The Keeper of Wickets

Dylan

Dylan and I stick together throughout the rest of the 2009 season. We are glued to each other's hip, much to my father's disgust. During the winter of 2009, we spent hours in the indoor nets, laughing and facing as many balls as we could before the cold weather finished and the season started up again.

In the 2009-2010 season, Dad was appointed assistant coach for the West End Redbacks, which really threw Dylan off course, seeming as even though my Dad was a keeper, he could bowl like the wind. As a fast bowler, Dylan was cocky and felt there was no need to listen to suggestions for improvement. Well, my Dad shook that out of him, really fast too. I loved watching their trainings, Dad was back in his element.

One day in early November, my Dylan was being quite uncooperative. He got into the mindset that what the coach said wasn't important and that ignoring him was a clever idea.
I sit behind the nets with furrowed eyebrows and questioning thoughts. I can see the annoyance written all over my Dad's face as Dylan sends down bouncers.
'You're going to kill people with those.' Dad tells him.
'That's what they're meant to do!' Dylan responds rudely. My lips part slightly in shock, did he just say that?
'Right, this attitude, it's got to stop.' Dad puts out his hand and his eyes flare.
'What attitude?!' Dylan slams the ball at his feet.
'This shit, the talking back, the not listening, you're acting like a bloody twelve year old Dylan Wright, get your shit together!' Dad raises his voice a little higher as he attempts to get through to Dylan.
'I'm trying, can't you see that?! I've been bowling for three hours and I haven't improved, I'm shit let me go home, c'mon Daise!' Dylan beckons me over, angrily.
'You can go home but not with my daughter, if you are going to treat me, this team and the spirit of cricket the way you are today, you're not taking Daisy anywhere.' Dad's incensed tone, screwing up Dylan's face.
'She's an adult, you can't control her!' Dylan testifies.
'I'm also her father, so she will listen to me, I want you to go home, think about how you want to be treated, how your team wants to be treated, how me and Thommo want to be treated and how the game we both love wants to be played, I hope to see you tomorrow Mr Wright, but if this is how you're going to be acting, I hope I don't.' Dad picked the ball up off the ground and walked over to Dylan's bag. He neatly packed up his kit and zipped the top closed.
'If you want to be in this team, the self doubt has to stop. You wouldn't be training here if you weren't good enough to be playing. If you want to go around with my daughter, you will sort your head out.' Dad told the white faced boy, who usually stood 6'7 but now he stood about 4'3. Dylan nodded before hanging his head and shuffling his feet.
'Treat this ball like you would treat a girl. Don't abuse it, hold it, feel its magic, feel its power.' Dad stepped back and made Dylan look up at him. 'How do you kiss a girl?'
'Slowly, tenderly, gently, powerfully, guide her way and she does the rest.' Dylan stuttered, a few blokes snickered.
'Exactly! It's like bowling, stride slowly yet powerfully, gently and tenderly clasp the ball then guide it down the pitch and it does the rest!' Dad explained, suddenly a lot calmer. Dylan swallowed and his eyes shifted to me.
'Alright Mr Dylan Wright, I know that tonight you a Daisy have a dinner planned seeming as she has put up with you for a year, so if you want to attend I suggest you bowl me one more.' Dad placed the shiny ball in the palm of Dylan's hand. Dylan stepped to his run up, the team and I watched in anticipation and awe as his slow strides took him quickly down the line, how his hand cradled the ball before flicking it down the pitch.

Middle stump flew from the ground and 145 km per hour, came up on the recorder. My jaw continued to drop lower and lower as the seconds went by. As the scenes before me took their course, I couldn't help but fall totally in love with the mutual respect between my Dylan and my Dad.

I felt tears slip down my cheeks, as I walked over to the car in which Dylan sat. His forehead rested against the steering wheel of the rusty Volkswagen Beetle, which we'd painted bright red on a rainy day in July. He saw my pink cheeks and my damp eyes and stepped out of the car. Dylan's strong arms wrapped around my head, pulling my body into his chest where I bawled.
'That was overwhelming.' I blubbered softly.
'Yeah, it was, but it was magical, who knew that something as simple as imagining I was kissing you, would make my ball hit the stumps.' Dylan kissed the top of my head.
'I thought he was going to drop you, I thought I'd lost you for a minute there.' I took a deep breath in attempt to settle my shaking nerves.
'I love you.' He whispered.
My hands cupped his cheeks and I gazed into his eyes, 'it's hard and I wish I didn't but I love you too.' I stated lovingly before placing my lips against his.
'Happy anniversary my sweet girl, I'm sorry it's not rose petals and chocolate hearts.' Dylan tucked a loose strand of my hair behind my ear.
'Greasy fish and chips always tastes better with you.' I giggled kissing his lips again and falling a little more in love, every second I stood engulfed in his arms.