmly. I felt blood gathering in my nose as an inate sense of hatred began boiling beneath my skin, creeping through every limb in my body like fungus sprawling over a decaying tree. “You’re not the only one upset about this,” he finished, spitting hypocrisy while on the verge of tears himself. His teeth grinded on each other. I heard the shackles around my legs jingle back and forth. That ghost was probably laughing at me. I sat upright, pressing my jacket sleeve to my nostrils. He spoke again. “I miss her too, you know? So please, get over yourself, because it’s killing me to see you suffer like this.” And with that, he walked away. That asshole.
The batting cages would always help me calm down. That night, I stayed out far past midnight, hitting ball after ball after ball. Every swing, no, it wasn’t even a swing anymore, had awful form. It was as if I was bludgeoning the ball to death, striking it down in a heat of fury. Every collision would shake the metal rod along with my hands to their core. I was the only person there so late, yelling as I hit pitch after pitch. The rage secreted out of me, it hung on me like an awful stench. I missed a ball. I realigned my feet and threw the bat back over my shoulders. “Of course I know it’s not just about me,” I said to myself, “But I can’t just get over it!” I yelled, missing the next ball as my swing soared above it. “I mean how stupid are you?” I spoke aloud. He hadn’t been lying, though. Everything he said, even as outlandish as it was, he believed it, he meant it, as those had been real tears he shed. It was the first, and only time I ever saw him begin to cry. I missed a third ball in a row. Three strikes. “Damnit!” I screamed again, stumbling forward. I hit the bat against the floor, again and again, screaming all the while. I felt an intense pain in my chest, sinking me to my knees. Baseball only had such extremes. I either felt the rush that I lived for, or this intense pain, despair, and hatred. I’ve always hated baseball. No, that’s a lie. I’ve always hated being helpless, and baseball is truly a sport that shows you how helpless one person is, and how little they can do on their own.
I saw Calvin for the next time at our game. It was the third game of the playoffs for our league, and we were the higher seed. “Sorry,” he said quietly as I walked past him, towards the bench. I should’ve responded. The first six in the order went well. Two outs, two runs, and two on base by the time I was up to bat. I felt Calvin’s eyes on the back of my head as I stepped up to the plate. The first two pitches were strikes. I felt my motivation drop. I was already tired. I had no energy. He wound up his pitch. It was odd, this tension between Calvin and I. “Just say something already,” I thought. Without turning, I could feel his guilt, his motivation, and his pain loom over me. I guessed that he had felt bad for getting physical, but also that believed he was right to do so. He was tired of seeing me so helpless, so devoid of all effort and purpose. For a moment, it felt like it was just the two of us in that diamond. Everyone else seemed to disintegrate in the wind, flowing endlessly in all directions. The ball was midair, spiraling towards me. “Maybe I’ll... just maybe, I’ll actually give it my all, just for one pitch,” I thought. If that could clear the air between us, if that could make him not see me as so helpless, I’d give it a shot. The vibrations shot through my arms as I made solid contact, hitting a ground ball between third and short. As I began to move, I felt the adrenaline begin to pump, and then I saw her, standing there in her brilliance, the face I thought I had long forgotten. And for the first time since her death, she was smiling at me, cheering for me. Time froze as I was mesmerized by her beauty, but nearly instantly I understood. “I’ve been pushing you out of my mind on purpose, haven’t I? Because it’s so much easier to just not try at anything, than to actually face you, right?” She grinned at me, closing her bright blue eyes. “That’s it, isn’t it?” Emotions flooded over me. It was beyond realistic, a borderline hallucination. I laughed to myself, restraining the urge to speak aloud to someone who wasn’t real, or to tear up on the spot and put on another scene like last time. “Looks like you’re coming with me, then,” I thought, tugging the shackles with me as I ran, “So don’t you dare slow me down anymore!” That damn idiot, always getting in the way. Even after death she always wanted to be the center of attention. Yet, despite it being just in my head, I was beyond glad I got to see that smile again. “Maybe I’ll keep you around a bit longer, you damn ghost.” I’d run so far ahead, just barely dragging that girl in my wake, just like I had so many times before. The ball was fielded, and I was out before I reached first, but none of that mattered to me. Only one person had ever mattered to me. “You’re actually sober, for once,” Calvin said to me as I grabbed my mit from the bench. I laughed and turned away from him, wishing he could comprehend what I had just witnessed, wishing he could share in the euphoria that I had just experienced. Things don’t just get better, you can’t just get over yourself, but on that day, the bat drifted out of my hands, and in that moment, everything changed.
