The Calling

I love baseball. I love the smell of the local stadium, the cheering of the crowd. What I don’t love is the new pitcher, who’s trowing half-speed, and aiming somewhere off to my side.

I look at Coach. Please, change the pitcher! I mouth. He ignores me, and signs the pitcher to throw a fastball. Great. He winds up, and throws a ‘no-so-fast’ ball. It thuds to the ground and rolls into my mitt.

“Ball Four!” the ump calls. The batter hands his bat off and jogs off to first base. Great! Now we only have one person on at every base, and a pitcher who can’t throw straight. Nothing could worsen our chances of coming back from a nine-point disadvantage.

The pitcher stands up on the mound, and calls a meeting. Finally, Coach could kick him off the there! I jog up to the mound, waiting for the inevitable.

Once Coach got up there, he glanced at the pitcher. “What do you want to say?”

I looked at the pitcher. He called this meeting? “Trevor needs to work on his catching,” the pitcher said, “so maybe you should consider swapping him out.”

What?!? He was the one throwing balls at zero miles per hour at the ground! Coach looked at me.

“Trevor, are you going to work on your catching?”

“Coach—”

“No buts.” Coach says, “No excuses. If you aren’t going to work on improving with what we have, you aren’t going to play.”

“Ok, Coach.” I resign. Why did he like that kid so much? I took a moment to read the pitcher’s number while I jog back to the plate. Double-zero. That pitcher isn’t on our team, at least not officially. That pitcher is Coach’s son. Favoritism takes a win. I let out air I had unknowingly built up and pull on the catchers mask. Two more innings of this.

The pitcher winded up to throw. Finally! He threw straight down the middle, a decent fastball for once. The bat swings down to meet the ball, a blur in my vision. A solid crack resonates in my eardrums. I find the ball. It’s flying over the outfield wall. Home run, them.

The rest of the game we just about as well as you’d expect. We end up losing, fifteen to four. The mood is subdued in the locker room when Coach calls the team meeting.

“I know this wasn’t our best game, guys, but we’re going to deal with it. Our two top pitchers are out, and it’s really affected us.”

No understatement, Coach.

“I’d like to thank my son, Noah, for stepping in in the last few innings.”

Yeah, thank the guy who gave them all the points.

“I’d also like to announce that Noah will be a pitcher full time from now on.”

I looked at Josh. My best bro, and the only other pitcher on the team right now, was forcing a smile.

“I’ll see everyone at practice tomorrow. Who’s staying after to shower off?”

I raised my hand. Looking around the room, no one else was covered in dust. I suppose that’s what I get for being a catcher. Coach told everyone to leave. Finally, a place to decompress. I look in the mirror, revealing the red veins of stress in my eyes.

I get out of my uniform, grab my clothes, and go into a shower stall. The water is lukewarm, running down my body and wiping all the dust away. A feint buzzing sounds in my ears. I pick up the bar of soap and try to block it out. It only grows, like a wasp crawling over it’s prey.

Then it stings. I drop the bar of soap in a useless attempt to cover my ears and let out a scream of pain. I rush to turn the water off, and my foot slips on the bar of soap. Thunk! My head hits the stall’s brick wall. The world gets brighter, brighter and brighter, then finally, it goes dark.

Note to self: never get knocked out again. As I stretch, I meet the walls of the shower stall. Oh, crap. How long have I been in here? My dad will be worried sick!

When my senses are fully functional again, I realize the water is still running. Groaning, I reach up and shut it off. The bar of soap is in the corner. I’m going to leave it there. I get into my clothes, and am surprised when two hands grab me as I exit the shower stall.

“Josh...” He seriously didn’t sneak back in to jump me, did he? The tip of a needle pokes into my collar bone. “Who are you! What did you just stick in to me?” I look around for my attacker. What was I doing? What ever it was, it doesn’t seem important.

Looking around there are five kids in a Gull’s uniform, blue, green and, white. “Oh, hi guys! What are you doing?”

