Once Upon a Star

When Adam was twelve, he was a Little League star pitcher. At fourteen, he was accepted onto an All Stars team, playing with the best of the best.

At sixteen, he was hit in the face by a ninety-mile-an-hour beaner.

The doctors told him that there was bleeding in his brain. They looked him in the face and told him that if he didn’t take a break and if he didn’t stop playing, he could put himself in a coma.

Adam didn’t listen, and the doctors were proven right. He played himself right into a three-month slumber.

When he woke up, everything he loved was gone. His place on the team, his athleticism, and even his friends deserted him. He became nothing but another ‘once upon a time’ in the world of baseball.

He became bitter, full of regret, anger, and loss. Adam finished high school with D’s and C’s. He went on to work for his older brother, who owned a hardware store in Stefan Heights, their hometown on the edges of West Virginia.

He never spoke of baseball or what had almost been for him in that world.

One morning in August, twenty years after his accident, a thirty-year-old Adam got up and dressed for work before leaving his cramped apartment building and clambering into the front seat of his Ram pickup.

Adam stared listlessly ahead as he drove. When he reached the hardware store where he worked, the man parked the car and lumbered into the building.

“Good morning, Mr. Louis!” Harper Fig, a high school girl who Adam’s brother paid to stock the shelves, greeted cheerfully from where she was putting away new rolls of tape. Adam jerked his head in a rigid hello.

He made his way around the counter and prepared for another long day.

The door opened with a jingle a few moments later. Adam lifted his eyes. He stiffened.

Oh, God, no. The man clenched his teeth. This is the last thing I need today, or any day.

“Hey, kid.” Adam’s older brother, Erin, grunted. He walked into his store with a swagger of confidence in his step. At his heels, dressed in a yellow Little League jersey and cap, was his ten-year-old son, Carl.

“Hey.” Adam’s eyes rested on Carl. The jersey, the cap, the mitt in his hands... It brought back a flood of memories for the man.

No. Adam gritted his teeth. I’m not that man anymore. That was another lifetime, one lost to me.

“What’s up, Erin?” Adam asked, tearing his eyes away from Carl.

“I’ve got business to attend to over in DC—I'm leaving today, and the boy,” he waved a hand lazily towards Carl. “He needs someone to keep an eye on him until his mom gets home tomorrow. Tomorrow morning, Adam!” He grumbled when Adam opened his mouth to protest. “It’ll be one night. After everything I did for you while you were stuck in your slump it’s the least you can do.”

Adam closed his eyes. He let out a sharp blast of air from his nostrils.

“I’m not exactly a tried-and-true babysitter,” Adam told him bluntly. “But I can watch the kid if that’s what you want.”

 ***

Thump. Thump. Thump… Thump-.

“Stop.” Adam growled. Carl ceased throwing his baseball against the wall. He frowned.

“I have a game tonight!” He told his uncle. The boy hesitantly tossed the ball once more. It hit the wall. Carl snatched it up in his mitt when it bounced back to him.

He has a what? Adam‘s shoulders tensed. He turned away from the register, where he’d been checking the day’s earnings so far, and blinked at his nephew. Erin had said nothing about a baseball game when he’d left the boy with him.

“Well, you’ll have to miss tonight.” Adam said. He hardened his heart against the boy’s hurt eyes.

“I can’t miss!” He cried. “It’s the first game of the season... Coach says, unless you have a real good reason for missing, he’ll bench anyone who doesn’t make the game for the next few months!”

Adam ran a hand over his face. He noticed his fingers quivering.

I don’t want to deal with this BS, he thought. Adam Louis and baseball don’t go together. Not anymore.

“Okay.” Adam breathed. He saw the boy peek up. His youthful eyes were gleaming with hope.

He still has his dreams, Adam mused. He hasn’t had them crushed yet.

“I’ll get Harper to take you."

“Oh.” Carl’s bright smile dwindled slightly. “Why can’t-.”

“I’m busy here. Besides,” Adam turned back to the register. “I don’t like sports.”

 ***

“Dad said you were on the All Stars in high school."

Hours had passed without the boy speaking a word. He’d been sitting behind the counter with his back pressed against the wall. Adam had almost forgotten he was there.

“He said…” Carl flattered when his uncle didn’t respond. “He said everyone thought you were gonna go pro.”

Adam had reinvented himself to the world. He never mentioned his baseball history to anyone. The friends, teammates, and coaches who’d known him then had either moved away or lost touch with him. His past had faded away, to the point where sometimes he wondered if it had ever happened at all.

But Erin knew. Erin had always been jealous of him. His older brother had loved baseball as much as he had, but he didn’t have the talent for it that Adam did.

I bet he practically slobbers with glee now. Adam clenched his hands into fists on the counter before him. Now that he gets to tell everyone that he was right and that he knew I was never gonna make it to the top.

“He said you were a pitcher, like me. Think you could show me a few things?” Carl carried on mindlessly, unaware of the raw emotion bubbling up inside his uncle. “Maybe we could go out back and..."

Adam banged his fist against the counter. Carl jerked. He spun to face his nephew, breathing hard.

“Shut up about baseball; do you understand me? I don’t wanna hear it! Dang it, kid…"

Carl blinked hard. Adam struggled to gain control of himself. The boy dipped his head, running his finger over the floor under him.

“Sorry.” He whispered. Adam felt an unfamiliar squeeze in his chest as the boy sniffed.

“Why don’t you go out back?” Adam sighed, running a hand through his hair. “You can pitch to yourself off of the garage door.”

Carl ran his arm along his eyes. He nodded. The boy stood up.

Adam swallowed, watching Carl slip out the back door.

Sorry, kid… He gazed at his own reflection in the smooth granite of the counter. I’m sorry, kid. I’m sorry I wasn’t strong enough.

