Page 18 of Play Like a Girl

“So when are you guys getting together?”

“I’m not sure. She’ll be in Cary in a couple weeks and I’m going to try to meet up with her there. If that doesn’t work out, I may just fly down to Florida for a day.”

“Well, I hope you work it out. I know how hard it is to be away from the woman you love.”

That said, he jogged back out to right field and continued stretching.

I walked slowly up the steps, still stunned by his words. It seems that maybe Dale Montgomery and I are becoming friends.

8

Penny

Sweat trickleddown my cheek and I shifted my shoulder up to wipe it away, not taking my eyes off the batter. Playing the third base, aka “the hot corner,” takes laser focus, not to mention sharp reflexes. Take your attention off the game for a split second and you’ll rack up the errors. That or you’ll end up with a lot of bruises, or worse.

I balanced on the balls of my feet, ready to react if the ball gets hit my way. The pitcher went into her windup and in the blink of any eye, the ball crossed the plate for strike one. After asking for a time out, the batter jogged down to talk to the third-base coach. I straightened and walked toward shortstop.

“Do you just want to shower here and head straight to dinner?” Nadia asked. “I’m exhausted and if I get near my bed, I might just crash.”

“Sure.” I took off my glove and wiped my sweaty hand on my pants before putting it back on. “I’m tired too. It’s been a long week. I forgot how exhausting the travel can be.”

Due to storms, our flight was delayed yesterday, so we got in late. It’s amazing how tired you can get just sitting around an airport.

She smirked. “And you want to be rested for when your man gets here later this week.”

Before I could answer, it was time to play ball again.

The next pitch was high, followed by one that was outside.

It’s the last inning and we’re ahead by two runs, but the other team has a runner on second and no outs. My whole team, both in the dugout and on the field, chanted words of encouragement to our pitcher, Jen. She’s tossed a great game, but had trouble hitting her spots last inning and that issue has carried over to this one.

Jen put her foot on the rubber and I got back into position. She transferred her weight forward and her arm circled up and around before she released the ball with a snap of her wrist. The ball was speeding in my direction, toward the field side of the bag before my ears even registered the crack of the bat. I shifted, then dove, feeling the satisfying smack of the ball into the pocket of my glove before I landed on the hard dirt, skidding to a stop right in front of the bag. Rising up on my knees, I turned sideways and saw the runner hustling back to second base. I flipped the ball over to our second baseman Cara to get the second out.

“Yes!” Nadia screamed as she came over and held out her hand. I grabbed it and she pulled me to my feet.

I glanced at my forearm and cringed. It’s scraped from wrist to elbow and blood is starting to seep through the dirt.

“Do you need the trainer?” Nadia asked.

“No, I should be good.” I wiped it against my shirt, cringing at the sting. “Just let's get this last out so I don’t bleed to death.”

She chuckled and jogged past me and we both got back into position.

That double play must have lit a fire under Jen because she threw heat to the next batter. No matter how early she started her swing, she just couldn’t catch up to the ball and she ended up striking out for the third out of the inning.

I collected my gear and headed straight to the locker room to shower. My forearm is really burning and I want to get the worst of the dirt out of it and have the trainer take a look.

By the time the rest of the team entered the locker room, I was already showered, dressed, and on my way to the trainer’s office across the hallway. Which works out great because I don’t want to have to fake a joy I’m not feeling.

Sure I’m happy we won, but the past couple weeks, I’ve been blanketed in a melancholy that I can’t shake. I’m homesick in a way I’ve never been before and have to remind myself daily how lucky I am to do what I love for a living.

Kenny and I FaceTime every night, but even our calls don’t help. In fact, lately I think they might be doing more harm than good. I’m often more miserable afterwards.

The trainer irrigated my wound with saline to make sure it was really clean then used a tongue depressor to coat it with antibiotic cream. By the time I left his office, gauze covered my entire forearm.

I thanked him and left the office with a bag filled with the remaining tube of cream, packets of gauze, and medical-grade tape that will keep it secure without killing my sensitive skin.

“From over here, it looks like you have a cast,” Nadia said as she exited the locker room.

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