3,808 Miles

After the day’s game concluded, Henry promptly returned to his dingy little motel room, kicked off his shoes, untucked his shirt, and sat on the bed. He was not a large man, but the mattress eagerly submitted to his weight. Finding himself now several inches closer to the floor, Henry sighed, debating whether to just go to sleep at 7:30. He preferred night games, as they left him exhausted upon return, ready to let the night consume him. But today’s earlier start - and finish - left him with too much time to kill. 

He was depressed enough to just sleep, and keep sleeping for hours upon hours. But instead he sighed again, arose, and decided to make himself a cup of tea. The motel had an old coffee maker, plugged into the wall outlet with a dangerously frayed cord. He wasn’t a coffee drinker, but could use the machine to heat some water. He shouldn’t have been surprised when the machine refused to turn on, but somehow Henry was. 

Should I go over to the front desk? Nah. It’s unlikely they’ll just have a spare machine they can give me.

Instead he took the plastic cup into the bathroom, and turned on the tap until it got hot. Well, hot may not be the right word. It got warm. Lukewarm.

Henry seeped the Earl Grey bag into the lukewarm water for a couple minutes, and then took a sip. 

His day just got marginally more depressing. 

Henry missed home.

Of course, he also loved the game. Baseball. His mum wanted him to get married and bring her grandbabies. But no, he told her, baseball was his first and only love.

Loving baseball while growing up in Surrey was certainly not easy. His mum was an American, from St. Louis, and she was too excited to introduce him to the game. She likely regrets doing so now, seeing as how her son lives half a world away and there’s that whole lack-of-grandbabies situation. But Henry could fondly recall the first time she showed him the World Series on TV. Of her handing him his first baseball. Of their first game of catch. Her explaining all the complex rules and intricacies that make the game so beautiful. It was love immediately. He stood no chance. He was smitten.

As a child, few schools nearby offered baseball teams. His parents eventually found a rec league nearby, and he was finally on a team! Oh, how he dreamt of the next game every week. And he was good! He played center, shortstop, and catcher. He even pitched every now and then. It was probably just boyhood fantasies, but he saw himself someday getting drafted and playing in the majors.

Then came the ACL tear in his left knee. It was just bad luck. He was on his bike, a typical teen riding to a nearby shop to pick up some snacks. A Nissan rode straight through the light, crashing into Henry and sending him flying off his bike. Mostly cuts and bruises - except for the torn ACL. This effectively ended his playing career.

But Henry adamantly refused to give up the game. He volunteered as a coach for some rec league teams. Eventually he found himself at university, distracted by classes and part time jobs and girls. But he never deserted the game. He continued to coach when he could. He listened to American games at odd hours online. He found maybe the only other guy on campus who liked baseball and the two regularly played catch, much to the bafflement and annoyance of the other students passing them by on the quad.

Eventually he found himself entering his 20s and deciding what the heck to do with his life. He’d studied Communications, but had no desire to pursue a career in the field. He soon began applying for jobs online in America - in secret from his parents of course. If they knew he wanted to leave for America, they’d be incredibly upset. And they’d be even more upset if they knew the jobs he was looking for - positions as an umpire for minor league baseball.

Sure, he would have loved to ump in the majors. But with no experience in the field, that was certainly not going to happen. So Henry searched for jobs as a college or minor league ump. He would have gladly taken either.

The minors just happened to be the first one to respond. 

They did a couple phone interviews, and one video call. He felt that he’d effectively showcased his knowledge of the game. He came across as confident, decisive and personable. They told him the job would have its challenges, and he was alright with that. He welcomed the challenges. Anything to get him closer to his love.

The hiring manager took a leap of faith and offered him the job. He just had to fly to Dayton on his own dime. Henry had never heard of Dayton, Ohio and certainly could not locate it on a map, but to him it sounded like paradise.

The conversation with his parents was tough, but to their credit they were more understanding than he’d expected. Henry packed up some things and found himself on a flight to the States.

That was nearly two years ago. 

This evening he found himself alone in a crappy motel in Lynchburg, Virginia, where the Lynchburg Hillcats had just lost a rainy day game to the Charleston RiverDogs. Just a handful of fans were in attendance for a game that faced 3 interruptions due to the rain. But they got through the game. 

The highlight of the game - or perhaps the lowlight - was in the 9th inning during a play at the plate. It was a 2-2 game, with 2 outs and a runner on second. The hitter slapped a single into right, and the runner, who had held up to see if the ball was caught, scurried around 3rd and headed home. The throw came in from the RiverDogs right fielder, arriving at the plate at the same time as the runner, uber-talented Hillcats shortstop Marcus Everett. The play was CLOSE, so incredibly close. And Henry called the runner out.

The fans - the precious few that remained through the delays - erupted in fury. The fury was matched by Everett - a sure-thing future major leaguer who was not only known for his insane god-given talent but also for generally being one of the nicest players in the minors. But this nice young man was in no mood for niceness now. He jumped to his feet, and got into Henry’s face.

Oh, the shouting. And the dirt-kicking. And the profanity. His teammates trying to hold him back. Then his manager. To Everett’s credit, he never laid a hand on Henry. But Henry had still had enough. He gave Everett the “old heave ho” and ejected him from the game. Then the manager got involved, amazingly finding the few swear words that Everett had not wielded, and finding himself ejected by Henry also. 

