I wrote a short story for my Fiction and Poetry class.  I’ve never written fiction before, but I really liked how this one turned out.

Strikes

His eyes were already wide open a full minute before the alarm went off. It was game day. And not just any game day; it was Opening Day, the start of a new season for America’s favorite pastime.

“How are you doing, babe?” his wife asked, as he got out of bed and began dressing. He didn’t say anything. There really wasn’t much to be said.

That was also his response to most questions posed by reporters last season. It seemed like they wanted to know every bit of his fall before his ultimate collapse. But why couldn’t they piece it together themselves? The depression, the drinking, the weight gain, the misdemeanor. You can’t hide anything when you are the face of the franchise and your job is on a national stage.

He tried to shake those thoughts away as he turned the keys to his car and began driving. “… and on the mound this beautiful Opening Day, Jamie Kan, hoping to rebound after what was a disappointing-” He clicked the radio off. He found it best not to let other people’s voices into his head when his own voice was already making him uncomfortable.

As Kan walked out of the players’ parking lot, the doorman spoke the same words he said to every player, “Go get ‘em, boss.” Kan made eye contact and without saying a word, continued his path into the clubhouse. He was the first player there.

Warming up was something he liked to do alone before the beat writers showed up for quotes to tweet and other players began to join him to get loose. He liked to listen to the silence of the ballpark hours before fans began to file in, wearing jerseys with his name on the back and chanting his name. He also liked to think about the opponent’s lineup, going through a mental list of the each player’s weakness points and pitches. Coaches used to praise him from about his ability to outwit the batter and keep them guessing. On the mound he was in control.

Though the same couldn’t be said off the mound. It was late last summer on an off day with his daughter that he lost control of his SUV while trying to avoid striking a van that ran a red light. His vehicle somersaulted into a light pole, killing his daughter instantly, but Kan walked away relatively unharmed. The guaranteed money that he and his agent so adamantly pushed for couldn’t guarantee that it could be spent on the little girl that mattered most to him.

Media went into a frenzy at this event and the degree of magnification on Kan’s life increased. The man couldn’t get any privacy in his time of mourning, especially with his team in a fierce pennant race with the division rivals. Slowly, the voices from the outside began to plant themselves in his mind. Voices told him he was an incompetent father, a weak person, and a lousy individual. And sadly, he believed them. So when his wife, teammates, and coaches tried to tell him that he could be strong and come back from his loss, he personally told himself he couldn’t. The pitcher who had impeccable control over his opponents lost control of himself.

Position players began to join him in the locker rooms, laughing and joking to keep each other loose, and interrupted Kan’s thoughts. Kan smiled with them, but did not say anything as he pulled up his long black socks with orange stripes. His little girl liked those socks, and how he wore them exposed with the pant legs hitched up to below the knee. Those socks made her smile, and Kan loved to make her happy.

Kan finished buttoning the top button to his jersey. He paused for a moment. His little girl loved her daddy, and she loved her daddy playing ball. That was the voice he wanted to listen to.

The jumbo-tron flashed two dots, indicating two strikes on the opposing lead-off batter. Kan set himself, wound up, and delivered. The hitter swung through the pitch and forty thousand plus supporters roared with approval. Strike three. “Yooou’re outta there!”

And he knew those were the words from his daughter herself.