Diamonds in the Rough [MxM]

Chapter One

**Edited!

"Mom, where's my glove?!" I call out to her. Whose probably in the other room. I absently pick off the stray socks all over the floor in the mean time, and dust the place clean. Everything was spotless. It shouldn't be hard finding my glove, right? Unless I already had it packed away with my gear, and that's impossible. I don't remember collectively putting it away in my duffle bag.

"Eijun, honey, here! Your grandfather was being a pain. You know how he is." My mom peeked her head past the door, and the hallway light bled into the well lit room from the natural light coming through the window. Her eyes still looked tired but nevertheless pleased as she squeezed the glove between herself and the doorframe.

I picked it out of her hands, and added my thanks. Lucky for me I didn't care what my grandfather did when it came to pranks, unless it involved my glove. It's precious too me, and he knows that! He was there when my grandmother, his wife handed it off too me when I got the glove! The day of my birthday.

My grandmother was the only person I talked to about my fears and my aspirations. She's talk about her adventures as a kid in great detail and talked about baseball— well, I'd constantly ask her what it was like, playing with a bunch of boys. What it felt like when she had to stop playing. She looked at peace with herself, yet if I paid attention a second longer, her eyes would squint ever so slightly as if she missed one piece of the puzzle. I was curious then by what it meant and asked her. She didn't answer me right away but she'd turn to me out of the blue and tell me to be proud of who I was. where I came from— that sort of thing. The more she told me, the more I repeated it, the more I started to believe it.

One evening She asked me to sit down with her, and carried her old scorebooks. Which mind you, were in great condition for their age. We'd review the old score books over hot chocolate and promised we'd pull out the old dinosaur TV from the attic to watch her old games.

Two days later, I watched a younger version of herself crouch behind home plate, performing her best. She guarded home plate, tagged out runners and hit over the fence. The shine in her eyes proved She didn't allow the amount of boys on the team deter her conviction. Her position on the field looked so freeing, like she was on top of the world.
The smile on her face every time she caught a pitch pulled something from my chest, and squeezed so tightly. I knew in every fiber in my body, that I wanted what she had.

from that point onwards she taught be the basis of baseball. She flourished and nurtured the tiny sprout called baseball in my life. I learned to watch, enjoy and love the game for my own bemusement!

A week later my grandmother passed away, and all I had left of her were her dreams and our memories bickering over who was drafted and if they were right for the team. She didn't want me to quit, I knew that and yet my confidence deflated. I'd spend days and nights moping in bed, making up excuses to forget about baseball.

My parents at the time were grieving, and that alone aroused a stifling tension in the air. My parents split. Went their separate ways. I never asked why, but a part of me always knew. Our family was a righteous mess and no one in the family seemed to snap out of it. Except my father.

I called him, quite frequently actually and he was always lending an ear. Listening to my worries as a father should. I was told not to blame my mother. Everyone had there own way of grieving, my father said.
I finally talked about my feelings. about the time I spent with my grandmother. About how much I missed baseball. How much I regret not talking to him sooner.
He consulted me, chuckled and swore he'd take me to a game.