Midnight Curves

Ben Johnson

The roar of the crowd was deafening, chanting my name as I walked back to the mound.

Sweat trickled down my face as the weight of the moment pressed down like never before.

One more out, and my first no-hitter would be a reality. With each pitch this inning, the anticipation of the crowd coursed through my veins.

Taking a deep breath, I felt the familiar texture of the baseball against my fingertips.

The signature red laces woven to perfection, as I rubbed the baseball with my sweat, creating a more tactful grip.

I glanced at the batter stepping into the dust laden batter’s box, a mix of determination and nerves visible on his face. He knew what was at stake.

I signaled to our catcher, Will, who gave me a nod, pounded his glove and balled his fist at me. All those hours of practice paid dividends tonight.

I worked on location, up, down, in, out, changing speeds, constant tweaking. Our daily meetings with the coaches, designing game plans.

All these things contributed to my game tonight. My mind raced as I considered my options. I needed to be smart and strategic.

The batter was Hector Cortez, he had a reputation for being a solid hitter, but everyone had weaknesses.

I decided to start him off with a fastball, low and outside to test his patience and set the tone.

The crowd’s murmurs grew louder, a blend of hope and anxiety filling the air. I took a step back, pivoted, then raised my right leg to my chest.

My leg-kick was flawless as if it were in the first inning. Driving forward, I pushed off the mound with my left leg striding toward home plate.

I released the pitch, with pressure applied on the forefinger, I had the ball tailing away from the hitter.

Cortez swung and missed; the sound of the ball popping into Will’s glove signified that I still had my stuff.

Strike one.

I wiped the sweat from my brow, refocusing. I decided to mix it up with a curveball next, aiming to catch him off guard.

The crowd sensed my confidence, their anticipation was tangible.

I started my wind up, leg-kick high as I thrusted off my left leg.

My muscle memory was intact, my arm a flawless right angle as my release point was perfect, watching the ball as it shot out toward the hitter before the sharp downward bite.

Cortez hesitated, it cost him, as he swung and missed.

Strike two.

The roar of the crowd intensified, a sea of cheers and claps that made the hair on the back of my neck stand up.

Their energy fueled my determination. One more pitch. One more strike.

I locked eyes with Will, who gave me a subtle nod. This time, I would go for the slider, aiming to finish what I had started.

I took another deep breath, visualizing the ball’s path and the batter’s reaction.

As I straddled the mound, I glanced at the pitch clock, only 4 seconds left. I stepped off the mound and called time.

I could have thrown this last pitch, but I didn’t want to rush it. I wanted to savor this moment.

I turned and looked at the scoreboard. The iconic guitar scoreboard in centerfield was one of the treasures in the city of Nashville.

When I first saw this scoreboard, my heart pounded with desire to one day make it to the big leagues. This was my signature game to get noticed.

I straddled the mound again, looking in to get the sign from Will, our talented catcher.

He was a smart signal caller, and I trusted him. But this was my game tonight, and I commanded the strike zone.

He called for another curve ball in the dirt. Nope! I shook him off. Having just thrown a curveball, I was going to follow up with a slider, low and away.

However, taking time and stepping off the mound reset the batters eye.

Throwing a change-up low and away is a safe bet. But with two outs in the ninth inning, I couldn’t afford to miss my location. I needed to trust my instincts.

I nodded when Will gave me the sign for a fast ball up and out. Taking a step back, getting into my windup, I kicked my right knee up to my chest as I have done ninety-eight times this game.

Muscle memory took over as my pitching mechanics were flawless tonight.

As I strode toward home plate, I released the baseball with all the adrenaline I could muster.

Every ounce of my body worked in symbiotic harmony to throw this last pitch.

Time seemed to slow as the ball sped towards the plate, the batter saw the pitch coming but he was too late.

He swung and missed as he chased my pitch up and away out of the strike zone.

Strike three.

The stadium erupted in an explosion of sound. The roar of the crowd was deafening, their cheers blending into one overwhelming cacophony of celebration.

My teammates rushed towards me, their faces alight with joy and pride.

Will was the first to reach me as he picked me up. The rest of the guys patted my back, their voices congratulating me.

I looked around, taking in the sight of the scoreboard flashing in victory, the fans on their feet, cheering and chanting my name.

For a brief moment, the loneliness and pain of the past year faded away, replaced by this incredible, shared triumph.

As my teammates hoisted me onto their shoulders, I couldn’t help but smile. Tonight, I had not only made history but also found a glimmer of hope.

Maybe, just maybe, this was the beginning of a new chapter in my life, one where the shadows of the past no longer held me captive.

The crowd’s roar was still echoing in my ears as I stepped off the field, my arm heavy but my heart lighter than it had been in a long time.