It took some time for the crowd and players to calm down - another short rain delay helped. The game ended 35 minutes later, with a tough Hillcats loss. Despite the otherworldly talents of their shortstop, the team found themselves in fringe contention for a playoff spot. This loss hurt their slim chances.

As Henry gathered his things after the game, one of the other umps - an older man he knew only as Tex - came up to him. 

“You blew that call by the way. The catcher missed the tag. It was clear as day from second base… Oh well. You’ll get it next time, kid.”

Wonderful.

And now Henry found himself alone in his room, sipping lukewarm tea. The rain continued, so he wasn’t going anywhere. The TV had limited options. His iPad had stopped turning on a few weeks back for no reason whatsoever. 

Now what?

Again he sighed. He did a quick search on his phone and found that Lyncburg was 3,808 miles from Surrey. That’s a long way from home.

He googled the weather in Surrey. Raining, of course.

He pulled up Insta to see if any of his parents had posted anything new. Just a couple pictures of his dad grilling a few nights ago. 

He browsed through his recent texts, rereading messages from his parents and friends across the pond. Some good laughs in there.

Yes… he was chasing his dream. His love. But as much as he refused to admit it, Henry missed home. He wondered about the life he could have had had he stayed in England. Maybe marrying a girl from university. Perhaps doing something or another in Communications. Who knows, what if he had even started following - god help him - football (not the American kind).

He missed his parents. His American mum and his British dad. His mum’s quiet intensity. His dad’s undeterred goofiness. His friends from school. His old baseball coaches and teammates. Every single one of them roughly 3,808 miles away from him at that moment.

The rain continued to fall. The field would be soggy tomorrow. 

It dawned on him earlier, sometime around the 2nd inning - tomorrow is his birthday. The Big Two Five. Tex joked that he can now get a rental car here in the States. Well, okay then.

When he was 14, his first girlfriend - Sadie - dumped him on his birthday. That was rough. This birthday, even alone in a strange country, might not be stupendous. But at least he won’t get dumped again. 

Then it occurred to him that he hadn’t kissed a woman since leaving Britain. Last was Amy, his girlfriend of just a few months. She was more into him than he was her. She was pretty upset when he told her he took a job umping in the US for pennies. Yet still, right now… he missed her. 

When he was 6 - or maybe it was 7 - he fell off a tree branch and broke his wrist on his birthday. Okay, if he can just make it through tomorrow without breaking a bone. Even a sad, lonely birthday in the rain will still manage to rank only 3rd on his list of bad birthdays.

He finished the tea, gagging as the water had turned from lukewarm to cold far too quickly. He showered, brushed his teeth, and laid in bed playing Candy Crush on his phone. 

Just a few short hours until his birthday.

—

The rain persisted the next day, briefly fooling everyone at the stadium for a short amount of time before returning with a flourish. It was a maddening game of peekaboo with Mother Nature. 

The game had already been going on for over an hour and it was just the second inning.

The Hillcats manager stared daggers at Henry when he brought up the lineup card before the game. A spattering of fans even booed when he was announced as the 3rd base umpire today. 

Terrific. Happy birthday to me.

But the second inning ended up giving his day a second chance. 

After the first out was made in the bottom of the inning, he heard his name being called. 

“Hey Henry!”

He looked around, searching for the source. It was coming from the home team dugout, the dugout of the Hillcats. 

It was all the players. Even the hitter in the on deck circle. Even the coaches. Even the manager - although he called with much less enthusiasm.

“Hey Henry!” they called again.

Yes, it was the entire team. But one man was clearly the ringleader. The shortstop, the mega talented future millionaire. Marcus Everett. 

Everett waves his hands around like a conductor. They’d gotten his attention. The calls of his name stopped.

Then the team erupted in song.

“Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to yooooou. Happy birthday, dear Henry! Happy birthday toooooooo yoooooou!”

The players clapped. The coaches went back to whatever else they were doing. Marcus Everett maintained eye contact with the ump, then smiled, and gave a thumbs up.

All was forgiven from yesterday. There was mutual respect between the men, both of whom simply loved baseball. That was all that mattered right then.

— 

The rain continued off and on throughout the game, a Hillcats victory. Marcus Everett went 2-4 with a stunning defensive play at short. 

But even as the rain fell, Henry didn’t mind it so much.

He found himself back in the hotel after the game, hauling a sack of burgers and fries and a larger soda than he’d ever find in England. He’d also stopped at a book shop and picked up a couple novels. He needed a break from doom scrolling social and playing games on his phone. 

After eating the burgers, he quickly shifted into a food coma. He looked at his watch, and again he found himself faced with the prospect of going to bed at an embarrassingly early hour. But hey, it was his birthday. He couldn’t go to bed so early. Now, he wasn’t about to go out and celebrate - who would he even go out with? Tex? But he wanted to stay up. Maybe call his parents, even if it was nearly midnight there. Start one of those books. 

He just wanted to enjoy what ended up being a better day. No, not a great day. He still found himself a world away from home. He was still lonely. But just a little bit better. People did care about him here. People respected him. Maybe he can make this work. Maybe the game he loved so much actually loved him back. 

He sipped his tea. Again, it was lukewarm. But today, on his 25th birthday, the tea tasted just a little bit warmer.