Struck Out on a Full Count

The slender maple wood felt like the hand of an old friend between his calloused fingers, and the wear of home runs showed on the barrel. This was not his latest bat, but rather the one he’d hit his first high school single with, and the one he thought he’d take with him to Texas. The unlit stadium lights loomed like sentinels over the nearly pitch black field, and in the darkness Jeremy Davis gripped the old bat in one hand and a scrunched up letter in another. Occasionally he swung the bat from his familiar home plate, memories of crushing a fastball out of the fenced outfield rushing through his brain, and occasionally he balled his left fist a little tighter, obscuring further the thin paper in his hand. Just barely visible near his palm was the symbol of a tattered orange Texas Longhorn. 

He should’ve known the moment he opened the letter that he was screwed; they saved the hefty envelopes for the people who got accepted, right? That’s where all the pamphlets, brochures, and boot-licking campus welcome memorabilia came, right? Well, when Jeremy opened his mailbox that day he found three small envelopes - the kind any jerk on the street uses to send their little letters. Yet he had felt joy - Florida, LSU, and Texas had sent him their responses to his application. He’d opened Florida’s first, his heart thumping out of his chest even though he knew that school was a long reach. Understandably, therefore, when he saw the, “We regret to inform you”, he was not overtly miffed; he nodded and set the letter down gently. Then he moved on to LSU, another reach, and so again when he saw the word “regret”, he placed the letter next to Florida’s and went to the third letter. He remembered his hands shaking as he held it, and was taken back to his first high school baseball game, when his appendages had likewise betrayed his nerves. Jeremy opened the envelope slowly, fumbling around with it and cursing himself. When he gingerly pulled the letter out, he couldn’t help but notice the lack of any fanfare within the envelope. Regardless, he began reading, and when his eyes hit “regret”, his face went numb, and he all but blacked out. 

His parents were away on business, that much he recalled, as well as the lack of security on their liquor cabinet. One thing led to another and now here he was in the frigid, inky black March night with his high school’s baseball shirt on and a half-empty bottle of Jim Beam in the dugouts behind him. Suddenly, the breath caught on the lump in his throat and he let out a choking sob, feeling the tears slowly trickle down his clammy face. 

“Jeremy?” called a familiar female voice from his left. He didn’t answer, but soon he saw an iPhone flashlight come around the bleachers. “There you are! I called you like four times!”

“My phone’s not on,” he said, trying and failing to keep his voice level. 

“Oh my God, are you-” she stopped and put her phone down. “What happened, Jeremy? I got your text this afternoon, but all you said was ‘I didn’t get in’, and-” 

“What d’you think happened, Sarah?” he interjected, looking at her sharply.

She took a step towards him. “You heard back from Texas today, didn’t you?” 

Jeremy nodded. “Yep.” 

“Oh… Oh no, I’m so sorry. C’mere,” she pulled him into a hug which he loosely reciprocated. After several breaths, she pulled back and said, “How long have you been here?”

“I don’t know,” he shrugged. 

Even in the dark, Jeremy saw Sarah’s eyebrows arch. “What the - is that whiskey on your breath?” 

“Yep.” He hung his head. 

Sarah nodded and looked over to the dugout, where a stray beam from a streetlight just barely illuminated the handle. “Please tell me you didn’t drive here.” 

Jeremy shook his head in abrupt motions. He took a rattling breath in. “I… walked.” 

“Good… that’s good. I walked here too, so I’m gonna-” 

“It was that sophomore year,” he interrupted, looking up at the smattering of stars

“Huh?”

“That was my worst batting average year, I didn’t play four games because my knee was jacked up, and we had a terrible record.” Jeremy looked at her with a hollow gaze. “That’s why Texas didn’t want me.” 

“Oh c’mon, even in your worst year you were still the best on the team. Didn’t you hit a .320 or something?” Sarah looped her arm in his and pulled him to her side. 

He was not assuaged. “That’s below the national average, and I went from a .440 down to the .320, not to mention my on-base percentage went from .380 down to a .360; I sucked that year, Sarah.” 

