After school we'd go to the ballpark. The same guys always came. I was in the outfield because I had a good arm.

The ballpark was like a real stadium. Fake people were painted on the homerun fence, the dugouts had equipment painted on the walls. The bases were made out of rubber and screwed into the ground to stay in place. One day a new kid showed up. He was leaning against the homerun fence with his hands in his pockets. At first I didn't spot him. When a foul ball landed near him he kicked it to me and said if I was faster I could have caught it.

The next pitch the same thing happened. He kicked the ball over again and called me a slowpoke.

I said, "If you're so good at catching, catch this !"

Instead of catching the ball he turned around and let his back get hit. Then he fell.

When I got to him he was on his knees. I said sorry and reached out my hand. He leaned his shoulder into the fence to lift himself. His sleeve got pushed up showing the bottom of his arm. The arm's color matched the beige people on the fence, not the pink skin of his face.

I moved away from him. The ball was by his feet. He kicked it to me and covered his arm before he left.

 

 

Jimmy Gleacher is 29 and lives in Colorado.  Visit his website