The Trike Returns:
Knot
Michael Marsh
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Hardball
On an April afternoon in 1980, my father drove me to a Chicago park for a Little League tryout. After arriving, we stood on the grass and watched infielders smile while whipping balls to each other. The sight intimidated me because I could not throw well.
My father took a seat in the bleachers. I stood with players waiting to bat. When my turn came, I took a deep breath. The pitcher threw the ball. I stroked it to left field and ran. The outfielder hurled the ball to the catcher. I slid. Safe! My father cheered.
The next day, he drove me to the park. The coach told me to play shortstop. As ground balls rolled to other players, a knot formed in my stomach.
A ball skipped rapidly toward me. I picked it up and aimed for first base.
Instead, the ball closed in on the coach's head. My body froze. Several players yelled, "Look out!" The coach ducked. After the ball barely missed him, he glared at me.
I ran off the field. My father drove me home. I never returned to the park.
~Michael Marsh
Michael Marsh is an editorial assistant for the Chicago Reader. His work has appeared in the Rockford Review and Up & Coming magazine. Email.
© 2002 by Michael Marsh. All Rights Reserved.
© Copyright 2002 by Cayuse Press. All Rights Reserved.
This page updated August 31, 2002.