Baseball Narrative

My t-shirt and gym shorts bleed sweat as the scorching sun above burns without mercy. Dust is being flung into air, burning my eyes as people run around the diamond. Sweat trickles past my eye as I look onto the field. The weather is starting to warm up meaning that P.E. is now played outside. I can still remember when I chose to take this class, it was freshman orientation, I was sitting in the cafeteria, Mrs. Sugden was rattling on about required courses for us to take. One thing is going through my mind as I look down at the puzzle that is my new schedule. A sinking feeling rose up in me, I had yet to choose a class for my fifth hour. The only one I had left was P.E. This is a small, very competitive, town meaning that this class might be the end of me.

Swallowing the anxiety I circled the class that had the power to ruin an entire year of school. Thinking back to those memories and thoughts a laugh rises up. It has been hard to succeed in this class but not the worst. The crack of another ball making contact with a bat brings my attention back up to the baseball game. It would soon be my turn to take another swing at the ball flying towards my face. Baseball isn't favorite sport, mainly because I don't have the coordination to swing at a ball coming towards my face. My name is yelled, meaning that it is now my turn to take a swing. Slowly rising the bench I shuffle out of the dug-out, passing all of my classmates who believe I will miss. Lifting the wooden bat up, I square away my feet and stare down the pitcher. He windups, I feel the ball swoosh by. Strike one is called. The catcher snatches up the ball and sends it sailing back to the pitcher. Again the pitcher windups. I slowly roll my hands around the bat, breathing slowly. The ball is thrown to home plate, I swing the bat. The bat and ball don't connect, my heart