30. Shawn
Shawn
It’s weird being back in a city. It smells so different from the fresh-pine-needle-mulch-lake-algae air I’ve gotten used to over the last few weeks.
It’s also too bright, artificial light glaring off the sides of buildings, car headlights piercing my eyes.
And noisy—even inside the luxury town car that picked me up at the airport it’s loud, sirens and honking and the hum of the traffic as we get closer to the stadium grating against my ears.
I get dropped at the visitor entrance, waved through after being given a temporary pass.
I used to have my own official ID that gave me free rein of this place.
I know the way to the locker room by heart, but even though my legs know the way, they don’t seem to want to go very fast. This place is completely familiar, and totally different.
Maybe it’s me who’s changed.
I see friendly faces, ones that throw me sincere smiles, slaps on the back, “good to see you” on everyone’s lips. It’s nice to greet these people, but bittersweet. I haven’t been a Laurel for months. I’ve forgotten how to be one.
What am I doing here? What am I even going to say?
Then Jett is there in his home uniform, wrapping me in a two-armed hug that’s so enthusiastic he nearly lifts me off my feet. “Shawn, you look great, man. Maine treated you right.”
I smile at my friend. It’s good to see him. “It sure did. I’ll have to tell you about it later.” I wonder what he’ll think of me and Blaze. I suspect he’ll be happy for me.
“And you are a lifesaver for coming. I feel better about this game just having you here rooting for us. It hasn’t been right without you.”
“Missed you, too. I’m not sure what I can do to help, though.”
“Come say hi to the guys. Tell them they got this. Seriously, it’ll make all the difference.”
The locker room is the usual buzz of energy, pheromones, and chatter, but it quiets some when I walk in behind Jett.
“Dude, it’s Camden,” Amos Gutierrez, outfield, says. “What are you doing here, boss?”
“Just came to tell you guys to give ’em hell,” I say.
“What are you wearing?” Dan Mackenzie asks, staring at my work boots and my dirt-streaked jeans. I still haven’t had time to change.
“I picked up a construction job,” I say. “You know, something to pay the bills.”
Dan cracks an uncertain grin, as if he’s not sure if I’m joking or not. “Well, good to have a fallback. This might be it for us, man.”
“This isn’t it. You guys are going all the way.”
He shakes his head, and there’s some grumbling from along the bench. “Don’t know, man. We’re not hitting good—the stuffed shirts don’t know what they’re doing. They let go of Robbie and Mack.”
Two of the best hitting coaches I’ve ever worked with.
“I didn’t know.” On the way from the airport, I’d tried to catch the highlights of the playoff games I missed while I was busy with other things, like dating Blaze and working on his house.
Our pitchers have been keeping it together and the fielding’s working.
It’s definitely hitting that’s been holding them back.
“Look, guys,” I say, raising my voice so everyone can hear, “I don’t have any special sauce, but I remember that game against Cleveland when we were down by four and we needed to get on the board, just get on the board.
And Mackenzie stepped up, got on base, and then Romero did, and Pinto got a walk and then—”
“And then you swatted ’em all in with a homer they’re still looking for with a telescope,” Jett says, finishing the story for me.
I remember that feeling. The feeling of hitting a grand slam when your team needs it the most. The best feeling in the world. That’s the feeling I was afraid I’d never have again—the feeling of helping out the team when they need it most.
But I got that feeling working on Blaze’s house with the crew. I got it when Blaze was down and needed someone—no, needed me—to talk to.
And I’m getting it here, all those eyes on me, looking to me like I have the meaning of life all wrapped up in a bow to hand them. Well, I don’t. But I can give them hope.
“That’s all you need to do tonight. Just get on the board. One man at a time. And pretty soon, that’s going to add up to a win. And another win. And another, until you all have a championship series to add to your wall.”
I believe they can do it, but I won’t be a part of their win. My time’s up.