“Trevor,” the one in the middle says. “Why don’t you have a seat on that stool there.” At least I think he’s in the middle. My vision is a bit blurry.

“Ok.” He seems like a nice guy. I think I’ll do what he says.

I sit on the stool. There’s small containers of paint set on the floor, and brushes of various sizes to go with.

“Take your shirt off.” he said.

“Sure.” Of course I’ll take my shirt off. He asked so nicely. These kids are nice.

“Stay really still.” he said.

“Ok. What are we doing?” I ask. The other boys have put on black gloves, and are unscrewing the cans of paint.

“You’ll see.” he said.

“Ok.” Should I be concerned? Na. They’re nice. I sit and wait. Everyone takes a brush and paints me. It tickles. I can’t help but smile and laugh. What am I laughing at? I don’t know. Whatever.

One of the kids grabs my head and holds it really tight. The other boys pull out more paint. The back of my head tickles, then the front. I wait for the boys to be done. What else would I do?

They stand back and admire me. I never knew I looked so pretty. One of the boys runs up and tickles my face a bit more. This is all funny. They’re so nice.

“Trevor, smile!” They all take out their phones and wave them around, they’re sparkly.

“Give me a thumbs up!” I put my thumbs up and wave them. This is really fun.

“Go sit by a locker. Guys, join him.” One of the nice boys tells the other boys. I go sit along the locker, and crowd in with them.

“Hug!” I said, and then I reach over and pull the other boys in for a hug. They don’t look to happy.

“OK, everyone, say ‘Go Gulls!’”

“Go Gulls!” I said with the rest of the group. The other kid with is waving a phone in the air. It flashes at us a few times.

“Everyone up. Trevor, keep you seat. Bend down, like you’re tying your shoe.”

“Ok.” I bend over to tie my shoes. Why are my shoes not there? Oh well. Something pokes me in the neck. I’m tired. Really tired. I might just...

I yawn. That was a nice, deep sleep. Why am I in the locker room? I stand up an walk over to the mirror. My face is painted green and blue, and much to my horror, so is my hair and the rest of the upper half of my body.

Green and blue. The colors of the Gulls. Even their name is a unholy thing to say. How did I let this happen?!? I reach up to rub my eyes, but think better of it. I need to wash off all this paint. I head back to the shower stall. There’s a bar of soap on the floor, still damp, like someone had used it recently. Darn the Gulls!

The water is still dripping, cold. I turn it on full blast. As I try and scrub off the paint, I think. No one outside of our team can get in, Coach has the only key card. But how does that explain the Gulls that got in here and vandalized me?

Also, why did the Gulls take it out on me? They beat us, anyways, so it seems pretty rude to rub it in. I never really liked that team anyways. Green and blue tinted water rolls down into the drain.

It’s been ten minutes, and I still drip green and blue, but it’ll have to be good enough. I shut off the water, and put the bar of soap back in it’s place. I towel off, and find my shirt on the floor, a few smudges of green paint on the side, running over the chevrons. Hopefully the shirt washes out.

I grab the rest of my stuff, and close up the locker room. On my phone, I see multiple notifications on the Feed mentioning me. Who’s trying to get my attention now?

I tap into the first mention. @tMan77 and the boys hanging out, celebrating the dub.If that already wasn’t enough social warfare, there are pictures attached.

The first one is me, shirt off, everything painted green and blue, giving a thumbs up with a few members of the team. One of the pictures is the back of my head, where the Gull’s logo, the S|G is painted. There are more pictures of me ‘having a good time’, and a video of me with the other boys cheering ‘Go Gulls!’.

I’ll give the team one credit. They got me good. That, however, does not stop me from being furious. This is slander! All ready some I’ve lost 40 Watchers, probably kids from school who don’t really know me. 15 comments. I’m not going to read them right now, as I’m sure it’ll be a hell of a ride.