by Dan Leonard

 

Saturday morning—
sun on the field,
grass still wet.

Chairs unfold.
Coffee steams.

“Here we go.”

 

Big jerseys.
Little legs.

Hats too low—
ears popping out.

Jetty tugs his down.

One helmet… sideways.

“Spread out!”
“Ready position!”

One boy squats—
like a frog.

Then—
they all do.

 

“Not bad!”
“Let me see you, buddy!”
“Ready position!”

They wiggle.
They fix it.
Almost.

Jetty peeks back—

Grandpa grinning.

“I love it!”

 

“Batter up!”

Swing.
Miss.

“Atta boy!”
“Watch the ball!”

Swing—
tap.

The ball dribbles.

“RUN!”
“RUN!”
“RUN!”

 

Jetty runs—
arms flying—
laces flapping
left,
right—
dust rising.

“Good hustle!”

CRACK!

“Good swing!”

She’s already running.

 

Tap.

Another hit—

He stands.

“Go!”
“Run, buddy, run!”

A mom jogs in—
helps him to first.

“Safe!”

Later—
quietly:

“I’ve never played baseball before.”

 

CRACK!

A line drive—

he runs to second.

“FIRST!”

He turns—
runs—

FIRST!

Hands up—
champion.

 

“That’s my guy!”

Jetty looks.

Grandpa winks.

POP!

A ball drops—
right into a glove.

He stares—

the crowd ROARS.

 

“Get it!”

A grounder.

He scoops it.
Holds it.

“Throw it in!”

He doesn’t.

Everything loud—
then not.

He looks—

Grandpa—
still smiling.

“You got it.”

He throws.
Late.

Then—
laughter.

 

“HOME RUN!”

Everyone runs.

First—
Second—
Third—
HOME!

All at once.

Dust.
Voices.
Feet.

Jetty runs—
laughing hard.

 

“GOOD GAME!”

High fives.
Missed.

Try again.

“Bring it in!”

Snacks open.
Juice boxes squirt.

“Popcorn?” someone says.

No one hears.

 

Helmets stay on.

One still spinning.

Everyone gathers.

Pictures taken.

On the sideline—
a jersey:

JETTY FAN
a day
a time
a place

 

Grandpa kneels.

Arms wide.

“Good game, Jetty.”

A hug—
big,
full,
the kind you remember.

“Way to hustle.”

 

Sun lower.

Voices softer.

But still there—
under everything—
the rhythm.

“Ready?”

“Ready.”

“Here we go.”