Part of the Action

     He was a boy, she was a girl. Jackson met Chloe in middle school, in art class to be exact. The two of them were made to be partners a week into the school year for their first project. Their assignment: to create a picture representing something important to each of them. She suggested they list their top three interests and see if they had any in common. He agreed and, when she finished counting to three once they were done, showed her with a toothy grin his top list: baseball, video games, and baseball. She blinked once, twice, then gently slid her sheet face-down across the paint-speckled table to him: baseball, baseball, reading. Four years of friendship later, Jackson asked Chloe out.

*****

     “Babe!” Silence. “Chloe!” Still nothing. Jackson snickered. “Chloe, your neighbor’s wearing a Met’s jersey outside again!” A series of thumps could be heard from above the entryway.

     “Oh is he now?” she called from upstairs.

     “No,” replied Jackson, “but as long as we’re talking you wanna come join me please? I get that I’ve got a big game tomorrow and all but I-” A pillow found its way from the landing onto Jackson’s shoulder.

     “I’m almost done, Jacks, just wait.”

     “Come ooon, Chlo, I don’t have a ton of time.”

     Chloe’s head appeared over the retaining wall on the landing.

     “Then let’s get started.” Jackson smiled and she rather unceremoniously sauntered down the hardwood staircase, right into Jackson’s open arms. She hugged him and shot him a flirtatious smile. “Hey stranger.”

     “Hey there. Crazy question, but wanna go watch Field of Dreams with me tonight?”

     She feigned a gasp.

     “Why, that’s my favorite movie! How ever did you know that?”

     “I had no idea, I only asked because it’s my favorite movie, too!”

     She smiled and pecked his cheek.

     “Let’s go then, mister. I’m a busy girl.”

     Jackson smiled as she led him by the hand through the kitchen to the basement door and down the stairs. The two made themselves comfortable on the couch as Chloe navigated the menu of her near-ancient Xbox 360 to open Netflix. Jackson felt the weight of her head on his shoulder and welcomed her warmth: although it was early spring, it was still shockingly cold outside. As Chloe searched for the movie, Jackson decided to have some fun.

     “So, babe, I read something rather interesting online today.”

     “Hm?” came her absent minded reply.

     “Yeah, I can’t remember who wrote it, but it was about how the Phillies aren’t going to make it to the postseason this year. Something about losing their division again.”

     “What?” He smiled; he had her attention now. “Who said that?”

     “I don’t know,” he shrugged, “but it seemed legit. I mean, you’re away for the next series and as of now you’re 3 for 18 away games.”

     She stood up and turned to face him, saying, “I swear to god, Jacks, whoever said that has no idea what they’re talking about. And it’s only a month and a half into the season, we’re just-” She stopped when she saw the stupid smirk on Jackson’s face. “Jackson, so help me god…”

     “Love you too, babe.”

     “Whatever,” she huffed as she fell back next to him. “We’re not that bad this year. We still might make it.”

     The two were silent for a while as the movie began to play. “Hey Chlo?”

     “Yeah?”

     “You want to go hit instead?”

     She lifted her head off his shoulder to look at him.

     “Jacks, it’s dark out.”

     “Yeah, I know, but the lights’ll be on.”

     She gave him a soft smile.

     “Nervous about tomorrow, are we?”

     “No.”

     “Jacks.”

     “Just a little.”

     “Then we can stay here and-”

     “Alright, fine, yes, I am.”

     She stood up and made for the stairs.

     “The balls are in the garage, but Dad said that if you lose another one, you’re buying more.”

     “You’re the one who keeps hitting them so far though!” he protested.

     Her voice was barely intelligible as it floated down the steps.

     “Then do a better job of pitching!”

*****

     Among the many lovable and perhaps not-so-lovable qualities of Chloe, her skill at bat was perhaps the thing he admired most. She could hit almost any ball, no matter where it was going or how fast it was trying to get there. He knew that he owed much of his skill as a pitcher to late-night practice with her over the years they had been friends, and she knew it, too.