“Alright, you’re losing me with all that… I liked you sophomore year; that’s when we met, remember?” She stood on her tiptoes and pecked him on the cheek, smiling as she added, “I went to all your games hoping you’d talk to me, y’know. You still looked like a five star recruit out there as far as I was concerned. You still look that way.” 

“Texas didn’t think so.” 

“So forget about Texas! What about-” 

“Florida and LSU didn’t seem to think so either.” Jeremy pulled his arm away from hers and angrily swiped at his face to wipe away the tears. 

“Oh…” Sarah pursed her lips. “Didn’t you get that offer from Alabama?” 

He snorted. “Alabama baseball’s a long way away from Texas. Besides, I’ve been telling everyone for like three years that I’m gonna go to Texas; I’ve got all the Longhorn stuff in my room, my dad’s an alumnus, and I even met with their coach.” 

There were a few moments of silence following Jeremy’s words. They were close enough that the mist of their breath mingled in the chilled air before them, yet far enough apart that the angry glint in his eyes was swallowed by the shadows before it could be perceived by Sarah, who suddenly pulled out her phone, tapping a few times before raising it to her ear. 

“Who are you calling?” he asked. 

“Andre,” she said simply. He opened his mouth to object, but she held her finger up. “Hey, Andre… Yeah, not much… Yeah… Yeah, so I’m with Jeremy now, and… Oh, he’s… not too good, actually… He didn’t get into Texas… Yeah, it’s… Mmhm… He’s been drinking… Yeah, yeah no… Alright, that’s what I was gonna ask… Can you take us to Queen’s? Alright… Okay, cool. Yeah, see you then.” She hung up the phone and put her finger down. 

“I… I don’t want Andre to see me like this,” he said, heading to the dugouts. 

She grabbed his arm and said, “Where d’you think you’re going?” 

He didn’t meet her eyes. “Home.” 

“Oh no you’re not. That’s like a twenty minute walk. We’re gonna wait for Andre and we’re gonna go to Queen’s Diner to get some good food in you.” Her eyes were fierce and stubborn, the blue irises shining as though they were bioluminescent. 

Jeremy stopped in his tracks and tapped his bat on the ground. “D’you think I tried hard enough, Sarah?” 

“What? Of course! You’re one of the hardest workers on the team!” She grabbed one of his clammy hands, taking the letter out and replacing it with her own palm. 

“But I didn’t work hard enough to get into Texas,” he whispered. 

“When you went out on that field, did you do your best?” 

After a few moments, Jeremy shrugged and said, “Now… I don’t know.” 

He pulled himself away from her and went over to the dugouts, taking a hard seat and opening the Jim Beam to take a long draft. Sarah had only seen him like this once, right after his dog died, but even then he’d limited himself to a few drinks. She sat next to him and held his hand, keeping the letter stuffed in her pocket. They sat in silence for an untold number of seconds, listening to the still quiet of an early spring night, where there were no late birds nor insects to break the silence. Occasionally a car would rev up in the distance, but the sound seemed dampened by the gloom. 

Sarah’s phone vibrated, making her jump, though Jeremy took it as a cue to take another sip. She tapped away and then turned her flashlight on, raising her hand high in the air. Before he could ask what was going on, he heard feet trotting on the diamond. Andre’s familiar voice shouted, “There you guys are!” A few seconds later he climbed into the dugouts himself.

“Hey, Andre,” said Sarah, standing up and giving him a one-armed hug. 

“What’s up, Sarah?” He smiled, his teeth shining in the night. She gestured over to Jeremy and Andre’s smile turned into a grimace. “Sorry I’m late; I was making a care-package for my man right here.” 

“Should we get him into the car?” 

“In a minute-” 

“I’m not deaf, y’know,” said Jeremy, his voice as cold as the air, “and I’m not a cripple either. I can get to the car myself.” 

Andre kneeled down and smiled. “We know, bro… Here, gimme that bottle… Now, sip on this.” 

“What’s in that?” asked Sarah. 

