Breakfast. Mom reading the newspaper. She doesn't look up when I come into the kitchen.
I assume this is because of my weird fit of laughter last night that she mistook for me being high. I make some toast with almond butter and eat quickly as I stand at the counter. She notices me out of the corner of her eye and seems vaguely put off by my presence. I get it. I'm put off by presence, too. Also, haven't showered in a day or so. Should probably do something about that. Or buy some new deodorant at least.
I finish up as quickly as I can, wash my dish and race out the door.
On the way out, she calls after me:
"What's your hurry?"
Beginning of summer after grade six, racing out the door for a baseball game, she called after me with the same question: "What's your hurry?"
I stopped that time and turned around to answer her, explaining that I wanted extra time to warm up because I might be pitching. She and Dad were going to walk over and watch the game, bring lawn chairs and the dog.
I wasn't usually a pitcher, but I'd wanted to try for a while; the coach said he'd give me a chance that night if Jesse, the usual closer, was up for it.
My parents were right above the dugout, sitting on their lawn chairs on the grass behind the bleachers. They were sharing a bag of popcorn with Hank resting at their feet, panting gleefully.
I got the chance to pitch that night after all and had more confidence than I can remember ever having. I was usually kind of shaky, but that night I was hitting the strike zone every time, throwing precise fast balls. I couldn't throw anything else, no curve balls or sliders or anything fancy, but I had an almost perfect inning. There was something guiding me. Some higher force, helping me out, pointing the ball in exactly the right direction.
We all went for ice cream afterwards. Mom kept asking me how I was able to throw the ball so fast. I wasn't sure how interested in the sport she actually was, but she thought my pitching was pretty cool. I can't remember why I stopped playing.
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Alternative
Teen FictionTim's public high school experience thus far has been characterized by bad grades and the total absence of a social life; he's listless and needs a change. So, after grade eleven ends, his mom decides to enrol him in a bizarre, little alternative sc...