The cheers from the crowd drowned out my screaming. I rounded second. I could already feel tears swelling in my eyes. I was past my breaking point. My mind drew an infinite slideshow of memories as I involuntarily neared third. I felt a stabbing sensation throughout my entire body as my joints scraped on eachother like rusted old pipes. “How could she leave me behind?” I said to myself, over and over, again and again. That singular thought echoed through my brain violently. It was all I could think of. I closed my eyes and yelled, attempting to drown that singular thought out. The feeling of gravity drew me to the ground as I pushed my legs out in front of me. The Earth itself was a black hole, dragging me into the event horizon, crushing me within its immense grasp. My mind couldn’t discern fiction from reality. Everything had gone dark. “Why’d she have to kill herself?” I screamed. In that instant, I was no longer moving. My leg, pinned between the ground and his glove, was completely stationary around a foot away from third. My eyes lazily drifted open, only to witness the smug grin on that kid’s face. Maybe he had heard what I said, I didn’t really care. This was my punishment, anyways. I felt shackles around my ankles. I knew it was all an illusion, but it felt so real. The shackles linked us together, and I felt her breathing on the back of my neck, that damn ghost. I’ve always hated baseball, but for some reason I can’t find the willpower to pull myself away from it, to rip the bandage off and do something I actually enjoy. It’s probably because baseball had always drawn it all out of me: my rage, my riskful nature, my excitement, my regrets, and most importantly, my sorrow.
I stayed in that position for some time, still outstretched in my sliding formation, but now resting my back against the dirt. Winning or losing, none of that mattered to me. I finally built up the energy to turn my head and look at them, all of the faces I disappointed. “Alright, then,” I spoke aloud as I laid my eyes upon their defeated expressions. I even caught some angry glares as I stayed put. Calvin, a teammate, or rather a friend, offered his hand as he made his way to left field. He understood at first glance. “You’re an idiot,” he said as he pulled me to my feet. I wavered back and forth, blowing slightly with the wind, almost unable to stay on my feet. I wiped the lukewarm water out of my eyes. “You should’ve stopped at second,” he continued, “but you knew you’d get out, didn’t you?” He walked a few steps past me, our backs now facing each other as he fixed his glove on his left hand. I remained silent, my legs wobbling as the world around me still spun. “Stop blaming yourself. You’ll never get any-”
“Don’t just tell me what I want to hear,” I said, interrupting him. My fists whitened as I began the exhausting journey back towards the bench to get my mit. There’s no way I could just dodge the blame, just pretend everything that had happened was inevitable, and that I had no control over it. “I could’ve saved her,” I whispered hoarsely as the distance between us increased. I have no idea if he ever heard me. The shackles clattered. She was behind me, watching me. I used to see her ghost, that illuminating blonde hair and slim outline standing in front of me. Sometimes she’d speak, others she’d just follow me, but I can’t see her anymore. If it’s because it’s been some time, or if I’m just forgetting her face, I didn’t know. I’d probably seen her for the last time already, cursing her name for haunting me, not knowing I’d be wishing to see her just once more months later. But she was there that day, I could tell. “You hate me, don’t you?” I’d speak aloud, “Don’t worry, so do I.”
The crowd, the scenery, the stimulant, it all had an atmosphere to it. My life outside of it was severely mundane, simply a set of motions on repeat, as if I were living in a time loop. Summer would arrive, and things would change, but not for long. Come fall, the cycle of infinite boredom would begin anew, and I’d once again live through that dull cycle. But baseball, yes, baseball was different. The crowd cheering for me as I run, the beaten down diamond that’s littered with the marks of those who’ve lived it before me, and the constant risk of playing an ever changing game, it all was different. In my school life, all I felt was boredom. Every task was a chore, just a waste of energy that I already lacked. Whenever I played baseball was the only time I truly felt alive, felt the adrenaline coursing through my veins as I made decisions on the fly. Swing or hold, bunt or walk, keep running or stop. I’d dash from first base, knowing fully well that my odds of beating the throw were slim, running back and forth between first and second to avoid getting tagged. I’d take risk after risk, wanting more, seeking a greater rush to compensate for my intense monotonous life I had been living until that very moment, and would continue to live once more come dawn. It was an addiction. I’ve always hated baseball, but for some reason I can’t drag myself away from the singularity, I can’t tear away the one thing that gives me real adrenaline, real sorrow, real frustration and anger. Nowhere else could I feel such intense feelings, such anguish, and such a rush.
