Field 3

by Jose Ruiz

The girl behind the chain link fence is more important than the 2-2 count as my Easton Stealth raises behind my ear. She is fan of baseball players. She is there through some family relation. She really does not like baseball.

Mid-summer dust glistens my vision with the scent of October through the beaming lights. I press my foot into the earth where many have before; where many girls have peered from behind the chain link fence. My love for the game extends throughout the electrified crowd, engulfing the masses like a small Asian island’s tidal disaster. The girl behind the chain link fence is not affected as she has seen batters before me in such a situation. It is her serene joy. Wind blows past my head although It was only my head turning toward the runner on second base. Is he trying to get fucking picked off? Focus returns to my feet, up through my relaxed thighs, and without missing my midsection I see my hands while my heart jumps as my bat pierces into the leather grip of my left hand. She sees me and sees the pitch soar off the outside part of the plate.

She will cheer at my upcoming, game-winning hit, but it is not what turns her on. It is the anticipation. Focus returns to my feet, up through my relaxed thighs, and without missing my midsection I see my hands while my heart jumps as my bat pierces into the leather grip of my left hand. Her breath deepens into her eternal gut. Her body rejecting her previous resistance and we are both locked in. I play the game because I love it. She loves me because of how I play it.

Everything except for an acute pinging persists within my ear. I am dying because the movies have mentioned a light at the end of the tunnel. A sweet sensation of leaving my body and everything good and bad the world had brought it.

The chain link fence disappears. Suspended. My body performs the swing as if reconstructed by god himself, the conductor of that body; My Soul. The round spot of white with the red stitches shoots back through the tunnel and my mind reconnects with the first base bag; then to my body. The run has long scored and narrative writes me as the hero. The chain link fence reappears and the girl has left to beat the traffic.

She likes baseball no more or no less than when she came. It is more of a religious experience. She sits through the bullshit and in one defining moment becomes closer to god. Then the chain link fence reappears.

Jose Ruiz’s Site

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