To Stand By Noah

Noah and his dad, Stephen, had just taken their seats a few rows behind Cleveland’s away dugout. The game was against the Angels and had been on their schedule for nearly three months. They had gotten to their seats a little late because Stephen wanted to buy a hat, and Noah wanted a veggie burger which was only sold at one specific food stand on the second deck. It was the top of the second inning, Cleveland was down by one, and Trout was on deck. There was a smack of leather followed by a staccato yell from the umpire.

“Three!”

The Angels player whom Noah did not recognize flashed the ump a look, flipped the bat in his hand, and walked back towards the dugout. The crowd cheered for the pitcher as a large animated “K” danced around on the jumbotron. Trout made his way to the batter’s box, and behind him, Ohtani settled himself in the on-deck circle. He swung his weighted bat around, timing up the starting pitcher’s arm. Noah and his dad were by no mean Angels fans, but they both felt as though they were watching a living legend. The count was 2-2 against Trout, and Ohtani must have felt warmed up because he decided to just stand and watch with the bat resting on his shoulder. Noah watched him intently as he stood staring out into the field, motionless. He would have watched Ohtani for longer, but something stole his attention. There were no cheers from the crowd, no hotdog salesman yelling down the aisles, and no screaming umps or loud leather pops. It was just silence. Noah looked up to see a baseball, motionless in the air between the pitcher’s mound and home plate. His eyes scanned from person to person, each of them frozen in time. It was as if someone had paused the world around him. He looked over to his dad, who was like a statue of a man drinking Diet Pepsi.

To someone else, this would likely be panic-inducing, or at least peculiar. For Noah, it was familiar territory. It didn’t happen often, but often enough that he knew exactly what was happening. He stood and looked around. He was never quite sure what he was looking for, but he usually knew when he saw it. It didn’t take long this time. Maybe five or six rows in front of him sat a man and his son. The kid looked to be around four or five, the man, in his mid to late fifties. The young boy wasn’t moving. Frozen, like all the others, but the man was not. He looked around confused like you’d expect someone who wasn’t used to this sort of thing. Noah made his way over to the man and sat in the open seat next to him.

“How’s it going, sir,” Noah asked.

The man looked around rapidly with stiff shoulders, tightly clenching his fists. His eyebrows were raised, and he wore a frown.

“What’s happening?” he asked quietly.

“Everything’s gonna be alright. Come one, I want to buy you a drink,” Noah said.

The man looked over to his son.

“He’ll be just fine,” Noah said. “I promise.”

They made their way up the stairs and toward the bar, dodging motionless fans as they walked. The man took a seat at an open table while Noah walked over to one of the refrigerators and helped himself to two cold cans and poured the contents into plastic pint cups. He sat down opposite the man and slid his beer to him.

“You figure it out yet?” he asked.

“I think so,” the man said as he took a sip of his beer. “I’m dying, aren’t I.”

Noah pursed his lips and nodded.

“Not yet, but soon,” he said.

“Are you God?” the man asked.

Noah chuckled. “No,” he said extending his hand. “Noah.”

The man shook Noah’s hand. “Mark,” he said. “So, what is all this? Why did everything… stop?”

“Not too sure,” said Noah causally. “The first time I remember it happening was when my grandpa died. I was young and we were visiting him in a nursing home. Suddenly, everyone froze. Then grandpa sat up in his bed and we talked. Can’t remember about what exactly, but we just talked.”

“This happens to you every time someone dies?”

“Nah, only if they’re within close vicinity. About a hundred yards I figure.”

“So, is that what we do?” asked Mark. “I have to talk to you? Then what?”

“You don’t have to do anything, Mark,” Noah said. “If you want, we can sit and chat or maybe walk around for a while. But when you’re done, we return to our spots and things around us go back to normal. After that, whatever is going to happen to you… happens.” 

“Well, what is going to happen to me?” Mark asked.

“I never know,” Noah said.

Mark held his drink, taking the occasional sip, but his attention was jumping around the stadium. It was clear to Noah that Mark was trying to process this bizarre experience, and Noah quietly let him try. 

“How many times has this happened to you?”

“Quite a lot. Maybe a few hundred?”

“Jesus! How is it possible you happen to be around that many people dying?”

“I work in a hospital. Outside the hospital? Maybe two or three times.”

Mark nodded. “You think we could go out to the field?”

“Why not?”

The two finished their beers and walked out onto the field. Mark looked around, wordlessly taking in the intense green grass and the sea of motionless fans. He stared curiously at the floating baseball.

“Dreamed of playing out here one day,” he said.

“Yeah?” asked Noah.

“Was pretty good too,” he said smiling.

The smile disappeared as quickly as it appeared. “Got hurt my senior year of high school, then the colleges stopped coming to games. My boy’s got the bug just like I did though.”

As Mark said those words his head whipped over towards the Angels’ dugout. He walked over and looked at the boy he had been sitting next to. His hat was falling over his eyes and he wore an old, tattered Wilson baseball glove that looked to be about three sizes too big. Mark stared and smiled for a few seconds before rapidly turning towards Noah. He had a serious look and glassy eyes. “I don’t know what’s going to happen to me when I sit down in that chair,” he said. “But promise me you won’t let him see.”

Noah nodded. “Okay.”

“You got kids?”

“Not yet, but someday I’d like a few.”

“Nothing like it. You think you know love until they come into your life. Feels impossible, like seeing a color you’ve never seen before.” Mark looked at his son. “Never was much of a husband to his mother. Tried to, but never could get it right. One thing for sure is I was a good dad. Made sure of it.” Mark looked a while longer before turning to Noah. “Don’t suppose you know what happens after we die?”

Noah shook his head. “Sorry.”

Mark rubbed the years from his eyes and chuckled. “I’m scared, man.”

The two laughed hard at this. Noah never quite understood why they thought it was so funny but it seemed to comfort them both.

After a while, and a walk through the Cleveland dugout, Mark stepped back into the stands and turned toward the field. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath as a tear fell down his face. 

“Hey if there is something after we die, look me up when you get there. Next beer’s on me,” said Mark.

“I’ll hold you to it.” Noah patted Mark on the shoulder and made his way towards his own seat, and the second he sat, his ears were filled with screaming fans, and the crack of a baseball bat. He looked over towards Mark who was whispering something in his son’s ear. The boy stood, hugged his dad, and made his way up to Noah.

“Um, are you my daddy’s friend?” he asked.

“Yes, I am,” said Noah. “And you know what? I don’t think I can make it through this game without some ice cream. Would you like some?”

“Yes,” said the kid enthusiastically.

“Sounds good, sport. My treat,” said Noah.

The two made their way up the stairs toward the concession stands.

“Is there a doctor here!?” yelled a frantic but distant voice.

“I’m gonna guess José Ramírez is your favorite player,” said Noah playfully.

“Nope,” said the boy with a giggle.

“Hmmm okay how about, Shane Bieber?” asked Noah.

“Wrong again,” he said excitedly.

“Welp, ya got me,” said Noah. “Who is it?”

“My daddy,” the kid said.

Noah smiled and bit his lip. His voice shook. “Two chocolates, please.”