To Care or Not to Care

Swing batter batter swing batter

Satan's demon cooks my flesh as I wait for the game to begin and the appearance of my best friend, Rachel. She drove us today after we attended the meet this morning but we left to get drinks from DD after and the two of us were unaware of how crowded the parking lot would be for the baseball game

Eric and the rest of his team are currently warming up as I sip my ice tea. Eric plays the pitcher of the team, the only skilled pitcher anyway. There is Cordelia's ex, Kyle, but Rachel can even throw better and she has barely an athletic record except for her soccer career that lasted about two months in third grade. Granted, she still likes to keep up with her fitness so we train in the park for most of the year until we move indoors to the Y in the winter.

Back to Eric. Yes he's wearing those incredibly flattering pants again with his whole baseball attire: a deep blue short sleeve jersey etched with Hemmings 22 on the back and Patriots on the front, a cap in the same color as the jerseys, bright red Nike cleats and white socks with an East logo at the heel. Chase, dressed entirely in the catchers gear, feeds balls back to Eric. Eric stands, feet together, right hand in his glove which is tightly wrapped around the ball. He pulls his bottom up in his teeth in concentration as he winds back and releases it at wicked speed, hitting the center of Chase's glove everytime. They warm up in this pattern for ten minutes, as I continue to get lost in him.

"I wonder how long you have been like that," pipes Rachel, jolting me out of my transience.

"I was just...um..."

"No explanation necessary my darling. I mean just look at your boy, that's reason enough."

One thing I love most about Rachel: she never has a problem with honesty when it comes to the two of us. She speaks to me with no filter, a blessing and a curse. She fiddles with her phone, as my boy (?!?!) and his team return to their dugout.

"Let me guess: Dax is panicking because you didn't respond when we got back to school for the game."

Yes. You heard my correctly: my best friend and my impish senior brother Dax. Obviously, I wasn't okay with this on multiple levels but mostly because my brother doesn't have deep empathetic connections so he tends to toss out girls like they are a week old tuna fish sandwich. Despite that known fact, my best friend was the pursuer; she somehow forgot the cardinal rule. I let it slide because she's had a crush on him since 8th grade and I thought oh what the hell. When and if they break up, its going to be hard on both ends, with me in the middle, but so far the weather is high and dry of drama. They have been dating for almost a year now and I (astonishedly) can admit my brother has really changed. He treats Rach like a queen though he's a little clingy but secretly I think she doesn't mind.

"Well no. He wants to know where to go out to dinner tonight."

"I thought you were going to go to the victory/coping the lose party with me."

"So much faith in the team there, Mon. I never promised you anything plus I think Blake and Bridget would want to go. They are on the way."

Blake and Bridget aka the other half of the Fab Four. I met Blake and Bridget my freshmen year on the volleyball team; I introduced Rach to them and we've all been inseparable ever since.

"How am I suppose to celebrate my victory of scoring a relationship with the hottest baseball player in history if you are hooking up with my brother in the parking lot of an Olive Garden."

"Like this," she responds as she exhibits sexual dance moves right there on the bleachers in front of all these people, starting to grind on my lap.

"Alright I get it, quit it before everyone other than creepy Lloyd stares at you," I giggle, referring to the pervert just a few bleachers down from us.

As if on cue, the teams assemble themselves on the field. We are in the outfield first. Play after play happens, blah blah blah. All I care about is the fact that Eric struck two guys out in less than ten minutes.

"Strike three!" The umpire calls as Eric strikes out the third West player, a rather threatening, tatted-up guy.

"Oh my gosh I didn't know Micah was back, " Blake exclaims, having arrived with Bridget at the end of the 5th inning after a Wawa pit stop. I didn't scold either of them since they brought me a hoogie.

Confused, "And Micah is.....?"

"Only the most dangerous seventeen year old in the Central Moss area." informs Rachel matter-of-factually.

Bridget elaborates, " The guy has been dealing with a load of problems. He made fake I.D.s to supply his drinking habit. He used to hit up bars nightly, not only to drink but he'd get mixed up in fights all the time. He would slip pills into guys' drinks and then beat the living shit out of him. His last incident ended with him cracking  a guys ribs and breaking his jaw; he was in the juvenile center for eight months. It's only been five though..."

"Released on good behavior?", I offer.

"Highly doubt it. That guy's messed up", Blake comments.

It's the bottom of the 9th, we are up to bat. The score is currently 7 all. We need to win this game to advance into playoffs.

As we await the next batter, I see her. Across the parking lot, dressed in her track suit and big hoop earrings just staring at me. I blink and rub my eyes, convinced of hallucination. Still there, leaning up against her Mini Cooper just staring at me. Even from this far away, I see her evilly tape her fake red nails against the car. I blink a few more times and she's disappeared.

"Here comes your boy, Mon!" squeals Rach.

There he is, walking to the plate. He pauses,glancing up into the crowd. He finds me, winks and mouths, "Watch this."

He swings his metal Easton bat a few times through before stepping up to the home plate. The pitcher is that Micah kid. I don't know how Eric can concentrate when Satan's spawn is literally staring at him. He springs a fastball right into Eric's mist, Eric sadly missing. Obviously frustrated as the umpire calls the strike, Eric grips the bat tighter. It was if the play was the slow motion. The ball crosses Eric's path just as his bat slices through, the ball arcing high and as the announcer says, "outta here!!!" Scrambling around headless, the outfielders run, attempting to catch the ball but happily (for us) failing. Eric sprints around the bases, sliding into home plate only to be attacked by his teammates. The entire student section charges onto the field, the Fab Four included. We had beaten the Bucks. I sprint to Eric, in my midrun he hoists me up, planting a kiss on my mouth as we lose ourselves in the excitement of the future.