 ***

As the afternoon blaze faded and the hazy violet rays of nightfall began to shine through the store’s dusty windows, Adam let Harper take over at the register. He slipped outside to ask Carl what time his game was.

His heart clenched when he spotted the boy. Carl was sitting against the garage at the back of the store. His baseball and mitt were flung aside. His knees were up against his chest. His head was buried in his arms, and his body shook with sobs.

“Oh, come on.” Adam made his way over to the little pest. He slid down along the garage door until he was sitting beside him. “Enough. What’s wrong with you?”

“I suck!”

“You suck at what?”

Carl lifted his head. The boy glared at him through eyes that were liquid with pain.

“At pitching, and hitting, and, well, everything!” He shoved his fists angrily into his eyes. Adam let out a breath. He peeked up at the sheet of lavender stretched out over their heads, where hundreds of sparkling stars flashed their existence for all to see.

Adam licked his lips. He opened and closed his mouth. Then he peered at Carl. The boy had tears dripping down his face. His shoulders were slouched and his nose scrunched in self-disgust.

“You don’t suck.” Adam murmured.

“Dad says I do.”

Yeah, because your dad’s an insecure scumbag. Adam thought.

“Your dad thinks that when it comes down to it, you're either good at something or you stink at it. That’s what life’s taught him. He's... a bitter man at times.” Adam smiled ruefully. “Heck, so am I. Which is why I snapped at you earlier.” Adam leaned his head back against the garage.

If you tell him, a voice in his head reminded him. There goes everything that you’ve worked for. He’ll remember you, not as Adam the hardware man... but as Adam, the baseball player. Can you handle that?

I handled building myself back up from the dust of utter and complete defeat. Adam shoved the voice aside. I can handle anything.

“When I was your age, I thought I sucked too.” Adam told his nephew. The boy peeked at him curiously. “I could pitch well—I had a killer curveball. But my power just wasn’t where it needed to be, and my batting.” Adam whistled, wincing and smiling in a fleeting facial motion. “However, I didn’t give up.” He reached out, clutching his nephew’s bony shoulder. Adam couldn’t remember having touched the boy in years, not since he was a baby. Carl leaned into his hand, his big eyes locked on his uncle’s face.

“Did you get better?” He whispered. Adam swallowed the lump that was threatening to form in his throat.

“Yeah. Yeah, I did. I got better, kid.” Adam squinted, a blur forming over his vision. “I got better than better. I was the one. I was the one who, on every team I ever played on, people saw me and said, ‘that kid? That kid’s going places.’”

Carl chewed his lip. The boy played with the cuff of his shirt for a moment. Without looking up, he asked.

“What happened? Dad says you got hurt. That you…” Carl flushed. “That you got too scared to return to the sport after.”

Good old Erin, Adam’s lip curled. He shook his head.

“It wasn’t that.” His voice was soft. His heart pulsed with a phantom ache. “It was a lot of things, kid.”

“Can you still play?” Carl asked. His eyes flickered from his baseball to his uncle.

“Can I?” Adam let out a husky laugh. “I haven’t touched a baseball in twenty years, Carl."

"Uh, huh, but if you did?”

“I don’t know, man.” Adam rubbed the back of his neck uncomfortably. “I’d be dang rusty.”

Carl grinned at him. The boy clambered to his feet. He snatched up his baseball and mitt.

“Wanna play with me?” He asked eagerly. Adam glanced away.

“I have to manage the store.” He grunted.

“Harper can do that!” Carl said.

“She’s been doing that while I’ve been talking to you.” Adam poked the boy in the chest. Carl stepped back. He still had a smile plastered on his face.

“A few pitches?” He pleaded. “Just a few?”

Adam climbed to his feet. He eyed the baseball in Carl’s hands wearily.

“I-.”

“Please, Uncle Adam?”

Maybe it was the boy addressing him as Uncle, which was a rarity, or perhaps he was going soft. But Adam gave in.

“Okay. A few, man. I really mean that.” He took the ball from the kid’s hands. The feel of leather under his fingertips sent goosebumps down his spine.

“Go.” Adam ordered the kid. “Run out in the field. Give me a thumbs up when you're ready for a pitch, slugger.”

Slugger? Adam tossed the ball up and down in his hand. He shared a silent laugh with himself. Old boy, you must be getting old. Dad called you slugger, back in the day.

“Okay! I’m ready, Adam!” Carl yelled. He was a good length away from his uncle. The boy was crouched in the middle of the grassy field that butted up against the back of the hardware store. His mitt was held up and ready for a catch. 

Adam’s heart pounded in his ears. His fingers tingled where he held the ball, like waves of energy were being transmitted to him from the object of his golden years. His eyes teared up. Not from bitterness or sorrow, but from a sudden youthful excitement—like one you get when seeing an old friend for the first time in years.

Baseball was in Adam’s soul. It was as near and dear to his heart as the tender eyes of a high school sweetheart.

He couldn’t reinvent himself without that part of his passion intact. Because baseball Adam and hardware Adam? They were one of the same. One couldn’t exist without the other.

Adam, for the first time in twenty years, pulled back his arm, drew in a breath, and pitched.

I’m Adam Louis. As the ball whistled through the air, the words howled from the depths of his mind like the boom of a stadium speaker. No matter what I do, I’ll always be me. I can’t change that. I can’t forget the trials or the heartaches, because they’ve made me who I am.

“Oof!” Carl reeled backwards as the ball rocketed into his mitt with a sound like a gunshot. He gaped at Adam. “Uncle Adam! You can really, really, pitch!”

Adam wiped the back of his hand over his moist eyes.

“I can.” He whispered too quietly for Carl to hear. “I truly can."