Stories

The boy was on First Base, ready to run to Second Base. His team was behind by a run in the bottom of the seventh. If he made it home, he would tie the game.

His cousin, Rick, the best player on the team, was coming to the plate. Rick hit the next pitch, a hot grounder to the shortstop.

The boy ran.

The shortstop bobbled the ball, giving him time to make it to Second, but he heard his coach yelling Slide, Slide! He slid on his left side. The edge of his left cleat caught the edge of the bag, breaking his ankle. His mother beat the coach to second base.

It was his last play of the season and his last game of baseball.

I wrote this at the behest of the little book, 642 Tiny Things to Write About. I've taken a few liberties. I don't know if Rick hit the ball. I don't know what inning we were in, and I don't remember the score. I didn't break my ankle; I sprained it. I don't know if I was safe or not. What's left of the story is true - I slid into Second and twisted my ankle. It was my last game of baseball.