The Son Also Rises

---

Story 21 from Unreal

---------------------------

The batter’s slight knee bobs stilled when his eagle eye spotted the snapping wrist from twenty yards away. He stood steadfast in the rectangular chalk-painted box as the bright white orb laced toward his left eyeball. 

Time slowed for that critical moment, with spectators’ eyes widened for the match-up of the season under lights glowing down through the thick August evening air. As the ball left the pitcher’s hand, the shouting crowd silenced in fierce anticipation.

The fielding team’s coach unconsciously torqued his lips upward the instant he perceived the ball’s high and inside trajectory. 

Past him down the left field line and on the outside of the tall black fence, the pitcher’s father leaned in, left hand clasped tightly to the chain links. His eyes narrowed to a squint and head tilted slightly down, almost unwilling to watch as he also perceived the same angle. 

The coach’s words rattled around in the pitcher’s mind. “Don’t just walk him. Take him out of the game.” The season-long rivalry had come to a head that night on the town’s only field lit for nighttime play, bringing dozens of locals out for the spectacle. 

The batter held steady, perhaps the only other person accurately confident of the outcome. 

Halfway to the plate, the diagonal spin of the baseball forced an imbalance. The forward-spinning top right quarter of the ball clashed badly with the onrushing air, while the retreating bottom left quarter permitted the air to pass unimpeded. The pressure imbalance tugged at the pill, bending the path down and away from the batter’s eyeball.

The hitter’s initially cautious confidence grew to certainty when he pinpointed the instant the object’s break began. His momentary patience proved prescient. His leg lifted and drove forward. His body untwisted, with hands driving the bat around to an outstretched position over the center of the plate.

The ball’s bending path dipped it downward, away from bodily harm, and onto the barrel of the wooden thirty-three-inch bat.

Crack.

The smile disappeared from coach’s face and his head slumped to the ground. His experienced well-tuned ears immediately recognized the precise tone of impact the bat and ball discharged when connecting for maximum energy transfer.

The father’s nearly averted eyes reopened to watch as the ball rose directly over his son’s head. It continued yet higher above second base, then the center fielder, and easily cleared the distant fence.

Time returned to standard pace with an eruption from the crowd lining the first base side. The batter’s jog stuttered to a half-stride to ensure a full touch of the first white bag. His raised fist accepted the praises of the crowd and his teammates clearing from the dugout to receive him for the end of his lap. The batter’s animalistic open mouth shout toward the mound caught the pitcher’s gaze for an instant of gloating personal connection. 

The pitcher stole back his inadvertent eye contact with the boastful hero and spun to return toward his dugout and angry coach.

“What did I tell you?” Coach shouted and turned away in disgust. The eight other defenders retreated in from the field and gathered their equipment in silence.

Exiting the dugout for the last time of the season, the pitcher found his father and walked toward him, head hanging.

“I have no idea how he stayed with that curve,” Dad said. “Great pitch. Great season, buddy.”

“Coach wanted me to bean him.”

“I thought so. And I thought for an instant that you listened. Shame on me. I’m so proud of you.” Dad smiled. “We’ve always taught you to listen to your teachers and coaches. That was the easy lesson. It’s figuring out when to defy them that makes you a man.”

*****     Web-based Easter Eggs accompany the reader through every story in this exploration. For the "The Son Also Rises" Easter Egg, click below.