The Pitch

Jessie buttoned the old jersey, its fabric soft against her skin. The shirt belonged to her father, and the memory of that horrible day sent a tear sliding down her cheek. 

“Jess, you ready, baby girl?” Carrie’s voice snapped her to attention.

“Yes, Mama, be right down.” She grabbed her faded Cardinals hat from the dresser and bolted from her bedroom and down the stairs.

Randall smiled as she entered the living room. “You look like a real girl ballplayer, Jessie.”

“That’s good, exactly what I’m hoping to be.” Jessie patted her younger brother’s back.

Carrie adjusted Jessie’s hair under the cap. “It’s gonna be a hot one today.”

“I know, Mama.”

A few minutes later, the trio were belted into their seats in the old pickup.

“It’ll only be about an hour.”

Carrie nodded. “We’ll go run a few errands, new school shoes for Randy,  some feed and seeds for the garden, then we’ll swing back to get you.”

Jessie glanced out the window. “What if I don’t make it, Mama. If It’s not fast enough, if I don’t show ‘em, and I can’t-”

Carrie slammed on brakes at the intersection. “Jessie May Watkins, I don’t want to hear that doubtful talk from you. You are enough, and you will do this.”

“I know I’m not supposed to be double-minded, Mama, but I’m just so scared.”

“Of what?”

Jessie shook her head. “If I don’t make the freshman team, I won’t ever make the JV, and I won’t be able to get one, and go to school.”

Carrie turned into the parking lot and shut off the engine,  “You are going to college, Jessie May. Whether you get money to do it or not.”

“But we can’t afford it, Mama.”

“You are going to school, and that’s all there is to it. Now, go on and get out there.” Carrie mopped her cheek and yanked the door open, Randall right behind her.

“I don’t know if I can do this.” Jessie looked down, her voice a whisper.

“You can, baby.” She tilted Jessie’s chin to meet her gaze.

“I hope so, Mama.” Carrie reached up to pull her daughter into a tight embrace, and Randall tugged their arms until they folded him into their huddle,

They climbed back into the cab, and Randall held Jessie’s glove through the window before the truck roared away from the lot.

Jessie sauntered to the practice field, the thump of balls slamming into gloves sending her heart racing. She had wanted to play softball since she was younger than Randall, but her father wouldn’t sign her up for tee ball or the church’s team when she reached elementary school.

“No daughter of mine is gonna slide around the dirt,” Joseph said, his lips set in an angry line, nostrils flaring. The argument between her parents later that night had been particularly heated, and the next morning, she tried to ignore the bruise under her mother’s eye.

Despite his protests about Jessie’s interest in sports, Joseph had taken the whole family to watch a minor league game in Little Rock, and she became mesmerized by pitchers. The precision in their movements, the firmness of the grip and the choreography of the release, created a symphony of power and balance for the perfect pitch Jessie wanted to emulate. She held a book in her lap, but she paid close attention when her father watched the games on summer weekends, all the way up to the intense games during the long harvest days. She managed to tune in to softball games on the rare nights when her father made his way into town to see his buddies. 

Eventually, she had memorized the windup and spent afternoons mastering the technique. She pulled her hands in tight, gripped the ball loosely, and used her arm like a whip to release the pitch. 

Sometimes she threw until dinner, and her arm felt like a wet noodle as she raced to complete her homework assignments before her father yelled for her to turn off her light. Jessie had no idea if what she was doing would ever make her good enough to play on an actual team, something she feared would never happen.

When her mother caught her behind the shed one day, Jessie had expected Carrie to admonish her to get back to her chores.

Instead, she smiled. “I was pretty good in high school, you know.” 

Jessie’s eyes grew wider. “You played ball, Mama?”

Carrie nodded. “Until my junior year, when I worked at the lab after school.”

“You never talk about it.”

Jessie squeezed the ball in her glove. “You know Daddy won’t let me play.”

“I know.” A look with another unspoken understanding passed between them,

Carrie grabbed the glove and ball. She placed her feet atop the small bump, feet hip width apart and pulled her hands above her head, Her windup was lightning fast. The ball thumped against the shed like a gunshot. 

When she tossed the ball back to Jessie, her mother winked. "Don't worry about your father.” 

After her chores, Carrie caught Jessie and gave her pointers on how to improve her delivery and how to care for her glove. Predictably, Joseph objected. Her parents’ arguments became more frequent, and Jessie found herself lying awake listening to her father’s complaints about her tomboyish appearance, amongst other things. She would lay in bed, tears soaking her pillow, unable to fathom why all of her prayers went unanswered.

One afternoon, not long before the eclipse, Carrie winced when she threw a ball back to Jessie.

“Mama, why don’t you put some ice on it, at least.”

