Lars Crawford was a simple teen. He loved his siblings, loved baseball, loved life until a tragic accident ripped his older brother away along with his left arm.
Now he lives his life serving after school detention from fights he faught for his best...
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Sitting in Coach Henson's office surrounded by cold grey stone walls he continued to try and persuade me to play for him next year as if my answer would change. I was serious when I said no, as I had been when Cas died.
Baseball wasn't my sport. I played to be with my brother. It was our thing when we were little and now that he was gone I was done. There was no need for me to keep playing and having one less arm wouldn't help.
"I believe - as much as your parents, that you can get yourself a scholarship to play in college. You are that amazing Lars."
"Look Mr. Henson -"
He cut me off leaning back in his chair to laugh, "Oh, so I'm Mr. Henson now and not Coach? "
"You're not my coach." I replied through grit teeth. Looking down at my right hand I inhaled through my nose exhaling as I relaxed my fingers from the tight fist I was making. The indent of my fingernails in my palm turned back to its pinkish color once the blood flow returned.
Cutting his laugh short he stared at me waiting to see if I would chalk it up as a joke but I had no plan to. I did however, plan to get up and walk the hell out of the shithole he called an office.
"So what did your parents say?" He asked crossing his right leg over the left.
Damn
Holding his stare as long as I could the image of my mom's broken face made me look away. I knew how much she loved watching her boys play together. Mom didn't mind waking up early or making over an hour long drive to watch us play the next town's team unlike dad who criticized us whether we won or lost. There was always more that we could have down. Run faster to base, threw the ball better, hit the ball harder. It was always something and never good job boys.
"I'm guessing you haven't told them yet." I caught him quickly trying to cover up a smirk. "You know Lars," he sat up turning to me, "we could avoid upsetting your mother if you would just simply agree to play for me next year. Your parents would never have to know that we had this conversation and I wouldn't need to go to them hoping they could persuade you to play. All you have to do it agree. Simple."
Thinking of the long and drawn out argument I would have with my dad. The crying Eloise would do because dad liked to grab and shake you like a bobble head leaving bruises. How mom would try to look okay with my decision to not play with puffy red eyes.
As much as I didn't want to play baseball next year, playing would save everyone in my household from their emotions spiraling out of control. It would save us from screaming at each other.
Feeling a sudden pain at the end of my arm stump I bounced my knee tugging at both piercings trying to keep the pain at bay. "Can I . . . um," feeling the perspiration began to form at my hairline over my scar the pain in my arm intensified, "can I get some time to think about it?"
