Independent Piece # 4

Shivers shot down Nick’s spin as he nervously made the 20-foot walk up to the plate. If you ever ask him, he’ll say it felt like 10 minutes before he finally dug in for the first pitch. Now nineteen, Nick had taken this walk from the on-deck circle to the plate thousands of times before, but this was different. This was Division one baseball for the Florida State Seminoles. The team had already won their first two away games of the season, and now Nick would finally get his first chance, in the home opener for that matter. Surprisingly, the thousands of fans that filled the roaring stadium didn’t bother Nick. It was the old man, his father; sitting quietly behind the dugout with that usual, stern look across his face.

Nick’s father, Richard, never approved of his son’s involvement in baseball, and actually, even despised the sport of baseball itself. Nick had been trying to impress the man his whole life, but high school records, a banner in the gym, and even a full scholarship to an excellent school were just not good enough. Continuously, Richard would boast on about becoming a doctor, a lawyer, and doing something with your life, but Nick never lost sight of his dream.

Finally, Nick stepped into the batter box, and began his usual routine. His stomach felt like a continuous drop on a roller coaster that was never going to end but Nick ignored it. His legs had been trembling for the past half hour, but now this was it. He looked in, and a second later, swung the wood bat as hard as he could. Another second later he was out of he batter so angry with himself he could have committed suicide by accident. Down one strike in the count, he again stared in. The words of wait for your pitch, wait for your pitch, ran through his head until the umpire ecstatically yelled, “STRIKE TWO”! Nick had just been completely fooled by the outside corner.“I had no idea that was coming…” Nick mumbled under his breath, but it didn’t matter. Nick tightened his batting gloves and dug his cleats even more into the dirt. He choked up on the bat, and began waving it behind his head until the pitcher was set. Then the pitch as Nick lifted up his left foot, swung forward, and bunted the ball down the first base line. Nick sprinted down that first base line, and for some reason, the memories of childhood wiffleball in his friends backyard was the only thing on his mind. He thought of the summer days filled with numerous hours of wiffleball that always ended in arguments, but it was still the greatest memory of baseball he contained. Instantly, his day dream was interrupted by the first base umpire. “Safe”, he enthusiastically yelled, and roars and cheers shot up around the stadium. Nick felt like a 12-year-old getting his first hit ever in little league who couldn’t wait to tell everyone about it, but everybody had seen it. As Nick looked around the stadium, even his father was up on his feet, applauding, with a huge grin across his face.