     A curve ball tried to sneak over the plate, but was met with 42 inches of solid ash wood and a loud crack. Jackson shielded his eyes from the park’s lights as he watched the ball fly past left field, making contact with the wall three or four feet off the ground and rolling a few yards before stopping.

     “Seriously?”

     Chloe shrugged. “What? Easy pitch.”

     “Seriously?”

     She smiled dangerously. “Try me.”

     “Whatever.” Jackson dipped into the Home Depot 5 gallon bucket and pulled out a slightly yellowed ball, the stitching on one part just beginning to become unstrung. “Actually, just hit the rest of these out of the park. They’re getting old.”

     “You know you’re paying, right?”

     “I’m fine with that.”

     “Then let’s go.”

     Jackson stared her down for a fraction of a second before he wound up and launched a fireball right over the center of the plate. Yet to his what he could only assume was horror, she managed to get a good piece of the ball, sending it in a straight line toward right field.

     “My god Chlo.”

     “What?”

     “How’d you hit that?”

     She shrugged. “I dunno. Bad pitch?”

     Jackson shook his head.

     “I don’t know why you don’t play softball.”
    “Because it’s softball, not baseball.”
    “Yeah, but I feel that you’d really enjoy it.”

     “That’s what I thought, too, but by the time we met, I’d already given up on it.”

     “Seriously?”

     “Yeah, seriously.”

     “Then why keep coming out here to hit with me?”

     “Because I love you.”

     Jackson started, then closed his mouth before saying, “Hey, that’s not fair. And you and I hit long before we started dating.”

     She shrugged.

     “I just want to contribute, you know? I just want to be part of the action. There’s just something about it, you know? Can’t really explain what it is, but I just want to be part of it.”

     Jackson nodded, taking in what the said.

     “Well then, let’s get back into action and get rid of these balls.”

*****

     They were down four to three in the bottom of the eighth. Jackson was up to bat. He jogged around the shoulder-high wall that separated the stands and dugouts from the field. Adjusting his helmet, he stepped into the box and took his stance. He could hear Chloe cheering from her usual seat just behind the wall, and he dug his heels in as he returned the pitcher’s stare. He saw him wind up, and Jackson’s body coiled back, placed all its weight on the right leg, and swung. Strike. He shook himself slightly and stepped out of the box, offering Chloe a determined smile. Stepping back in, he readied himself. The pitch came wide and right. Ball. He relaxed and resumed his stance, locking eyes with the pitcher. Anticipating the next pitch, Jackson swung and caught a piece of it, but managed to hit it foul. Strike. He stepped out of the box and snuck another look at Chloe.

     He heard her voice over the crowd saying, “Hit this one for me, Jacks! Hit it for me!”

     Grinning, he resumed his swinging stance in the box, clearing his head of everything but Chloe and the ball. The pitcher wound up, and Jackson began shifting his weight for the swing. He saw the pitcher’s arm arc over his head, launching the blazing orb of fury directly down the middle. Jackson saw the ball leave the pitcher’s hand, saw it come screaming at him, saw it make contact with the upper part of his bat, continue moving forward, propelled over the wall by the force of the bat, and hit Chloe square in the shoulder.

     The crowd let out an “oooh” as Chloe grunted in pain, clutching the point of impact.

     Jackson dropped the bat and ran around the wall, the umpire, coach, and school trainer close behind. When he got to her, he grasped her free hand and pulled her to him.

     “I’m so sorry Choe, I thought I had that one but then I underestimated its speed and swung too low and-”

     “Jacks, I said hit it for me, not at me.”

     Jackson was at a loss for words. “What?”

     “I said hit it for me, not at me.”

     She smiled cheekily.

     Jackson recovered and let her go.

     “Well, you did say that you wanted to be part of the action.”