Calvin stopped me on the way to my car, once, a few weeks later. Practice had run over time, and I already felt sluggish. The weight of my bag pressed down on my shoulders, causing my lower back to ache. Calvin put his hand on my shoulder as he stood beside me, both of us looking back towards the barren diamond. I let the empty terrain take life. I imagined phantoms of us playing, crowds cheering, her watching. “I’ll cut straight to the point,” Calvin began, cutting through the silence, decimating the fictional reality that I had projected onto the nearly empty space, “get over yourself, already.” I felt his grip tighten and my bat slip out of my bag, clattering on the hardened dirt. I looked away from him, towards the ground. His grip tightened once more. I could feel his frustration. “So what, you’re a damn mute now?” He said, his voice rising, “You want to know what I really think? Yeah, it is your fault! Yeah, you could’ve done more, no, you should’ve done more!” I wanted to say that I hated this side of him, but it was a type of behavior I understood well. Calvin had known that damn ghost years longer than I had, and he wasn't taking her death well either. He spun me towards him and smashed his fist into my cheek, staggering as he did so. My muscles went limp as I allowed inertia to bring me to the ground. He was usually so gentle, which only made the strike sting even worse. “You needed that,” he said firmly. I felt blood gathering in my nose as an inate sense of hatred began boiling beneath my skin, creeping through every limb in my body like fungus sprawling over a decaying tree. “You’re not the only one upset about this,” he finished, spitting hypocrisy while on the verge of tears himself. His teeth grinded on each other. I heard the shackles around my legs jingle back and forth. That ghost was probably laughing at me. I sat upright, pressing my jacket sleeve to my nostrils. He spoke again. “I miss her too, you know? So please, get over yourself, because it’s killing me to see you suffer like this.” And with that, he walked away. That asshole.
The batting cages would always help me calm down. That night, I stayed out far past midnight, hitting ball after ball after ball. Every swing, no, it wasn’t even a swing anymore, had awful form. It was as if I was bludgeoning the ball to death, striking it down in a heat of fury. Every collision would shake the metal rod along with my hands to their core. I was the only person there so late, yelling as I hit pitch after pitch. The rage secreted out of me, it hung on me like an awful stench. I missed a ball. I realigned my feet and threw the bat back over my shoulders. “Of course I know it’s not just about me,” I said to myself, “But I can’t just get over it!” I yelled, missing the next ball as my swing soared above it. “I mean how stupid are you?” I spoke aloud. He hadn’t been lying, though. Everything he said, even as outlandish as it was, he believed it, he meant it, as those had been real tears he shed. It was the first, and only time I ever saw him begin to cry. I missed a third ball in a row. Three strikes. “Damnit!” I screamed again, stumbling forward. I hit the bat against the floor, again and again, screaming all the while. I felt an intense pain in my chest, sinking me to my knees. Baseball only had such extremes. I either felt the rush that I lived for, or this intense pain, despair, and hatred. I’ve always hated baseball. No, that’s a lie. I’ve always hated being helpless, and baseball is truly a sport that shows you how helpless one person is, and how little they can do on their own.
I saw Calvin for the next time at our game. It was the third game of the playoffs for our league, and we were the higher seed. “Sorry,” he said quietly as I walked past him, towards the bench. I should’ve responded. The first six in the order went well. Two outs, two runs, and two on base by the time I was up to bat. I felt Calvin’s eyes on the back of my head as I stepped up to the plate. The first two pitches were strikes. I felt my motivation drop. I was already tired. I had no energy. He wound up his pitch. It was odd, this tension between Calvin and I. “Just say something already,” I thought. Without turning, I could feel his guilt, his motivation, and his pain loom over me. I guessed that he had felt bad for getting physical, but also that believed he was right to do so. He was tired of seeing me so helpless, so devoid of all effort and purpose. For a moment, it felt like it was just the two of us in that diamond. Everyone else seemed to disintegrate in the wind, flowing endlessly in all directions. The ball was midair, spiraling towards me. “Maybe I’ll... just maybe, I’ll actually give it my all, just for one pitch,” I thought. If that could clear the air between us, if that could make him not see me as so helpless, I’d give it a shot. The vibrations shot through my arms as I made solid contact, hitting a ground ball between third and short. As I began to move, I felt the adrenaline begin to pump, and then I saw her, standing there in her brilliance, the face I thought I had long forgotten. And for the first time since her death, she was smiling at me, cheering for me. Time froze as I was mesmerized by her beauty, but nearly instantly I understood. “I’ve been pushing you out of my mind on purpose, haven’t I? Because it’s so much easier to just not try at anything, than to actually face you, right?” She grinned at me, closing her bright blue eyes. “That’s it, isn’t it?” Emotions flooded over me. It was beyond realistic, a borderline hallucination. I laughed to myself, restraining the urge to speak aloud to someone who wasn’t real, or to tear up on the spot and put on another scene like last time. “Looks like you’re coming with me, then,” I thought, tugging the shackles with me as I ran, “So don’t you dare slow me down anymore!” That damn idiot, always getting in the way. Even after death she always wanted to be the center of attention. Yet, despite it being just in my head, I was beyond glad I got to see that smile again. “Maybe I’ll keep you around a bit longer, you damn ghost.” I’d run so far ahead, just barely dragging that girl in my wake, just like I had so many times before. The ball was fielded, and I was out before I reached first, but none of that mattered to me. Only one person had ever mattered to me. “You’re actually sober, for once,” Calvin said to me as I grabbed my mit from the bench. I laughed and turned away from him, wishing he could comprehend what I had just witnessed, wishing he could share in the euphoria that I had just experienced. Things don’t just get better, you can’t just get over yourself, but on that day, the bat drifted out of my hands, and in that moment, everything changed.
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