Throwing a no-hitter was a dream come true. But as the adrenaline faded, my heart ached as the emptiness settled in.

This victory felt hollow without my family to share it with.

I made my way to the sideline, where Kimberly Clarke, the team’s sideline reporter, was waiting with a bright smile and a microphone in hand.

“Ben, what an incredible game! How does it feel to throw a no-hitter?”

I forced a smile. “It feels amazing, Kim. It’s something we’ve worked hard on, so far this season.”

Kim’s smile was genuine, “You were certainly outstanding tonight.”

“Will called a great game, he’s one of the best in Triple-A this year.

The coaches and the entire team all had a hand in our win tonight. This was truly a team effort.”

She leaned in, her excitement palpable. “You seemed completely in control out there. What was going through your mind during the last inning?”

I paused, searching for the right words. “Honestly, I was just trying to stay focused. I knew we had a chance to do something special tonight, and I didn’t want to let my team down.”

Kim nodded enthusiastically, “Well, you certainly didn’t let them down. Congratulations

again, Ben. This is a night none of us will forget.”

“Thanks, Kim,” I replied, my smile fading as I walked away from the cameras and the lights.

Heading back to the dugout, I grabbed my glove and proceeded to go to the clubhouse.

The security guard stopped me as he pointed to some children waiting for autographs.

“Thanks, Charlie,” I said, giving him an appreciative nod as I walked back out to the field.

I signed a bunch of autographs for a group of kids who waited after the game.

It was a simple gesture, but signing autographs was one of the few joys in my life right now.

After I hit the showers and got cleaned up, I headed out with a couple of the guys to our favorite hangout, Jose O’Shea’s.

It was a nice quiet Irish bar run by a Mexican who was a local favorite here. It was a place where I could find some solace with friendly faces.

Walking in the door, I smelled the familiar scent of wood polish and aged whiskey. April, the bartender who was a good friend of mine, looked up from behind the bar and smiled.

“Hey, Ben. I saw you on tv, you had quite the game tonight,” she said, reaching for a glass.

“Yeah,” I said, sliding onto a stool. “Can you believe I threw a no-hitter.”

She smiled. “A no-hitter, That’s amazing! What can I get you to celebrate?”

Resting my arms on the counter, I replied, “The usual.”

April chuckled, “Apple juice and club soda, coming right up.”

She set the drink in front of me and leaned on the bar, “So, how are you holding up?”

I took a sip, the cold drink soothing my dry throat. “It should feel better, you know? But all I can think about is how they weren’t here to see it.”

April’s expression softened. “I can’t imagine how hard it must be. Your family would be so proud of you, Ben.”

I stared into my glass, the bubbles rising slowly to the surface. “It’s just… every time I achieve something, it feels like a reminder of what I’ve lost.”

April reached across the bar and squeezed my hand, “You’re not alone, Ben. We’re all here for you.”

I nodded, appreciating her words but knowing they didn’t fill the void inside of me.

“How’s Lilly doing? How was her spring recital?”

April smiled, “She did great, how did you remember that?”

I looked down at my drink, I smiled as I took another sip before I answered back. “I do have a penchant for listening too you know! I pay attention to you.”

“Yeah, you’re about the only man who ever did.”

“Hey, April, I have tickets for Saturday’s game, would you and Lilly like to go?”

“Ben, you know I can’t,” she replied, as a solemn look crossed her face. “I can’t risk Lilly getting hurt, she’s the most important person in my life. You understand right?”

“Of course, April, I would never want to jeopardize that. But I was only doing this as a friend. I know how much Lilly and you love watching us play.”

She began wiping the bar down, “Ben, you’re too sweet, I’ll think about it, ok?”

“Of course, I understand.”

April smiled, then walked away to take care of some other patrons. It was no secret when I came to Nashville, I had a crush on April.

I met her here while celebrating my first win as a Nashville Sounds pitcher.

We hit it off well and went on a couple of dates. April was smart and kept her young daughter Lilly from meeting me too soon.

It was the responsible thing any parent would do.

After my family died last year from the car accident, things went south for me. April was there for me, but as a friend.

I understood that she could not take the risk of being with a guy like me who was wallowing in misery.

Luckily for me, she stuck by my side as a close friend. She really helped me out when my mental health was in question.

After a couple more drinks, and some fun conversations with the boys, I decided to call it a night, and walk home.

The night air was cool and crisp as I made my way toward the Jefferson St. bridge, lost in thought.

As I approached the bridge, a figure caught my eye. A woman was sitting on the rail, her back to the city, staring down at the dark water below.

My heart skipped a beat as I realized what she might be contemplating.

No! Please don’t jump!