Page 2 of Rocking Player
I knew she wanted the best for me, and she’d hug me like that might make me change my mind as she said, “I love you, Sis.”
My son called up the stairs, “Mom, are you ready?”
This was his day. I told Stephanie that I had to go and rushed down the stairs. I’d call my sister back later.
He was dressed and pacing. Our shoe shelf was near the door. I grabbed my sneakers, the one extravagance I'd bought myself this year, and headed to our Rav 4 parked in our garage.
We were fine. I was lucky that my inheritance had been enough to fund Jeremy’s college, and being a single mom with my part-time gig meant I could be there for my boy and keep insurance.
I didn’t need to be my sisters, who all had fancy careers to complete their lives.
And I absolutely didn’t need a man. Jeremy was enough. So I needed to stop living in my head already. I checked his seat belt and closed his door.
Then, I took the driver’s seat and said to him, “I don’t know anything about baseball. You’re going to have to explain everything.”
He rolled his blue eyes. He wore his little league cap that read "Sea Horse" and a Pirates jersey. “I play shortstop, and you come to all my games.”
In seven years, he’d be a teenager and my son would do worse than give me that look of his that read "annoyed". I cringed as I imagined him as a rebellious teenager. His father had been wild and fun. I tapped the steering wheel as we headed the few miles into the city with the skyscraper horizon surrounded by the rivers to park at the stadium for the game.
Other families were walking through the parking lot, then heading inside, laughing and joking, and mentioning the hot dogs. The game had been a good idea.
I held my son’s hand. “Okay, we need to find these seats and you’ll have to explain the players and whose good or not and why.”
He pointed to the overhead sign and said the team names. “Today the Pirates play the Sooners. One of my favorite players will be here.”
“That sounds awesome.” When I played completely dumb and let him explain, I helped his self-esteem, so I asked, “And the Pirates are from here?”
He gave me a pointed look like my father would have made at me if I’d ever shown disloyalty to my hometown team. “Yeah, and the Sooners are from Tulsa.”
Well, that made sense. I’d never been to Oklahoma, but of course they’d be the Sooners. I used to like history, so I knew that name was the settlers’ moniker for going the night before the race to claim land and camping out near the flag sites before the race had started. Once racers had closed in, they'd put their flags up and had pretended they'd won.
I read on our ticket that we were in section 9, which Indigo, my sister, said was the closest tickets she could get last minute. It was right next to the Sooners' dugout. But it was fine. I maneuvered us around the crowd to find the seats.
“And they play the same way you do?”
Jeremy, with his short brown hair and long sides and bangs in some strange style, said, “They’re better. I can’t catch the ball that good. Can we get a hot dog?”
“Sure,” I said and noticed his nose was red from the sun already. My shoulders slumped. I should get him a hat for the sun. Today he could study the pros. At home, I had nothing more to help. Jeremy had wanted someone to toss the ball around with, but I couldn’t. I’d tried, but he’d given up on my catching and tossing skills once he'd realized they were worse than his.
I needed to figure out how to help him and who to ask. I walked toward the stand outside our numbered section and ordered a couple of hot dogs, sodas, and popcorn.
He carried his food and we filed in. Indigo had been right. We could smell the fresh grass. Hopefully, Jeremy saw whoever his favorite was from our vantage point.
Jeremy slipped into his seat and hugged the popcorn as he said, “Mom, these are great seats. We can see the dugout.”
I laughed and settled in, putting my drink in the seat holder. “I only get you the best, kid. You know that.”
“Thanks, Mom,” he said as the seats around us filled in.
I checked my phone, which was empty of messages, but that was fine. No sisters or cousins in crisis that needed my ear today, as the second mom of the entire Steel clan. My first real responsibility in the world was next to me. I put it away and smelled the fresh popcorn and beer and listened to people around me mentioning some player named "Irons" with some amazing batting average as the one the Pirates needed to fear.
Everyone was smiling, including Jeremy, who looked enraptured with the field.
I tapped his side and said, “Okay, tell me what’s going on.”
The team in the dugout beside us started coming out.
Jeremy said, “That’s Rodriguez. He’s the pitcher for the Sooners.”
