Random Short Stories

The Third Strike

Mother turned on the TV and the Brady Bunch song resonated in the room. The father plunged his hand into the bowl of chips and took out a large handful. He looked up from the TV and saw the kids playing baseball in the backyard through the glass door. There were no fences in the neighbourhood; their yard became a community park. His eyes turned towards his son, who was practicing pitching with one of his friends.

"Look at him, Barbara. Wasting his time chasing a dream that will never come true."

"It's just a harmless hobby, Charles. He'll grow out of it." Suddenly, the ball shattered the window and it slowly rolled into the room.

"Harmless?" His son's friend ran away so fast, you might think he teleported into another world. His son watched as the figure of his friend disappeared behind the house next door. With his mouth hanging slightly open and his eyes wide, he watched as his father shook his fist and his father's voice thundered something incomprehensible at the runaway boy across the yard.

"Robert William Elson! In the house - immediately!" demanded the father. The boy skittishly walked into the house through the gaping hole in the broken glass patio door. The second he was in the house, he heard his father say, "Who's going to pay for the glass? If you weren't playing that stupid game, this would have never happened. AND if you had a job, you could pay for it yourself!"

Robert didn't want to snitch on his friend because he broke the glass, so he decided it was better to stay silent.

"I think it is best that you don't play baseball in the yard anymore, okay honey?" said his mother in a tender tone. Robert nodded shyly while his father was staring at the window in disbelief while raking what was left of his hair.

"No Barbara! No more baseball - period!"

Robert's eyes threatened to spill tears. The twelve-year-old picked up the stray ball on the floor and placed it in the glove, still on his hand.

His father placed his hand on his silver belt buckle. Barbara's eyes twitched from her son to her husband. She knew that Robert was still a child and didn't need to focus on his future, but at the same time, Charles had so much on his shoulders with the sale of the house and this hobby of Roberts was just one more thing.

"This is what I want to do! It's what I'm good at! I didn't want to tell you, but I was accepted on the school baseball team for this year, and I'm doing it!" His father's face flushed red and his brows curved towards his eyes like clumsy caterpillars. No words were necessary; his face showed everything.

***

"The highest offer is thirty thousand dollars, and that would give you enough to buy a smaller house or apartment in the city."

Barbara gave Charles a look. "We expected more for the house..." she sighed.

"Times are tough. This recession has hit us all hard," said the real-estate agent tapping his foot impatiently. "Why don't you think about it; this offer isn't going to last long!"

As the couple walked out of the office, a wave of guilt washed over Barbara. "This is going to break his heart, you know."

Charles simply looked down at the ground. "He'll.. he'll have to get used to the idea."

***

An awkward silence enveloped the kitchen. The family sat around the table for dinner. Charles needed to say it. He picked at his food anxiously and cleared his throat, "Robert... Your mother and I need to tell you something, that you may not agree with..."

Barbara looked at her son and said, "What your father means... is that you will need to adjust to a big change."

Robert's mind filled with thousands of different outcomes. 'Will they still let me play baseball? Will they send me away to one of those reform schools? Will they... ' His thoughts were suddenly interrupted.

"We are going to be moving away to the city."

Robert knew money was tight, but moving away? "What about my friends and the team? Are you doing this because of the team?"

Charles continued, "The office is relocating, and the employees have to go too. There's nothing I can do about it, and you know I can't change jobs right now." Robert pushed out his chair and stormed away from the kitchen table.

"I'm sure you'll make new friends in the city!" Barbara called out just before Robert slammed his door. There was a short silence at the table until Charles suddenly stood up and went to the cupboard.

"Charles? What are..."

Charles stormed down the hallway and flung his son's bedroom door open. In a whirlwind of shouting and grabbing and stuffing all of Robert's dreams in the large hole of a jumbo garbage bag, the momentum of the storm only grew bigger.

"Charles! Stop it! Stop it now!" Barbara exclaimed as she burst through the door.

"No Barbara, in the long run, this is for his own good."

In despair, Robert cried, "You have no idea what's good for me! You don't know and don't even care! You've never even been to my games. You have no right to take away my things!" Charles started to walk out, bag in hand. Just as he left, Robert yelled again, "If you won't listen to me, then at least come watch me play!" Charles still left.

"That's your last strike, son."

Broken, Robert flew into his mother's arms. "When he's calmed down, I can talk to him, okay honey?" Barbara whispered.

"If you can just get him to come... he'll see," Robert sobbed.

"Of course. I'll try..."

***

The smell of hot dogs and peanuts washed over the bleachers as the crowd waited for the start of the last inning. Grudgingly, Charles came to the game, dragged in by Barbara. In the third row, they were sitting near the dugouts of his son's team. Pitch after pitch, Robert was striking out most of the players. Finally, the last player of the opposing team was up to bat. Robert's team was ahead one run. If he was able to strike this player out, they would win, and continue to the final tournament. The suspense was killing Charles. He was on the edge of his seat, nails digging into the wood of the bleachers. Astonished by Robert's talent, he eagerly watched the first pitch.

"Strike!" the umpire bellowed.

Charles was sweating under his jacket like he was swimming in a pool of nerves. Robert threw the second pitch.

"Strike two!"

The gears in Charles's mind were turning at full speed. 'He's so good! I can't believe I prevented him from doing this. I've got to make this right somehow. I could comprise; the commute to the city isn't that long...'

"Strike three! Yeeeer out!"

The crowd rose out of their seats cheering for the winning team. Above the applause of voices, you could hear a call of pride, "That's my son!"