Family Story

Something about the heat was worse than usual. It was hot, which was expected in the middle of June, but it was suffocating. Maybe it was the humidity that made it close to unbearable. Beads of sweat were speckled along my brow and I wiped at it lazily as I wiggled around on first base. Like the heat, I felt much worse that day. It wasn’t because of the humidity though. I was simply…nervous. Being on first base was new to me and frankly it terrified me. The base sat so close to home plate that it screamed dangerous. Somehow I had always managed to avoid that position, but today my coach decided it was time for me to try my luck there. Clenching my teeth, I nodded over at him as he stood behind the plate. His lips curled into a toothy smile that contrasted with the dark tint of his skin. A small part of me gambled he enjoyed torturing me the way he did. Blinking I stood on the bag and glanced down at the soft white chalk extending from the base. There was a loud crack of a bat and dirt flew from beneath the feet of the infield players around me. My body turned quickly toward the second baseman, who was squirming around like a kid in a toy store. I could tell she’d been paying less attention that I had, especially as I positioned my feet and the oversized ball skidded her way. Within seconds, my battered glove was raised and ready for the throw but I wasn’t prepared at all for what happened. In a split second I felt like the wind was knocked out of me, but nothing had hit my chest. Immediately my glove covered my mouth and my body stiffened. I could hear voices shouting at me, but it was like someone had turned the volume down on a television. All I remember next is glancing down while tipping my glove slightly open. The inside of it was the same old dirt brown but metallic red liquid was quickly pouring into it and through the creases to the clay dust below. That red was every where but I didn’t realize why or how until I was being dragged to the emergency room. It didn't take long to get there. The rooms and hallways were blinding white and I had to squint to say anything. My mother was frantic, but she held my hand tight. I wasn't sure what was going on. I was, but I wasn't. Pretty soon I was in the operating room and my mouth was pried open. I've always hated having my mouth examined. It's so bizarre but I didn't struggle. I didn't do much of anything while they were stitching, not even when my little sister attempted to see what was going on. I was perfectly still and I was for a long time. It wasn't until the next day I even cried. I had really wanted to go on that field trip that day.