My Collection of Short Stories

Reach for the Moon

A/N: Fancy the Fiction 2020 prompt- tell a story in 800 words or less using the words, math, moon, and whale (words are in bold).

 The crowd went wild as my daughter, Misty, slammed her bat against the baseball. Even though I squinted my eyes, I could not spot exactly where it landed. The cheers told me it went far enough for an automatic home run. I jumped up, clapping my hands together.

"Not bad for the only girl on the team," my mother commented, lighting her cigarette.

I looked at her and groaned, "Oh Mom, I thought you were going to quit that."

"I'm just having one," she argued. "For the victory."

"It always starts with one, and then the next minute, you've smoked a whole pack. You know doctors are saying it's bad for you. I bet it'll be illegal in some time."

She snorted. "Hannah dear, it's 1985. If it's not illegal by now, I doubt it ever will be."

I shook my head, knowing there was no point in arguing with her.

Mom and I walked towards the field. As we passed the other parents, several of them offered me smiles and pats on the back. I recalled all the skeptical looks I got when I first brought Misty to join the team. How could I blame them. A girl playing on an all boys team seemed like utter madness. But my daughter begged me so how could I say no?

She always enjoyed playing baseball thanks to my ex-husband. The two of them would spend hours out in the yard throwing the ball back and forth. Her face would light up every time she caught the ball.

As we approached the batter's cage, the Coach Andrew had just finished his victory speech. The children picked up their bags and started out. Misty ran right into my arms. I held her tight.

"Great hit, sweetie!"

"Yeah, that was pretty remarkable," Mom chimed in.

Misty's smile flipped over as she caught sight of Mom's two fingers. "I thought you said you'd quit that, Grammy."

She grinned, taking another puff. "This is my last one dear, promise."

"That's what you said the last time, and the time before that," Misty pointed out.

I shot my mother a brief glance, reminding her of what I said earlier.

"Hey Misty, nice shot," one of her teammates called out. "For a girl."

As he laughed with another boy, I assured, "That was a great hit for anyone. Trust me, I've seen enough games to know."

"I don't care what Billy says," she agreed. "His mom's a whale. I hope he turns out the same way."

"Misty!" I knelt down to level with her eyes. "You shouldn't say something like that about someone's mother!"

She shrugged. "Why not? Besides, I've heard Grammy say that about her."

"Oh Mother," I huffed, shooting her an irritated glance before looking down at the ground.

Mom coughed a few times before saying, "What? Have you seen that woman?"

I let out a breath, spotting Billy running to his mom in my peripheral vision. Her belly did appear to be bulging out of her red Atlanta, GA shirt.

"Let's just go home so I can make dinner," I said, standing back up.

"Do I still have to do my math homework?" Misty asked.

"Yes," I replied, sternly. "It's the most important subject."

The moment we got home, I made Misty pull out her homework on the kitchen table. I started to boil some water for spaghetti. Mom decided to park herself on the couch with a glass of Chardonnay.

"Mom," Misty started, while scribbling on her paper, "Do you think I'm odd?"

I stopped stirring the pasta and looked over at her. "Of course not. Why would you ask?"

"Billy says I'm weird cause I'm a girl that plays baseball," she explained, glancing out the window behind her. "Girls don't usually play baseball."

I took moment to consider my words. "Well, that may have been true in the past but things are changing now. Today, girls have more options than when I was your age."

"Then how come I'm the only girl that plays?"

I sighed, saying, "That's because some people have difficulty adapting to change."

"So do you think it's okay that I keep playing?" she asked me.

I sat at the table next to her. "If it makes you happy, then that's exactly what you should be doing."

Misty shifted up straighter and decided, "Good, then I'll keep playing. I'm going to play professionally when I grow up."

I beamed at my nine year old daughter. "If that's what you want, then that's just what you should do. When I was your age, your Grammy always told me to reach for the stars, and that's what I'm telling you now."

With a smile, she looked out the window again into the night sky.

"I think I'll reach for the moon instead," she declared, gripping her pencil. "It's bigger."

I could not help but laugh as I responded, "If that's what you want, Sweetie, then that's what you should go for."