There Must Be Something More

23 | The Realization Of A Dumbstruck Teenager

The blow of the whistle made my ears ring. But I still gathered up my strength to hit the baseball heaving towards me. It made a loud and deafening tonk! as it sailed over the air, over our heads, and even missed the outfield.

"Too much, Borlock," Coach Anderson said in disappointment. He gave me a look of silent disapproval and ordered the outfield dudes to pick up the ball.

Calum approached me. I knew so when a heavy hand reached my shoulder.

"You okay, dude?"

I didn't look at him. I didn't retaliate. I shrugged his arm away and got back to my place.

Sweat poured down the sides of my head. My cheeks must have been reddening. I ran a hand through my hair and responded as Coach Anderson blew his whistle to attention.

The practice began in an instant. Before I knew it I was missing home runs or hitting them too far. Coach Anderson gave me a murderous glare. The guys shook their heads in disappointment. Calum eyed me suspiciously.

When one of them, Steven McCall, approached me and asked what was wrong, I scowled and told him it wasn't his business. I kept everyone away from my situation as possible.

Coach Anderson blew the whistle. "Again! This time..." he looked at me sternly. "...better."

I shifted my eyes away.

Everyone started their positions. I had my bat down with one hand. I watched as the pitcher threw his arm back for the big throw. I watched as Calum and all the others looked to me for hope. I watched as Coach Anderson's eyes widened with threat.

But I wasn't threatened.

It was like a montage. Like a movie on edge. I stood there, frozen, my feet unmoving between the shoots of grass. The baseball bat felt heavy around my fingers. My eyes twitched a little. My knees buckled.

Whatever I was feeling, I ignored it. I hated the feeling. I hated it. But I did feel it.

I felt it might just be a phase.

And so as the ball hurtled towards me, there was enough time to raise my bat high with two hands and hit the home run. The next thing I knew I was sprinting around the diamonds and dove for the base.

Dust clouded my vision. I coughed. I heard the cheers of my teammates. Calum whistled. Coach Anderson gave me the thumbs up.

I should've felt happy. I should've. But I felt nothing but emptiness.

"Don't worry, Charlie," I said as the guys started to get out of the locker room after practice. "You'll get over this empty feeling. This is just a phase, right? And after a few days, you'll be back with enjoying baseball and goofing around with your friends again."

I passed by the infirmary. I saw Meredith. I almost stopped to my tracks. And I did. Not almost. I saw her smiling and patting a girl's injured hand. Meredith was grinning and giggling. The girl seemed to enjoy her company.

I felt jealous. Just a few days before I was with her, sharing the same experiences with others. Just a few days we were one and the same, bonded by faith. And now it was as if someone had flipped a switch and it separated us for good.

Or not.

Meredith glanced outside and saw me. I was petrified. I stood there like a dummy. She grinned and waved, gestured for me to come over.

Does that mean nothing can separate us?

She was still waving. She was waiting for me to respond. But my feet stayed in their place although my heart was screaming for mercy. I wanted to respond and get over there and get back to the peaceful feeling I've had ever since that book report with her.

No. Ever since she walked through the halls on that faithful day and I got my very first Bible verse.

Oh, how I wanted to lift my two feet and sprint over to her like a little kid lost in the woods and had just found his way back home.

But indistinct, contradicting words stopped me.

Must be a phase.

It was a loud one. I could even imagine Calum's skeptical face, laughing his head off, thinking I was wasting my reputation, my popularity, for something that would soon be over after a few months.

No way.

I was not risking my good image for something temporary. I was not going to have people look at me like an alien or a misfit or something for something that would not exist for a lifetime.

And so that very hour I put on a wide smile, but I did not respond to Meredith. I smiled and aimed towards Amanda and Calum who were heading my way. I grinned and high-fived and fist-bumped my best friends.

I didn't have the heart to see Meredith's face. I quickly breezed out of there. I didn't need the disappointment.

That afternoon I felt guilty. I felt so guilty about not responding to Meredith's call. I felt so guilty about ignoring her. I felt so guilty about choosing my friends and baseball over what I've experienced with her.

I felt so guilty about not choosing God.

Why, Charlie? I asked myself a million times even as I went to bed.

This is just a phase, right?

As I pulled the covers to my chin, I wanted to talk to someone about the war my thoughts were waging. My mind felt as if it was being tossed here and there, and I had no control over it.

Who do I talk to about this? I thought.

Who else, Charlie? My conscience seemed to speak to me. You already know the very person who must have all of life's answers. You already know the only person who has no friends (in school, that is) but is the friendliest girl in school. You already know the only person who is ever real with you. Realer than your own family, friends, and everyone else around your family.

And what's up with that? Why is she like that? What did she have that the others didn't?

I stopped. I already knew the answer to it. I let the light of the lamppost from out my window hit my eyes like the ray of the sun. Like the realization of a dumbstruck teenager.

"She has real faith," I said out loud, but a whisper. That's what makes her different. And somehow it was all that made her different. Because her faith did not merely exist, her faith was lived. She lived it and her faith is her identity.

Faith, I thought.

And I smiled. Calum was wrong.