“It’s some water with three electrolyte packets in it, and just a little bit of salt.” 

Jeremy frowned. “Tastes like crap.” 

“Well, that’s too bad, big man. Now, eat this.” 

Sarah grabbed Andre’s shoulder. “I thought we were going to the diner to eat.”

“We are,” answered Andre, “But I don’t think he’s eaten since he got that letter, and I don’t wanna haul him in there lookin’ like a corpse.” 

“I hate bananas,” said Jeremy, taking the fruit nonetheless. 

“Shut up, bro. Now, let’s go.” Andre got up and gestured out of the dugout. Sarah climbed the stairs with ease. 

Jeremy got up quickly and began wobbling on his feet. Before he could fall, Andre stabilized him. “I don’t need-” 

“Man, shut up. Let’s just get to the car.” 

Somehow, they managed to get to Andre’s Subaru without falling, though it took them an absurd amount of time. Andre stuffed Jeremy in the front seat, and Sarah climbed in the back, throwing the Jim Beam under a pile of old baseball stuff on the floor. Jeremy munched on the banana and took sips of the electrolyte water, and Sarah watched him with great concern. Andre started the car and pulled out of the parking lot, taking a left on Boston Street. 

“Thanks again, Andre,” said Sarah quietly. 

Andre nodded, but before he could reply, Jeremy mumbled, “You would’ve gotten into Texas, Dre.” 

“What?” Andre looked nonplussed. 

Jeremy threw the banana peel on the ground and said, “Your grades were a lot better than mine, and the scout liked you, too. You would’ve been a Longhorn.” 

“You’re a way better hitter than me, Jeremy, c’mon!” 

He shook his head. “Only a little, and you have the grades, too.” 

“I didn’t wanna go to Texas, and I don’t wanna play baseball in college. I wanna-” 

“Be an engineer, I know,” said Jeremy bitterly, “but you could’ve gone to Texas. I never had a chance.” 

Unsure of how to respond, Andre simply said, “We’ll never know. Now, shut up and let me drive.” 

“You’re probably going to a better school anyway.” 

Andre and Sarah made eye contact in the rear view mirror, both of them pursing their lips as Andre sped up a little. After a few turns and a traffic light, they were outside the diner, Jeremy still leaning heavily on his best friend’s shoulder. As they stumbled in, Queenie, the old server, saw them and shook her head, gesturing over to an empty booth. Andre half threw, half placed Jeremy into the booth and took the bench across from him, leaving Sarah to shimmy her way into the seat next to her boyfriend. 

“What’ll ya have?” asked Queenie, the bags under her brown eyes the most prominent feature on her muddled face, obscured from thirty years of pack-a-day smoking. 

“A big cup of dark roast for Jeremy,” said Sarah, “and…”

“The number five, too,” Andre looked at Sarah and added, “Eggs, toast, and two waffles. Not too big, not too small, plenty of protein and carbs.” 

“Alright, a number five.” Sarah looked at the menu and said, “I’ll just have a blueberry muffin, please.” 

Queenie scribbled it down and turned to Andre, who said, “I’ll take a number four and some coffee, too - but make it decaf.” 

“Comin’ right up,” said Queenie, walking back behind the counter where two new customers were waiting to be seated. 

They were silent for about five minutes, at which point Queenie came back and delivered their food without a word, staring insolently at Jeremy. Sarah looked offended, but after looking at her boyfriend, who now had a small trail of drool leaving the side of his mouth, her visage turned apologetic, though Queenie was long gone by then.

“Hey, man, you gotta eat,” said Andre, pushing Jeremy’s plate forward while digging into his pancakes with reckless abandon. 

“I’ll never understand how you guys eat so much,” said Sarah, nibbling at her blueberry muffin. “Didn’t you have dinner already?”

“Yeah, but I skipped dessert to pick his ass up from the baseball field,” explained Andre, covering his mouth. 

Jeremy took small bites of his food, choosing to poke at it moodily rather than feed himself with efficiency. As he chewed, he said, “I didn’t try hard enough.” 

