Let Me Explain

T W E N T Y O N E

NEW years rolled around fast.

We all counted down together and watched the fireworks crackle across the sky. Chasing each other with sparklers and Roman candles, we stereotyped into how young and dumb we really were.

We were broke teenagers who showed our wealth through the love we had for each other.

Three days later it was my birthday.

It wasn't a big deal like I thought it would be. I still felt young and mindless.

I stood in the kitchen while I answered another phone call to respond to my birthday wishes.

My mom was standing behind the kitchen counter with her blue eyes watching me intently. Her blonde hair was down her shoulders and she wore a long sleeve shirt with her black pants. She had to go in for work a few minutes after I would be leaving for school.

I took my phone off my ear and placed it on the kitchen counter. Before I could even register my own thoughts together or say anything, she spoke up.

"Bet that feels nice."

"What does?" I asked, slipping open the card she had gotten for me. Since she had stopped shopping for meaningful gifts by the time I was a teenager, I was usually gifted cards with a 10 dollar bill inside.

It didn't really bother me that much. A gift was a gift.

"That Bridget calls to talk to you."

"It's my birthday."

She leaned her forearms against the cold island. "I don't remember the last time she's told me happy birthday."

I could honestly just sigh in her face.

The cards and money was sweet, but it was already messing up my mood.

She was making my birthday about her.

"You're her kid." I nodded my head. "I'm sure August 3rd, 1981 means something to her."

My mom shrugged her shoulders in response. "Happy birthday. Don't do anything stupid tonight."

"I won't." I lifted my backpack over one shoulder and walked out of the kitchen.

It was always a weight off my shoulders when I left a room with her in it.

I never knew what it was but I knew that it felt suffocating when I was with her.

***

The softball field was lit up by light poles towards the outfield. The high fence with red safety caps along it enclosed the field. The sky was dark and filled with a few clouds, but the sun was still in its last stages of setting. It showed a dark sunset over the school softball field.

Some players from our team were in the dugout. They were wearing their blue jerseys, and a few had red ribbons tied in their hair or red socks on to represent the colors of LoSal.

It was loud inside from how loudly they were doing chants. The fence rattling, hands clapping, and a few excited yells.

Weston was on the pitching plate. Her glove was in her left hand while her right hand held the ball.

We were on defense and the visiting team was batting. Our team had already got one person out in this inning.

Specifically Weston.

She was an incredible pitcher.

I wasn't even saying it because she was my friend, I said it because it truly showed. She learned the basics of the sport ever since she was kid from her dad.