“I’m alright, Jessie Mae.” Carrie rubbed her forearm and sat on the ground

Jessie tossed the ball against the shed and scooted next to Carrie. “I just don’t understand why.”

“Understand what, baby?”

Jessie shook her head, a veil of tears clouding her view. “I pray every night, when I can’t sleep.”

“I’m sorry we keep you up, baby. I’ll get you something from the pharmacy, if you need.” She used her thumb pad to wipe Jessie’s cheek.

“Why don’t you just leave?”

Carrie avoided Jessie’s pleading eyes. “It’s not that simple.” 

“He hurts you, Mama.”

“Because he’s hurting, Jessie May. About this farm, about his life. Everything.” 

“I’m so scared for you, Mama.” Sobs wracked through her.

“Don’t be. Keep praying for us.”

“Maybe I’ll pray he dies.” Jessie threw the ball against her glove, her lips were an angry line.

“No, Jessie. Pray for God to heal your father’s heart. I know it doesn't seem like things will change, but believe that they will, baby.”

  Jessie lifted her mother on her good side, and stashed her ball and glove under the porch before she joined Carrie in the kitchen. Her parents were quiet that night, and Jessie lay awake, replaying with her mother’s words about her father as she tried to sleep.

 Now, Joseph had been gone for three years, dying from an infection after the tractor accident, and Jessie felt more pressure than ever to play and help change her family’s precarious circumstances. Her junior high coach had encouraged her, giving her a shot that fall, which led to a reserve spot. Jessie perfected her delivery and became a starter for the  8th grade team. She’d spent the days after the service throwing pitch after pitch, sweat pouring off her arms. late into the evenings, until Coach Martin drove her home, 

“Your daddy would be so proud of how hard you’re working, Jessie.” 

She shrugged. “He didn’t want me to do it. But I miss him so much.”

“I know you do. You look great out there, you know, just like she did.” Coach and her mother had been close friends and teammates in high school.                        

“Thanks. I really want to make the team next year.”

“Keep working hard, and you will.”

As she stepped onto the patchy grass, Jessie spotted the high school coaches huddled with Coach Martin, who waved when Jessie came into view. A small crowd of students, a few teammates among them, watched from the rickety bleachers. Jenny sat beside Terri; they were a pair of sisters and neighbors whose families had supported their family during the harvest. Jenny held up a thumb, to which Jessie nodded when she passed them. 

Jenny was the team’s catcher, and they bonded about farm chores and their younger siblings. 

“That’s it, Jess. Just like that, girl.” Jenny lobbed the ball back to Jessie at the end of a long practice before she jogged to the mound.

“Was it really good? It seemed low.” Jessie squeezed the ball and mopped her brow, 

“Your location is always good, and you throw hard enough, anyway. Gotta ice my hand after almost every game.” Jenny chuckled and grasped her shoulder.

“But, I haven’t ever played beside this. My daddy wouldn’t let me.”

“Why not?”

Jessie shrugged. “I don’t know. ‘Cause I’m a girl, cause he’d rather not have a tomboy daughter who hates wearing dresses.” 

“Sounds like ours, but so what?  We play anyway, because we love it.” Jenny pulled off her chest protector, a grin spread across her damp face. 

“You’re an amazing pitcher, Jess. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.” 

“You really think so?” Jessie looked down at the mound at her untied shoe.

Jenny scoffed. “You gotta believe in yourself, Jessie. You just do.”

They won the next game that Jessie pitched, with her mother whistling  and Randall cheering in the stands. Her teammates carried her off the field, and Jessie’s heart raced, energy drummed through her as she celebrated.

Now, the knots in her stomach twisted tighter, and Jessie tugged her cap to shield her eyes. The high school coach strode over to where Jessie waited in front of the bleachers.

“Watkins, you ready?” The high school coach tapped her glove, and Jessie jumped.

“I guess?” She craned her neck to meet his unblinking stare. 

“Modest, hmm? Heard you’ve got a heck of an arm.” 

Jessie shrugged and clenched her glove, her hand trembling inside the leather. 

“Well, just give it a shot, Watkins.”

He rejoined the others, and one of them scribbled notes on a clipboard. Coach Martin beamed and pointed at Jessie.

Everything had led to this moment. All eyes were on her, so Jessie squeezed her own shut. An image of her with father in the field during the eclipse rushed back.

“Thank you, baby girl. I’m so glad you’re here with me.” 

She had stared at him and cradled his head, tears splashing into the grass below them.

“It will be OK. You were here for me, Jessie, and I know you can do anything.” She couldn’t have known those were the last words she’d ever hear her father speak. 

  A gentle breeze brushed her damp cheeks. Jessie whispered, Thank you God for everything. Be my strength in this challenge and help me to do my best, no matter the outcome. 

Then, she started her motion and went into her windup to throw her first pitch,