Baseball Dreams

Chapter 1

Casey woke up to hear a rooster crowing. He climbed out of bed and pulled out a pair of jeans and a T Shirt from a messy pile of clean clothes on the floor and put them on. Casey is about six feet tall with short dark brown hair, Casey is eighteen and graduated high school several months ago. The walls of his room were decorated with pictures and posters of all the baseball players on the Texas Rangers, and Houston Astros. Casey opened the creaky door to his room and went into the kitchen, there was a note on the the table from his father saying he was out working in the fields. Casey snatched some eggs from the fridge, and scrambled them on the old gas powered stove. As soon as Casey was finished eating, he opened the door and went outside. In front of him expanding as far as he could see, were golden hills lit up with the early morning sun. Casey grabbed his hat and set off running along the dusty gravel road toward the mailbox.

It took twenty minutes to reach the mailbox. The mailbox was so rusty you could barely make out the address 2237. Across from the mailbox, there was a thin line of trees that followed the road for awhile. Casey pried the mailbox open, to see only one letter. The letter was labeled Casey Monroe and it was from Los Angeles. Casey's heart beat faster, and he sprinted home.

A small farm house barely big enough for Casey and his father, came into view. It was located on top of a hill that gradually sloped down into a small valley. The house was painted white, with golden yellow trim but the paint was chipping away to reveal the weathered wood beneath it. At the front of the house, there was a creaky porch, on it there is an old rocking chair that was rarely used, and was mainly for looks. In the background, there was a large barn that was missing some of the boards. Next to the house, there was a small dog house for their cattle dog. A little ways behind the barn there were large peach and apple orchards.

"Dad,"cried Casey as he burst through the doors.

"What do you want?," boomed a loud deep voice.

His father was a large muscular man about six foot two inches tall who always wore his cowboy hat that made him appear taller than he really was.

"There's a letter from Los Angeles. I think it's from the scout we talked to," replied Casey excitedly.

"The scout for the Dodgers? I wouldn't get your hopes up." his father sounded doubtful and annoyed.

Casey carefully opened the letter and pulled out a sheet of paper that read, Casey Monroe, you have been drafted in the thirty fourth round by the Los Angeles Dodgers organization. We would like to discuss your contract. At the bottom of the page there was a phone number for contract negotiations.

"Well what does it say," said his dad emerging at the doorway.

"I...I got drafted," stuttered Casey in utter disbelief.

His father snatched the letter out of his hands and started reading it aloud and then abruptly stopped.

"They're offering you a signing bonus of over three hundred fifty thousand dollars. It takes me six years on the ranch to make that much." said his father sounding almost mad.

"I'm going to call the number," said Casey

"Son you belong on a ranch not a baseball field," his father growled, his temper flaring. "Go make yourself useful and track down the fox that's been killing our chickens."

"Fine." grumbled Casey, grabbing his twenty two.

"Try and find the den." Yelled his father as he left.

The door slammed shut behind him. Casey made his way over to the chicken coop and started following a trail of feathers.

Walking, he thought back to when he first found his interest in baseball. He had always liked to throw rocks at birds. Over the years he had become pretty good at it and could hit birds and squirrels feeding off the peach trees from a good distance. One day one of his dad's friends, Cole, came over to help his dad fix a broken fence. Cole watched him knock a bird out of a tree with a rock and told him he should give baseball a try. About a month later, on his birthday, he received a baseball and glove with a note saying, "Don't break any windows or you dad will skin your hide!" signed Cole. From then on he practiced by throwing the ball up and catching it, or playing with his friends at a dusty field behind the school. Casey then started to throw a tennis ball against the barn, but his father soon put an end to it because of the noise it made when it hit the barns loose boards. He practiced so much that his freshman year he tried out and made the varsity team. The coaches soon discovered all his practicing had paid off and he could place the ball wherever he wanted. Soon he was the varsity team's starting pitcher as freshman.

He had followed a dusty old deer trail for almost an hour before he came to a bluff overlooking an ancient oak tree. At the base of the tree was a fox and a chicken carcass. The fox was about two hundred feet away. Casey felt a pang of disappointment when he realized he'd found a single fox instead of a den. Casey slowly crept towards the edge of the bluff. He carefully unslung his rifle off his back, careful not to make any sudden movement so he wouldn't startle the fox. Peeking down the edge of the bluff, the foxes brown fur stood out from the dull grey of the oak tree. The fox was frantically taking bites out of the carcass and looking side to side for any approaching scavengers. All was silent except for the sound of the of the dry grass waving in the wind, and a vulture circling overhead. Casey lifted his rifle, looking down the iron sights, he felt the warm afternoon sun beating down on the back of his neck. The metal of the trigger guard felt cool and relaxing in his hands. Casey took three deep breaths and then exhaled deeply. At that moment, his mind felt perfectly clear. He pulled the trigger, there was a loud crack and the butt jolted back into his shoulder. He climbed down and inspected his kill. It was a clean shot through the neck. He grabbed the fox and put in his bag to give his father, who would skin it and sell the pelt. Casey started walking back towards the ranch, knowing his father would be angry he didn't find the den.

When he arrived at his house, it was late in the afternoon. Casey pushed open the heavy oak door.

"I'm home Dad," he yelled as he placed his twenty two above the door.

"Did you kill the den?" shouted his father.

"No, I just found one fox," replied Casey.

"God damn it!" his dad roared as he kicked the chair closest to him. "We're going to run out of money if these foxes keep taking out livestock."

Casey sensing an opportunity decided to bring up the letter. "You know if I decide to sign with the Dodgers, I can fix our money problems. The signing bonus alone is over three hundred thousand dollars." He explained.

"It's a family tradition, it's either the ranch or the army," his father roared. With that he stormed out of the house, followed by the loud slam of the door behind him. Casey was tired and it was late so he decided to go to bed.