“Oh, not this again, Jeremy,” said Sarah, wiping his mouth. 

Andre raised his eyebrows, and Jeremy continued, “I skipped some practices, I goofed off in games we knew we were gonna win… I had that chance to hit the grand slam to send us to states last year, but I-” 

“That was against Tommy Johnson - the best relief pitcher in the state,” said Andre, “no one woulda hit that ball, and they won states that year, so we lost to the best.” 

“Still lost…” Jeremy hiccuped. “I bet those Texas recruiters saw that” 

“C’mon,” said Sarah, “You have to stop beating yourself up over this! You’ll get into a different school, you’ll play on their team, and y’know what? You’ll probably do great enough to transfer to Texas if that’s what you really want.” 

“A different team…” muttered Jeremy, swallowing a bite of waffle. 

“Hey, did you wanna get into Texas because you thought it was the best program for you, or because your dad went there?” asked Andre, his eyes shrewd under heavy set eyebrows. 

He swallowed some eggs and replied, “I don’t know.” 

“If it was because of your dad, you have nothin’ to worry about! Like Sarah said-” 

“At least you have something, Dre!” Jeremy loudly interjected. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” asked Andre, leaning back. 

Jeremy struggled to find the words for a second, and then said, “You have a great GPA, a lot of extracurriculars like Astronomy Club and Robotics, and you can play baseball! You’ll get into some nerd school like MIT and do whatever you want!” 

“Oh, Jeremy, you-” began Sarah. 

“And you,” said Jeremy, his eyes wide and red. “You have grades, too! Student council, newspaper, all that… What do I have?” 

“You’re the best baseball player this school’s had in thirty years, Jeremy!” exclaimed Andre. 

“Since my dad…” 

That brought an oppressive silence over the table, and Queenie chose that moment to return and ask, “How’s everything?”

“Good,” said Sarah quietly.

She made to leave, but turned back to Jeremy and said, “What’s wrong with him?”

“Oh, he’s had too much to… uh… y’know,” Sarah squirmed in her seat and eyed Andre, who looked just as uncomfortable as she.

“I know that,” she said, rolling her eyes, “I meant what’s wrong with him.” 

Andre cleared his throat and said, “He… didn’t get into the college he wanted to.”

Queenie’s eyebrows disappeared into her mousy hair. “That’s it?”

Jeremy looked at her, a scowl on his face, “What d’you mean, ‘That’s it’?” 

“I mean you drank, what, half a bottle of whiskey - I smelled it on y’all the moment y’all walked in, just because you missed on one college?” Queenie placed her hands on her hips. 

“It wasn’t just a college, it was-” 

“Your dream, I know.” Queenie won a staring contest with Jeremy, who looked down at his plate as she said, “Y’know, my daughter went through something similar a while back.” 

“You have a daughter?” asked Andre incredulously. 

Queenie nodded, giving them a smile which took ten years off her face. “Mmhm - with a rich fella, too. He kept her when we split up, but she still keeps in touch with me.” 

“What happened to her?” Sarah asked as she rubbed Jeremy’s free hand, forcing him to look up at the waitress. 

“Well, she had her heart set on goin’ to an ivy school like Brown, but she didn’t get in there… She also missed on Dartmouth, Yale, and Princeton.” Queenie forced Jeremy to meet her gaze. “Y’know what happened to her?” 

“What?” asked Jeremy, unable to help the hope beginning to bud in his chest. 

“She went to UCLA and worked her ass off, ended up goin’ to Harvard Law. She’s gonna make partner this year.” Queenie paused and smirked. “Sometimes the place you wanna go ain’t the place you need to go.” She went off to assist some customers at the bar. 

“See, Jeremy, it’ll-” Andre was cut off by his friend, whose eyes held a newfound resilience they had lacked all night. 

“Shut up, man.” Jeremy picked up his knife and fork and made deliberate cuts into his dinner, taking large bites and staring at the night through the window, seeing the hopeful possibilities in his life bloom before him.